Chapter 1: Part 1:
cat and man

In the long span of man's residence on earth, perhaps no creature has intrigued and perplexed him so much as the cat.

He is attracted by her neat good looks, put off by her independence, amused by her antics, made uneasy by her composure, flattered when she rubs against his leg, irked when she yawns in his face and ignores his commands.

He envies her ability to relax, likes her softness to the touch, enjoys hearing her purr. He is wary of her claws, dislikes being fixed by her unwavering stare and hates her caterwauling on the back fence at night. He is gratified when she kills rodents, outraged when she kills anything else, particularly birds. (That privilege he reserves for himself -- and his bird dog.)

At times in his walk through history he has found reason to worship her, and at times to persecute her almost to extinction. His always active imagination has attributed to her, wrongly and unfairly, many of his own worst character traits, while begrudging her possession of that inalienable right he has always sought for himself -- personal freedom.

All in all, it is an odd relationship that man has established with cat. Toward no other domestic animal does he show such split feelings of admiration and resentment -- which is some kind of a comment on man, for the cat is constant. She has always been cat.

With the other beasts man has clustered about him, the situation is fairly clear. His appreciation of chicken, cow, sheep, pig and goat lies largely in his taste buds. With astonishingly little protest, these citizens have allowed themselves to become the prime source of protein in man's diet. Every once in a while man considers his firm muscles, rich blood and keen brain and is duly grateful to the various fricasseed, broiled and barbecued contributors to his condition. But he wouldn't dream of changing the setup. For none of these barnyard friends really qualifies as a pet.

Their manifest destiny is to nourish the family of man and, incidentally, to become calfskin shoes, pigskin gloves, Angora sweaters, long woolen underwear, glue, fertilizer and other products of man's invention. Furthermore, one is a little loss to the world when one is considered chicken-hearted, as blankly stupid as a cow, sheepish as a sheep, hoggish as a pig and lecherous as a goat. The horse has fared slightly better. He has been held in high esteem because he is swift, durable and strong, and because man looks so majestic riding him. He is also teachable and obedient, two qualities man always has insisted on in animals who wish to be his friends. The horse, however, is passing from the scene. The machine age has diminished his value as a work animal; his centuries of service are commemorated solely in the horsepower rating given to the vehicles which have supplanted him. Even riding is a declining art, practiced nowadays almost exclusively by jockeys, cowboys and debutantes. Perhaps the horse's greatest failing has been his size. His permanent place as one of man's pets was lost the day it became clear he was too big to be a member of the household. Today he enters only in one-pound packages, as dinner for dog and cat. man's relationship with dog With the dog, man seems to have made his peace early. Man understands dog. He is comfortable with dog. He appreciates dog's loyalty, courage, intelligence and -- again -- obedience; particularly obedience, for however sentimentally men and dogs view their abiding friendship, it is not a relationship of equals. Dog is essentially a servant. His feelings toward his master are comradely and his manner familiar; he enjoys the master's affection and regard. But his place was fixed long ago when man told him, "Don't call me. I'll call you." Furthermore, since man always has had difficulty with foreign languages, the channels of communication have been a one-way street. Dog has eagerly studied man-talk, and man, in his wisdom, has patiently taught dog the terms of his servitude -- "Sit," "Fetch," "Down, sir," "Stop that infernal barking." In accommodating himself to this design for living, dog has, of course, surrendered his pride. This is evident in, if not the cause of, such vulgarities as his graceless eating, loud breathing, poor grooming, pungent aroma and appalling bathroom habits, all of which characterize him as a good-natured slob. Dog's sacrifice of his self-respect, however, has not gone unrewarded. Despite his slovenly nature, he has had the discernment, the fine discrimination, to idolize man, and man, who couldn't be more approving of the choice, has conferred nobility upon the dog. Under the warm sun of man's approval, dog's tribe has flourished and increased, not only in number but variety. Ever obliging, the dog has transformed his size, shape, color and function until he is now available in 111 separate and distinct breeds, each presumably an improvement over what went before and each meeting some human standard of beauty or utility. Surely this must approach the ultimate in co-operation. What dog does not know, however, is that the noble servant is hopelessly out of date. He has not existed since medieval times, when young squires prepared for a career of knighthood by acting as chore boys for the varsity. Today this avenue of advancement is a blind alley. No matter how early he arrives for work, or how diligently he tends the store, the dog will always be an apprentice, never a man. man's relationship with cat The cat is different. She serves no one, knowingly or willingly. Her one accomplishment -- the hunting of mice, rats and other rodents -- is self-taught. The man does not live who can claim to have trained a cat to perform a task for human benefit. For their own convenience cats have learned various small maneuvers, like opening doors, but they do not and will not herd sheep, carry messages or run back to the ranch seeking help for jammed-up cowboys. There are no police cats, no watchcats, no sled cats. The cat does not even come when she's called, unless it suits her. Stubborn independence in others often puts man's nose out of joint, and it was at such moments that he probably began comforting himself by maligning cat's character. She was sly, treacherous, cruel; you could never tell what she was thinking; but she sure looked as though she knew what people were thinking. From here, of course, it was a short step to deciding that cats were the companions of witches and suffocated babies by sucking their breath. Actually, if cats disliked people there would be no more sense in associating with them than with tigers. The fact is that on certain terms, largely unpredictable owing to the wide variety of feline temperaments, it is quite possible to develop a warm and lasting friendship. This, too, may not be a relationship of equals -- the matter of who has the upper hand will always be in doubt -- but it must be based on the free choice of the principals, on a willingness to tolerate different social and cultural patterns, and on an honest respect for each one's individuality. In this, the cat will come more than halfway. Once a cat has established rapport with you, she is anything but aloof -- dignified and with a strong sense of privacy, yes; but withdrawn, disdainful, isolationist, no. She will try very hard to teach you cat language, which is only fair and proper since she understands considerable man-talk, even though she is not often persuaded to heed it. (Like humans, cats vary in talkativeness, so the amount of conversation you have with one is not necessarily a measure of your friendship. Some cats reply to human remarks simply with expressive gestures -- a flick of the tail, a blink of the eyes or sudden attention to a spot of fur which needs washing. It is never quite clear what any of this means.) Cats are also quite self-sufficient. You never have to entertain them. This is not to say that they cannot be entertained or that they themselves are not entertaining. It is just that their errands are many and their schedules full. Admittedly, many of a cat's waking hours are devoted to sleep, and a cat prowling purposefully through tall grass is often simply looking for a warm, safe place in the sun for a cat nap. But they do not moon and mope, like dogs, for the need of someone to do their thinking for them. Cats generally have a good sense of fun, although they are too dignified to have a real sense of humor. And since they are eminently practical, their games are all variations on the skills and techniques of hunting. They will stalk, pounce upon and wrestle furiously with a string pulled tantalizingly across the rug; dance around a rolling marble and cuff it with their forepaws, as though it were a mouse; or sit behind a door, ready to slide a paw under it and snag any moving thing that comes within reach from the other side. In playing these games, cats will act the clown but never the stooge. They enjoy being laughed with but can't abide being laughed at, and will walk away stiff-legged if they are made to feel ridiculous. Cats are very conservative creatures. They like to do things in their own way, within a familiar frame of reference. Change often unsettles them, and no amount of human reassurance will make them feel the least bit better about it. They often hate traveling in cars or trains and will complain bitterly until the trip has ended. They are suspicious of a new item in their diet or of a familiar one prepared differently, or served up in a new dish or in strange surroundings. This often is interpreted as contrariness. And, indeed, many of a cat's actions do seem quite perverse. She will sit in forbidden chairs at almost every opportunity, and depart immediately from any chair, or other perch, on which she is put. She will sit and blink at human invitations to come in or go out, and scratch at the door five minutes after you have given up in disgust, asking to come in or go out. What we are dealing with here is simply the cat's monumental, stiff-necked resistance to anything that is not her own idea. Occasionally she will seem to obey, but this is merely a happy coincidence of your wishes and her intentions. Don't be encouraged. Essentially, she bends her will to no one. For man this is a quality both admirable and exasperating. It requires courage and strength of character, yet it can be wearing to cope with. If your exasperation outweighs your admiration, there is no point in having a cat for a pet. Go to: Chapter 1 Part 2: History

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