They Really Do Come Back
~ This article first appeared in The Leader-Vindicator newspaper. ~
There’s a reason “Cat Fight” is not a sound clip option for visitors to Japanese Zen gardens.
Gina and I have been listening to the feline equivalent of WWE RAW during our rest hours for considerably more than a year – we have thrilling stage side bedding. Judging from the sounds coming through our windows and walls, our cat has never won a round. I’m afraid our cat is a sissy.
Our sissy cat is orange and his tormenter is grey. The grey cat is like a ghost. The nighttime thief long ago started peering in windows and eventually made a habit of breaking out screens to allow entry into our house for food. One night he ate picnic supplies we had set out in preparation for the next day. Another he stormed the pantry. Finally, he learned to use the cat-flap on our door.
It was a fateful night for my office. I wandered into the kitchen and found myself between the escape route and the cat himself. Seeing his way blocked, he did what any sensible creature in such a predicament would do and streaked into my office with the intent of destroying everything.
It was a thorough job. Because there is not a single chance that our sissy orange cat would be anywhere in the house except the worst possible spot for the situation, the grey sprinter whirled into the room and came face-to-face with the orange blob, who set out screeching and wailing while the grey animal put the Tasmanian Devil to shame by climbing bookshelves, curtains, walls, my desk, my chair…you get the idea.
We have a pair of very thick, arm length leather gloves that are specifically designed to protect against scratches and bites. They were at my parents’. I put on winter gloves specifically designed to protect against the cold and wet, and I am certain that they no longer protect against the latter due to all of the punctures created while the cat was scratching and biting me as I tried to remove it. The thing is like trying to get a good hold on a stream of water. Finally, after considerable chaos and several liters of my blood on the white carpet, the cat blasted out a window and into the night.
Enough. I set a trap and captured the cat. We went for a long drive into the country and stopped at a distant quiet spot so that we could sit together and have one of those special human-animal coming to terms moments. Alas, the grey cat escaped before we could bond. I returned home and announced to Gina that the grey cat was no longer a problem thanks to my efforts. She was, remarkably, able to resist the urge to disrobe.
The very next day Henry and I were checking cattle and we found the grey cat atop a rock pile wearing a smirk and staring directly into my soul. Cats, it turns out, really do come back. Huh.
I have never ceased to be amazed at animals’ abilities to accomplish the impossible. In most cases, no matter the level of difficulty, an animal following its instinct will succeed at whatever task is set before it. Humans, by comparison, fail more often than not.
Our downfall, I believe, is rooted in the emotion of embarrassment. I can’t tell you how many times the thought of looking like a fool has crippled me. I’ll be facing a situation on our farm and to overcome it I’ll refer to a pile of advice recorded by some lofty character in the field instead of taking the chance on my own idea. Unfortunately, whatever the expert deemed proper almost never makes sense in the context of my specific situation because of the zillions of little nuances that differ from situation to situation. Expert advice is scientifically backed information that does not make sense when applied in a different context. It’s nonsense.
Unlike the cat, when I encounter a problem I stand with mouth agape wondering what other person’s nonsense I’m going to try and apply to my situation so that I can prove my ability to follow the rules. What an amazing feat! To do my own thing that may differ from what’s orthodox is embarrassing. Therefore, I never find my way home, so to speak.
An animal absolutely will not stop, no matter how silly it looks for carrying on. They use strictly the resources available in the moment – no trips to the store for supplies - and they are immune to feelings of unfairness, discouragement, or boredom. Such immunity allows for a remarkably high success rate. Animals are, in their own way, experts.
We can take a lesson from that. We’re experts in our own lives. May we all see with clarity what we have in front of us and make the most of it each day. Put the nonsense aside.