The Enduring Mystery of Cat

Introducing "Indie", a photogenic member of the feline race of fellow travelers. We rescued him from an animal shelter on 110th Street about a year ago. Here Indie places himself amongst some familiar items on my desk, as is his wont. Recently he ruined an inkjet printer by attacking the paper (as it printed) so often that the paper advance gears became misaligned. The printer is gone--Indie stays.

Indie has an alert, owlish look about him and we like to believe he is quite intelligent. He enjoys splashing in water, is quite affectionate, has been known to be aggressive at times, and has a meek, squeaky voice that does not sound like it belongs to such a well-formed, agile animal. I find it very easy to believe that the Egyptians of yore, a culture clearly steeped in the occult and the mysterious, would have revered cats above other creatures.

I have nothing against dogs of course (or fish or gerbils for that matter). But dogs are, companionable and true as they may be, entirely lacking in the qualities exhibited by what you might call a "muse". They are slobbering, needy and really awfully predictable as a group (I have loved certain dogs, so I'll not debate their "value" in the scheme of things).

Cats seem to care only peripherally that humans are present, and I believe they view us somewhat as serviceable companions. They respect those who feed them. They allow themselves to be handled--until they don't. They are unsentimental and if you have ever seen a cat toy with its prey, you will know they can be coldly cruel and entirely without remorse. They suit the postmodern sensibility in that they are essentially amoral.

That is about all I can glean about cats from watching them. They seem to hold much in reserve, and this is exhibited when suddenly they make fantastic leaps across open space to reach a desired spot whence they simply curl up to sleep. They can hide in impossibly small spaces as if their bodies are made of something less solid than bone and gristle.

Unlike the warm, loving gaze of a dog, the gaze of the cat is flat and apparently an act of surmise, as if at any moment they may decide you are friend, provider or prey. It is quite obvious why domestic cats are never grown larger than a human can throw them. A cat the size of a golden retriever would be a bone-chillingly dangerous beast.

Cats and humans have come to an understanding that we are mutually pleasing but for entirely different reasons (it seems). We do not (or I do not) "understand" cats any more than I understand the moon. They are not like us, nor like any other creature sharing terra firma. They are an ancient race, highly evolved, cunning, sufficiently endowed for their own purposes, and offer little but warm fur, a steady gaze and for me at any rate, constant fascination.

If you have the chance, offer kindness to one of these special creatures, as they are favored in the pantheon of sentient beings.

The Apparent Decline of Misu

Our family adopted a tiny, very pretty little black and white cat from a shelter in the suburbs in the summer of 2000. We named her Misu. And until earlier this summer when my daughter lobbied hard and with ultimate success for another "animal rescue" as she called it, Misu was the only feline and except for a brief cohabitation with a turtle that escaped upstate (don't ask) the only quadripedal non-human amongst us.

Misu has always been furtive--even rather retiring in nature. She is a house-cat, and has been known to lie in the same spot on the same couch for hours on end. She never has gone outside (except for one mad dash during a car-house transfer many years ago of which she rapidly thought better), and never has had long periods of interaction with other animals. Well, there was the turtle, covered by mesh that she often bothered; and the brief presence of goldfish whom she hunted, without success, by dipping her paw into the water over and over again. And perhaps as we might have taken better note, a month when a neighbor-cat stayed with us and left poor Misu utterly spooked and, I think, traumatized. It was a rescued alley-cat and was bolder than mild Misu, and Misu, though able to hold her own with back-arching and tail-fattening and hissing and bouncing sideways like a creature possessed, seemed altogether put out by the notion of having to share space with another un-caged animal.

Now there is Indy, a male, neutered of course, but full of youthful vigor and full of the classic curiosity with which cats are known to delight their masters. Misu's opinion of Indy is one of high-minded disdain, but this is also mixed with resentment towards us and, towards the newcomer, a total lack of camaraderie or good humor. Indy, a kitten now nearly full-sized, has tried to romp with Misu since the day of his arrival. Misu's response has been angry hissing and rapid retreat. Misu will not eat in Indy's presence. She tolerates Indy's physical proximity if she is drowsy, but not within a perimeter that appears to be approximately four or five feet in any direction. The two of them sometimes spend minutes at a time staring at each other, crouching as if to pounce.

That's all fascinating cat-drama. What seems sort of sad, and it may have to do with Misu's aging--she's now about nine, and certainly a middle-aged lady at this point--is her apparent overall decline in both attitude and vigor. She is more droopy than she once was, and has a tendency towards being short-tempered even with her humans, to whom she had always been indulgent. She also seems more afflicted with minor physical ailments than before. And it all seems to have coincided with the arrival of Indy.

My personal belief is that the arrival of Indy was a blow to Misu's delicate spirit and that she has not recovered. I think her mental condition is depleted, I think the stress Indy unwittingly causes is somewhat debilitating, and I think it has all brought on a physical frailty rather suddenly and, to me at least, quite noticeably. It's unfortunate that Misu has not been able to cope with the presence of what she clearly sees as a fierce rival, and her attendant decline has taken me by surprise and saddened me. She hides much more frequently now, and though she was often off in her own corner of pillows before, now she is almost never to be seen at all.

Misu's decline is perhaps inevitable but most unwelcome to see. For eight years she was ruler of the cat-domain. She seems to have abdicated, or at least retired. I would like to bring back the younger, more playful Misu but that of course is impossible. In the meantime there is Indy, who is a beautiful young cat with no shortage of cat-charisma. But it isn't the same.