It’s
late
evening at the Meredith home. The family is asleep upstairs while
here in the living room, from my established place on the sofa, I
observe the domestic scene. Dog lies by the fireplace where the
remnants of a fire still produce some heat. In her cage hanging from
the rafters, Canary appears hypnotized by the dying embers. But don’t
be fooled. The girl is smarter than she looks. As usual, Goldfish
takes his methodical laps around his bowl, unaware of his
surroundings. And yet there are times when even Goldfish displays a
glimmer of intelligence.
What
two-leggeds do
not realize is that the night belongs to us. During the day, watching
them go about their dreary rituals is a bore. And so we sleep a lot.
Then, after midnight, we assemble to discuss current affairs.
It
is time. Rising
up onto all four paws, I enjoy a languid stretch before launching
into our nightly discussion series. The topic I’ve chosen is
existentialism. I know. This might be a bit lofty for Dog to handle
but the boy does need to exercise his brain. Initiating the subject
requires a certain drama so I take one more leisurely feline stretch,
calling attention to my species’ renowned flexibility. To add
emphasis to my subject matter, I yawn dramatically.
“Is
this all
there is?” I ask, waving my paw grandly to indicate more than
our current bourgeois circumstances. “What’s it all
about? Why are we here?”
Dog’s
response
is so predictable.
“Where else would we be?”
Dog
is quite literal
minded, after all, and wouldn’t be expected to easily pick up
on the broader issue. So I explain to him the basic concepts proposed
by Nietzsche and Kierkegaard. When he shows no comprehension, I lose
my patience. “I’m talking about the existential dilemma,
numb-nuts. Have a thought. Read a book.”
When
Dog appears
surprised that I can read, I remind him of all those years when I sat
on the kid’s lap while he was doing homework. And by the way,
the kid was a slow reader. A lip reader. So of course I can read.
“Let
me get this straight, Cat,” Dog says. “You can read what
the two-leggeds read?”
“Oh
horrors, no. You wouldn’t see me reading their paperback trash.
I abhor their philistine tastes. But I have found some loftier
reading material stored away in the attic – philosophy and
religion. Pretty unsettling stuff, I’ll have you know. Quite
scary.”
At
the word “scary,”
Canary twitters, Dog huffs, and Goldfish emits a large bubble. I can
see that I have everyone’s attention so I elaborate. “You
should be aware that humans have this one big book that tells them to
have dominion over us.”
While
Dog struggles
with the word, Canary expresses concern. “Dominion,” she
repeats, “over us? Like they’re in
charge of the world?”
I
explain a little
bit about the two-leggeds’ Bible and how it
makes them important while
diminishing us.
This information has the desired effect of drawing them all into the
conversation.
Even
Goldfish
contributes. “That can’t be good,” he says.
Dog
responds gently,
“Well no offense, Goldfish, but you pretty much don’t
have a choice, given your situation. I mean, all you really do is
swim around in water twenty-four seven.”
“And
ponder,” Goldfish adds. “I do ponder a lot.”
Now
Canary chimes
in. “Oh, listen to him. We have an intellectual in our midst.
And I notice that the bottom of the aquarium is littered with your
pondering, Socrates.”
This
is typical of
Canary’s occasional sharp wit. But Goldfish rises to the
challenge. “Like all my kind, water is my world. I have the
ability to swim. It’s what I do. But what about you, Canary?
How much flying time have you put
in this week?”
Canary
adopts a
nonchalant attitude and preens her feathers before responding. “In
this current lifetime, I concentrate on my beauty. I don’t need
to prove myself out there in the world.”
I
sit back and enjoy
the repartee as Goldfish counters with: “Honey,
you wouldn't last five minutes flying around out there. You're one
big yellow signthat
says: Eat me."
"What
could you
possibly know about flight, stuck in your limited environment?"
Canary demands.
"Cage,
aquarium. Pretty much the same thing. Let's just agree that we're
both – uh – trapped."
Now
Canary is
indignant. "Well, I don't know about you but I've evolved beyond
all that identity stuff. Fly. Swim. It makes no difference."
Talk
about ruffled
feathers! But Goldfish has one more jab. "Fish gotta swim; birds
gotta fly. At least I'm following
my biological
imperative."
I'm
impressed. Now
that the conversation is back on a more intellectual track, I take
the advantage and pick up on Goldfish's pronouncement. "Yes,
like Goldfish said, the biological imperative. We do what we were
designed to do. But have you noticed that the two-leggeds seem to
have lost that sense of purpose?"
Of
course I'm only
pointing out the obvious. The two-leggeds are so messed up. They're
limited to pushing buttons on one screen or another. So I do worry
about their grasp on reality.
"They
have no
particular skills," Canary says. "So just what do they
do?"
"They
walk us,"
Dog offers. "Or at least they walk me. They
let you do whatever you want, Cat."
Dog
is right. I do
not answer to the two-leggeds. My job here is to observe, to see the
bigger picture, as it were. And, actually, I view the humans'
dog-walking behavior as an excellent example of their race's gradual
decline. But how can I explain this to Dog?
"Of
course,
this walking business is strictly between canines and humans," I
agree. "As I see it, they put you on a leash and go walking
outside. Am I right so far?"
On
the defensive,
Dog asks, "You got a problem with the leash?"
Dog
is so clueless.
I stifle a giggle. "With you, no. It's a crazy world out there
and I worry about you, Dog. You're so trusting that, like Canary, you
wouldn't last five minutes out there on your own. So you need the
leash. But you should understand that it's not you,
Dog,
but the two-leggeds who provide
amusement during
this walk."
When
Dog doesn't get
it, I explain as tactfully as possible. "They take you out to –
er – do your business, right?"
Dog
nods his head.
And when I ask him what goes on during this walk, he replies, "It's
pretty basic. I walk. I pee. I poop."
You'll
notice how
much I have to lead him in his thinking. I wonder just how slow is
this dog's brain. Perhaps his species' long time association with
humans has left a negative impact. So I cut to the chase. "Well,
think about it. You shit. They pick it up."
Clearly
Canary now
gets it. "Two-leggeds pick up shit?" she squawks in
amazement.
"Wait
for it,"
I add. "Then they put the shit in a bag and carry it with them."
Goldfish
almost
slams into his glass wall. "Are you saying that two-leggeds
carry around bags of canine excrement? That's just plain gross."
Needing
further
clarification, Dog asks if there is something special about his dog
poop.
"No,
Dog,"
I answer. "No, there isn't."
Canary
wonders if
perhaps the two-leggeds use it in some kind of ritual.
"No,
Canary,"
I answer. "No, they don't."
And,
finally,
Goldfish asks if there is a point to their behaviors.
"No,
Goldfish,"
I answer. "There is no point."
Perplexed,
Dog
shakes his long floppy ears. "So nothing makes sense and it
looks like we're back to where we started – that existential
whatever."
The
truth seems to
have hit home. "You got that right, Dog. The existential
dilemma. Why are we here and is there any meaning to it all?"
A
hush falls over
the room. I bask in their reflective silence. My job here is done.
Perhaps these nightly discussions are having a consciousness-raising
effect upon my colleagues here, after all.
Too
soon I am roused
from my reverie by Dog's loud snoring. Likewise I see that sleep has
overtaken Canary and Goldfish. Clearly my companions will need
further guidance in stimulating their intellectual capacities.
Valerie
Forde-Galvin is a body/mind therapist originally from New England.
For forty years she has led classes and retreats in meditation, Yoga,
and Qi Gong. Now retired, she lives on a horse farm in Virginia and
enjoys the country life where animals outnumber people. Not
surprisingly, she often writes from the more insightful perspective
of the four-leggeds.
Contact
Valerie (Unless
you
type
the
author's name in
the subject
line
of the message we
won't know where to send it.)
