Trying to understand myself is a lifelong process
Thursday, 13 May 2021 12:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
carose59Whenever You Look At An Insane Man, All You See Is A Reflection Of Your Own Knowledge That He's Insane, Which Is Not To See Him At All. To See Him You Must See What He Saw.*
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I have read that there is no such thing as a domesticated cat.
Unlike dogs, who humans deliberately tamed and trained to be companions, cats came to humans because we stored grain. And where there is stored grain, there are vermin. We simultaneously created a storehouse for our food and one for theirs. And there was no overlap; the cats didn’t want our grain. They wanted the things that were eating our grain. So, win/win, right?
On top of that, the grain storehouses would have been safer hunting grounds than the great outdoors. Another plus for the cats.
For the humans, there was the cat’s configuration. They’re soft. Their fur is attractive. Human brains are designed to react tenderly to animals with big eyes. (This is to prevent the murder of infants.) Cats have very large eyes in proportion to their faces. They make a pleasant purring sound. They’re graceful.
All of these things added up to us wanting cats around, and cats wanting to be around us.
But unlike dogs, we didn’t tame them, and we didn’t train them. Instead, we adapted to each other.
What it came down to was, cats who could tolerate humans had a safer, steadier food supply. They had better living conditions. They thrived.
Cats who couldn’t tolerate humans died out.
Except, I feel like they didn’t. I come from a long line of women who descended from those cats who couldn’t tolerate humans. We sit on the edge, watching as others are petted and loved, and we want that, only the need to step back and say, “This is too much, I have to go, I’m sorry I came” is stronger. We endure what we can—even when we’re enjoying it, we’re still enduring it—but at some point it’s too much.
And at some point we learn that we’re going to have to leave, so we stop coming. It’s disappointing to the humans, but just as disappointing is when we show up and then leave. And it’s harder to extricate than to never get entangled.
And, once again, I have described the problem, but I have no idea what the solution is, except that, no matter how wonderful a human you are, my unadapted catness needs space away from you. Even when I’m sad and lonely and need comfort.
And I’m sorry about that.
*Robert Pirsig
-:- -:- -:- -:-
I have read that there is no such thing as a domesticated cat.
Unlike dogs, who humans deliberately tamed and trained to be companions, cats came to humans because we stored grain. And where there is stored grain, there are vermin. We simultaneously created a storehouse for our food and one for theirs. And there was no overlap; the cats didn’t want our grain. They wanted the things that were eating our grain. So, win/win, right?
On top of that, the grain storehouses would have been safer hunting grounds than the great outdoors. Another plus for the cats.
For the humans, there was the cat’s configuration. They’re soft. Their fur is attractive. Human brains are designed to react tenderly to animals with big eyes. (This is to prevent the murder of infants.) Cats have very large eyes in proportion to their faces. They make a pleasant purring sound. They’re graceful.
All of these things added up to us wanting cats around, and cats wanting to be around us.
But unlike dogs, we didn’t tame them, and we didn’t train them. Instead, we adapted to each other.
What it came down to was, cats who could tolerate humans had a safer, steadier food supply. They had better living conditions. They thrived.
Cats who couldn’t tolerate humans died out.
Except, I feel like they didn’t. I come from a long line of women who descended from those cats who couldn’t tolerate humans. We sit on the edge, watching as others are petted and loved, and we want that, only the need to step back and say, “This is too much, I have to go, I’m sorry I came” is stronger. We endure what we can—even when we’re enjoying it, we’re still enduring it—but at some point it’s too much.
And at some point we learn that we’re going to have to leave, so we stop coming. It’s disappointing to the humans, but just as disappointing is when we show up and then leave. And it’s harder to extricate than to never get entangled.
And, once again, I have described the problem, but I have no idea what the solution is, except that, no matter how wonderful a human you are, my unadapted catness needs space away from you. Even when I’m sad and lonely and need comfort.
And I’m sorry about that.
*Robert Pirsig