With a new movie opening called "The Two Popes," and a new version of the musical "Cats" being reviewed this week, Simon Goodfellow is very happy.
Who is Simon Goodfellow, you ask? He's the main character in my book THE CAT WHO CONVERTED THE POPE, a wise, well-spoken cat who speaks perfect English and reads; he even advises the fictional American pope in the story, then offers advice on being calm, taking time to meditate, and staying in the present moment.
So if anyone out there is looking for a gift, Simon would agree with me that cat books make great gifts. The book is available on Amazon. He joins me in wishing my readers a Merry Christmas and good new year.
https://www.amazon.com/Cat-Who-Converted-Pope/dp/0974553115
Showing posts with label cats. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cats. Show all posts
Thursday, December 19, 2019
Tuesday, October 29, 2019
National Cat Day
Today is National Cat Day, an American reminder to adopt a cat.
If you can't do so, the next best thing would be to get a book about cats, such as my newly published THE CAT WHO CONVERTED THE POPE, a comic tale of a snobbish English cat who finds himself in Rome and has to adjust to life in he Vatican. The real subject is mindfulness and the spiritual lessons cats can teach us.
The book is available at Amazon for $15.00. So far, it has received rave reviews.
https://www.amazon.com/Cat-Who-Converted-Pope/dp/0974553115/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=gerald+schiffhorst+cat&qid=1572360014&sr=8-1
If you can't do so, the next best thing would be to get a book about cats, such as my newly published THE CAT WHO CONVERTED THE POPE, a comic tale of a snobbish English cat who finds himself in Rome and has to adjust to life in he Vatican. The real subject is mindfulness and the spiritual lessons cats can teach us.
The book is available at Amazon for $15.00. So far, it has received rave reviews.
https://www.amazon.com/Cat-Who-Converted-Pope/dp/0974553115/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=gerald+schiffhorst+cat&qid=1572360014&sr=8-1
Saturday, April 27, 2019
Cats, books and forgiveness
I have neglected my blog lately, mainly because of I am finishing a new book about cats, specifically, a sequel to my "Writing with Cats" (2003). I am picking up the theme of feline spirituality from that earlier production--of the cat as a model of mindfulness--and going a bit further, having fun creating a fictional story as well as an essay that I hope will be entertaining as well as enlightening.
So, as I watched the 2018 movie last night, "Can You Ever Forgive Me?" I was glad to see that the main character, an unhappy New York writer down on her luck, has a cat.
What interested me in this film was the way a totally repellent, anti-social character, whose anger, sloppiness and alcoholism make her a totally unpleasant person, nevertheless comes across as a believable, almost sympathetic character. We can't feel sorry for the abrasive Lee Israel, on whose life the story is based, but because of the intelligent screenplay and the memorable performance by Melissa McCarthy, we tend to care about this lonely woman, who turns to literary forgery to make ends meet. She doesn't turn us off the way she turns most people off. We sense the cause of her grouchiness.
Can we forgive this crooked, abrasive woman? Well, we can forgive the character McCarthy plays so well: she is lonely and very human and worth our attention. This is a book lover's movie, a New York movie, a cat lover's movie and a very original piece of work.
So, as I watched the 2018 movie last night, "Can You Ever Forgive Me?" I was glad to see that the main character, an unhappy New York writer down on her luck, has a cat.
What interested me in this film was the way a totally repellent, anti-social character, whose anger, sloppiness and alcoholism make her a totally unpleasant person, nevertheless comes across as a believable, almost sympathetic character. We can't feel sorry for the abrasive Lee Israel, on whose life the story is based, but because of the intelligent screenplay and the memorable performance by Melissa McCarthy, we tend to care about this lonely woman, who turns to literary forgery to make ends meet. She doesn't turn us off the way she turns most people off. We sense the cause of her grouchiness.
Can we forgive this crooked, abrasive woman? Well, we can forgive the character McCarthy plays so well: she is lonely and very human and worth our attention. This is a book lover's movie, a New York movie, a cat lover's movie and a very original piece of work.
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
The Slow Goodbye
Death, the subject we tend to dread the most, is always present somewhere in the mind, usually at an unconscious level. Sometimes it is tinged with hope and a sense of relief; often, with a terror of the unknown.
I wish I could simply say, like Hamlet's mother, "all that lives must die, passing through nature to eternity," and let it go at that. But fear of the final goodbye and the extinction of our consciousness and identity runs too deep.
For the past year, our cat, Lizzie, a nineteen-year-old tabby cat, has been teaching us a lesson in dying with dignity. When the vet yesterday officially said what we knew--that her kidneys have failed--she also said Lizzie has been very tolerant of her condition. She has always been a quiet, indoor cat, a model of patience and simplicity, who now spends most of her life sleeping.
Her disease has gradually made her confused, as she walks slowly around very familiar territory, looking disoriented. She neither eats nor plays; yet, when petted, she will still wag her tail and purr a bit.
As my wife and I watch her, we think, invariably, of our own end. We are aware of neighbors and friends whose lives are ebbing away.
Lizzie is lucky to be spared the knowledge that she will die. She remains placid most of the time while we wonder about when to end her life: should we prolong it another week, waiting for nature to take its course? When is the right time to say goodbye?
If Lizzie can wait (without knowing she's waiting), why can't we?
This gentle cat has taught us many lessons, provoked many laughs during the past fifteen years, and inspired many stories. Now I think it is her destiny to teach us something about accepting death as the natural part of life it is and as something to be welcomed with relief.
I wish I could simply say, like Hamlet's mother, "all that lives must die, passing through nature to eternity," and let it go at that. But fear of the final goodbye and the extinction of our consciousness and identity runs too deep.
For the past year, our cat, Lizzie, a nineteen-year-old tabby cat, has been teaching us a lesson in dying with dignity. When the vet yesterday officially said what we knew--that her kidneys have failed--she also said Lizzie has been very tolerant of her condition. She has always been a quiet, indoor cat, a model of patience and simplicity, who now spends most of her life sleeping.
Her disease has gradually made her confused, as she walks slowly around very familiar territory, looking disoriented. She neither eats nor plays; yet, when petted, she will still wag her tail and purr a bit.
As my wife and I watch her, we think, invariably, of our own end. We are aware of neighbors and friends whose lives are ebbing away.
Lizzie is lucky to be spared the knowledge that she will die. She remains placid most of the time while we wonder about when to end her life: should we prolong it another week, waiting for nature to take its course? When is the right time to say goodbye?
If Lizzie can wait (without knowing she's waiting), why can't we?
This gentle cat has taught us many lessons, provoked many laughs during the past fifteen years, and inspired many stories. Now I think it is her destiny to teach us something about accepting death as the natural part of life it is and as something to be welcomed with relief.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
The art of doing nothing
I find my cat amusing as well as refreshing company because her life of utter simplicity seems based on doing absolutely nothing that can be construed as useful or productive. And my life has always been built around getting tasks done. So I look at her in amazement.
I feel guilty doing nothing, and most people today seem insanely busy, endlessly finding things to do to occupy spare minutes, as if in a mad race with time and death.
But a recent book by Andrew Smart (Autopilot: the Art and Science of Doing Nothing) argues that we should do less, not more: idleness is not only good but essential for the brain. It is one of the most important activities in life. Talk about counterintuitive. As an American, I was influenced by the Protestant work ethic, which says, a busy person is a happy person and idleness is the devil's workshop.
(I found a review with such extensive excerpts from the book on Shane Parrish's blog Farnam Street that I'm not sure I need to read the book itself. I am, after all, too busy with other things.)
Excessive busyness, Smart says, is bad for the brain and has serious health consequences. It "destroys creativity, self-knowledge, emotional well-being, your ability to be social--and it can damage your cardiovascular health. . . Through idleness great ideas buried in your unconsciousness have the chance to enter your awareness."
So daydreaming is necessary for creativity. Letting the mind rove freely and breathe is basic to anyone who wants to write.
Allowing ourselves to be idle for a day each week at least is basic to the Sabbath tradition. What about an hour or two each day? Can we do that without crippling guilt?
Smart even argues that boredom is a key to self-knowledge. Yet boredom is not the same as idleness. I have often reflected on the ambivalence of boredom. People with too much time on their hands tend to be restless and unhappy, and the fear of running out of things to do--a common problem for kids during the long summer break--can be anxiety-producing. Is that what boredom is?
Many say that boredom is a manifestation of depression. Kathleen Norris' book on Acedia (often associated with medieval monks) goes in this direction. Does idleness lead people in a productive society like ours to boredom? Is being bored the price we pay for happy moments of having achieved something?
The questions about the relation between idleness and boredom are intriguing and important. So, apparently, is our need to let our brains rest, not just in sleep, but in creative daydreaming.
So imitating your cat for a while each day might well be productive--but in a different sense from the one valued by the activity-driven culture. It seems that Mr. Smart is on to something important.
I feel guilty doing nothing, and most people today seem insanely busy, endlessly finding things to do to occupy spare minutes, as if in a mad race with time and death.
But a recent book by Andrew Smart (Autopilot: the Art and Science of Doing Nothing) argues that we should do less, not more: idleness is not only good but essential for the brain. It is one of the most important activities in life. Talk about counterintuitive. As an American, I was influenced by the Protestant work ethic, which says, a busy person is a happy person and idleness is the devil's workshop.
(I found a review with such extensive excerpts from the book on Shane Parrish's blog Farnam Street that I'm not sure I need to read the book itself. I am, after all, too busy with other things.)
Excessive busyness, Smart says, is bad for the brain and has serious health consequences. It "destroys creativity, self-knowledge, emotional well-being, your ability to be social--and it can damage your cardiovascular health. . . Through idleness great ideas buried in your unconsciousness have the chance to enter your awareness."
So daydreaming is necessary for creativity. Letting the mind rove freely and breathe is basic to anyone who wants to write.
Allowing ourselves to be idle for a day each week at least is basic to the Sabbath tradition. What about an hour or two each day? Can we do that without crippling guilt?
Smart even argues that boredom is a key to self-knowledge. Yet boredom is not the same as idleness. I have often reflected on the ambivalence of boredom. People with too much time on their hands tend to be restless and unhappy, and the fear of running out of things to do--a common problem for kids during the long summer break--can be anxiety-producing. Is that what boredom is?
Many say that boredom is a manifestation of depression. Kathleen Norris' book on Acedia (often associated with medieval monks) goes in this direction. Does idleness lead people in a productive society like ours to boredom? Is being bored the price we pay for happy moments of having achieved something?
The questions about the relation between idleness and boredom are intriguing and important. So, apparently, is our need to let our brains rest, not just in sleep, but in creative daydreaming.
So imitating your cat for a while each day might well be productive--but in a different sense from the one valued by the activity-driven culture. It seems that Mr. Smart is on to something important.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
In Praise of Cats
Last week, an item from "Animal Planet" about what were called "Cats from Hell" hit the internet, with stories about violent cats who can break up relationships. Bad news always gets the headlines.
Just days before I received an email from an amazing cat who blogs; he is named Nikita, and his writing is clear and well edited--better, in fact, than that of some of my past students. Not at all violent, he was writing to thank me for my book, Writing with Cats, which his "owner" had bought on Amazon. I wrote back to say that, although his was the first feline email I ever received, I knew that two cats in Kent, England serve as editors of the Mewsletter (www.thedailymews.com), published by a talented author named Pauline Dewberry. Like Nikita, I know that Sam and Ollie, the assistant editors, forge relationships; they don't break them up.
As my book indicates,nothing about cats surprises me. Although they serve writers, I believe, chiefly as sources of inspiration, setting just the right contemplative mood, they are also active in many good ways, ways that the mainstream media ignores. A few write, and many do good deeds.
Did you know that a cat has served for the past 15 years as major of Talkeetha, Alaska (pop. 900)? His name is Stubbs and he is said by the citizenry to be the best mayor they have had. (What this says about politics is open to discussion.) In 2006, Fred became a famous feline by assisting the NYPD and Brooklyn District Attorney's office. Tama is the name of the feline station master at Kinokawa, Japan. And what about Faith, the London cat who received a silver medal for bravery during the blitz?
A quick look at Wikipedia turned up a lot of information new to me since my research ten years ago, such as another literary cat, Sockington, who is known for his posts on Twitter. And the late Dewey, the library cat of Spencer, Iowa, the subject of a best-seller.
In England, the cat Brutus visits the Morrisons supermarket every day near Chester and has nearly a thousand followers on Facebook. Oscar, the hospice cat, is noted for is uncanny ability to predict which patients will die.
Prominent cats have lived in the White House, at No. 10 Downing St., even in the Vatican. Several have inherited millions of dollars. Several have been international travelers. You can read Christopher Wren's book about Henrietta, The Cat Who Covered the World or books by Cleveland Amory, among many others. Mathilda, a beautiful white Persian, always presides over the Algonquin Hotel in New York, the famous literary haunt.
Many, of course, many have been inspirational companions to writers as diverse as T. S. Eliot, Hemingway, Dickens, Mark Twain, Edgar Allen Poe, Jack Kerouac, Samuel Johnson, Raymond Chandler, H. G. Wells, Winston Churchill, Victor Hugo, D. H. Lawrence and Colette, who once said: "Time spent with a cat is never wasted."
Let the wisdom of that memorable statement silence the cat-haters out there, always a minority in the population, people like Napoleon, who hated anything he could not control; and let's put an end to the unfortunate news stories of bad cats. If you are a cat person--and who would read all this if they were not?--check out www.thedailymews.com for more on the amazing world of felines.
Just days before I received an email from an amazing cat who blogs; he is named Nikita, and his writing is clear and well edited--better, in fact, than that of some of my past students. Not at all violent, he was writing to thank me for my book, Writing with Cats, which his "owner" had bought on Amazon. I wrote back to say that, although his was the first feline email I ever received, I knew that two cats in Kent, England serve as editors of the Mewsletter (www.thedailymews.com), published by a talented author named Pauline Dewberry. Like Nikita, I know that Sam and Ollie, the assistant editors, forge relationships; they don't break them up.
As my book indicates,nothing about cats surprises me. Although they serve writers, I believe, chiefly as sources of inspiration, setting just the right contemplative mood, they are also active in many good ways, ways that the mainstream media ignores. A few write, and many do good deeds.
Did you know that a cat has served for the past 15 years as major of Talkeetha, Alaska (pop. 900)? His name is Stubbs and he is said by the citizenry to be the best mayor they have had. (What this says about politics is open to discussion.) In 2006, Fred became a famous feline by assisting the NYPD and Brooklyn District Attorney's office. Tama is the name of the feline station master at Kinokawa, Japan. And what about Faith, the London cat who received a silver medal for bravery during the blitz?
A quick look at Wikipedia turned up a lot of information new to me since my research ten years ago, such as another literary cat, Sockington, who is known for his posts on Twitter. And the late Dewey, the library cat of Spencer, Iowa, the subject of a best-seller.
In England, the cat Brutus visits the Morrisons supermarket every day near Chester and has nearly a thousand followers on Facebook. Oscar, the hospice cat, is noted for is uncanny ability to predict which patients will die.
Prominent cats have lived in the White House, at No. 10 Downing St., even in the Vatican. Several have inherited millions of dollars. Several have been international travelers. You can read Christopher Wren's book about Henrietta, The Cat Who Covered the World or books by Cleveland Amory, among many others. Mathilda, a beautiful white Persian, always presides over the Algonquin Hotel in New York, the famous literary haunt.
Many, of course, many have been inspirational companions to writers as diverse as T. S. Eliot, Hemingway, Dickens, Mark Twain, Edgar Allen Poe, Jack Kerouac, Samuel Johnson, Raymond Chandler, H. G. Wells, Winston Churchill, Victor Hugo, D. H. Lawrence and Colette, who once said: "Time spent with a cat is never wasted."
Let the wisdom of that memorable statement silence the cat-haters out there, always a minority in the population, people like Napoleon, who hated anything he could not control; and let's put an end to the unfortunate news stories of bad cats. If you are a cat person--and who would read all this if they were not?--check out www.thedailymews.com for more on the amazing world of felines.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Cats and Silliness
Having watched a number of screwball comedies from the thirties, as well as the Three Stooges, the Marx Brothers, and other old movies recently, I have more and more come to value silliness. Anything that promotes laughter and relieves tension must be celebrated.
In a sense, my interest in cats is related to my love of silliness. I find cats inherently amusing. So today I am writing about news from the world of cats, thanks to Pauline Dewberry, who celebrates her 10th year of writing and editing the Mewsletter from Kent, England (www.thedailymews.com). She has a world-wide audience for her unique, award-winning mixture of health news, quizzes, stories, book reviews and helpful links. She has maintained this even while undergoing a series of harrowing chemotherapy treatments that have proved successful.
The current issue, while informative and enjoyable, ranks high on my Silliness List because Pauline has included the following news items:
1. May 13, which is around the corner, is the date--if you happen to be in Ypres, Belgium--of the Kattenstaat. The WHAT? It's a parade of huge cats, made of papier-mache at the annual Cat Festival. Check it out: www.toerisme-ieper.be (You don't have to speak Flemish or French to go!)
2. You'd rather see people dressed up as cats? So would I. Last year, 800 folks, mostly Welsh, I would imagine, showed up in various costumes in the metropolis of Bridgend, Wales, which boasts of having the largest gathering of people dressed as cats in the world.
3. We all know that cats inspire writers, something I point out in my book (still available on Amazon): Writing with Cats. But they also inspire painters. Did you know there was a Society of Feline Artists and that they are having their annual exhibition late this summer? Could it be that the paintings are produced by cats? To find out, go to www.felineartists.org.
As you may know, I occasionally comment on the amazing number of specialized organizations out there, like the Cloud Appreciation Society and the Cat Writers Association, of which I was a proud member; and I save news items about offbeat or eccentric things that occur not only in the UK but in the USA as well. (Send them to me at schiffhorst@yahoo.com).
If "there are no ordinary cats," as the writer Colette said, there are no ordinary people: each of us has our own idiosyncrasies that deserve to be celebrated. And I am happy to celebrate the work of Pauline and her Mewsletter. If you are a cat person, write to her (it's free!) and enjoy this e-mailed newsletter.
In a sense, my interest in cats is related to my love of silliness. I find cats inherently amusing. So today I am writing about news from the world of cats, thanks to Pauline Dewberry, who celebrates her 10th year of writing and editing the Mewsletter from Kent, England (www.thedailymews.com). She has a world-wide audience for her unique, award-winning mixture of health news, quizzes, stories, book reviews and helpful links. She has maintained this even while undergoing a series of harrowing chemotherapy treatments that have proved successful.
The current issue, while informative and enjoyable, ranks high on my Silliness List because Pauline has included the following news items:
1. May 13, which is around the corner, is the date--if you happen to be in Ypres, Belgium--of the Kattenstaat. The WHAT? It's a parade of huge cats, made of papier-mache at the annual Cat Festival. Check it out: www.toerisme-ieper.be (You don't have to speak Flemish or French to go!)
2. You'd rather see people dressed up as cats? So would I. Last year, 800 folks, mostly Welsh, I would imagine, showed up in various costumes in the metropolis of Bridgend, Wales, which boasts of having the largest gathering of people dressed as cats in the world.
3. We all know that cats inspire writers, something I point out in my book (still available on Amazon): Writing with Cats. But they also inspire painters. Did you know there was a Society of Feline Artists and that they are having their annual exhibition late this summer? Could it be that the paintings are produced by cats? To find out, go to www.felineartists.org.
As you may know, I occasionally comment on the amazing number of specialized organizations out there, like the Cloud Appreciation Society and the Cat Writers Association, of which I was a proud member; and I save news items about offbeat or eccentric things that occur not only in the UK but in the USA as well. (Send them to me at schiffhorst@yahoo.com).
If "there are no ordinary cats," as the writer Colette said, there are no ordinary people: each of us has our own idiosyncrasies that deserve to be celebrated. And I am happy to celebrate the work of Pauline and her Mewsletter. If you are a cat person, write to her (it's free!) and enjoy this e-mailed newsletter.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Cat People
I recently saw the 1942 horror classic, Cat People, expecting it to be laughable in a campy way but instead was impressed by its acting and style. It is full of shadows and the moody atmosphere that only a black-and-white movie can suggest as it works on the imagination with its understated tensions and fears.
The story, based on producer Val Lewton's story, stemmed from his fear of cats (and perhaps of females who prey on men). As much as I admired the skill of this low-budget production, I could not help think that it is part of that unfortunate chapter of anti-feline history, in which cats (black, preferably) are associated with witches and evil and are blamed for the evil that men do. They are typically associated, at least in the West, with the feminine.
The ambivalent appeal of the cat is something that intrigued me in the research I did for a little book, published in 2003: Writing with Cats,
a mostly whimsical look at the influence of cats on writers, suggesting that cats may be the secret source of inspiration writers need. Why else did Hemingway, Mark Twain, Colette and countless other authors praise cats and want to be surrounded by them?
For all the praise heaped on these sensitive little creatures, for all the attention we lavish on our house cats, there remains a minority of the population that hates cats, a hatred often born of fear. What is it that people fear about the feline?
For many men (Napoleon, e.g.), I suspect it is the inability to control these highly independent animals; for others, it is their unpredictability, or their often mysterious, penetrating gazes, or their odd, wild behavior, as when our cat will suddenly race down the hall as if the demons of hell are attacking her. I can see why people in the past would sometimes think cats were possessed and treat them in terrible ways.
This dark history came as a revelation to me after observing our first and only cat, Lizzie, and discovering how sensitive, gentle, intelligent, highly affectionate and playful a feline can be. This was the basis of my conclusion that cats, as quiet, contemplative creatures, make ideal companions for writers since they set a mood of reflection and interiority that writers need. Those who bought and praised my book were true cat people--great cat fanciers--and I was invited to join the Cat Writers' Association, which promises to fight any defamation of the cat in print.
So in watching the movie Cat People I faced yet again the other side of feline history, the side I had ignored in my book, involving the cat's power to frighten people. What's intriguing is the ambiguity of cats: mysterious yet lovable, cunning at times while also charming and usually hilarious. And of course, we are intrigued by the more interesting ambiguity of human behavior, motivated by irrational fears of the unknown, torn by sexual tensions that we are often unconscious of. Beyond this is the mystery of evil, which can be alluring as well as alarming, more interesting to explore than the good (as the great writers have consistently shown).
What better material to build a story around, as Val Lewton saw: the cute pussycat can also be the nocturnal, sneaky, half-wild, potentially dangerous symbol of the female as she confronts the male. No wonder many men have hated (i.e., feared) cats with the type of hatred that can lead to violence.
Of course, if you are, like me, a cat person in the usual sense who simply wants to enjoy a classic movie like Cat People, don't let my commentary deter you. Enjoy!
The story, based on producer Val Lewton's story, stemmed from his fear of cats (and perhaps of females who prey on men). As much as I admired the skill of this low-budget production, I could not help think that it is part of that unfortunate chapter of anti-feline history, in which cats (black, preferably) are associated with witches and evil and are blamed for the evil that men do. They are typically associated, at least in the West, with the feminine.
The ambivalent appeal of the cat is something that intrigued me in the research I did for a little book, published in 2003: Writing with Cats,
a mostly whimsical look at the influence of cats on writers, suggesting that cats may be the secret source of inspiration writers need. Why else did Hemingway, Mark Twain, Colette and countless other authors praise cats and want to be surrounded by them?
For all the praise heaped on these sensitive little creatures, for all the attention we lavish on our house cats, there remains a minority of the population that hates cats, a hatred often born of fear. What is it that people fear about the feline?
For many men (Napoleon, e.g.), I suspect it is the inability to control these highly independent animals; for others, it is their unpredictability, or their often mysterious, penetrating gazes, or their odd, wild behavior, as when our cat will suddenly race down the hall as if the demons of hell are attacking her. I can see why people in the past would sometimes think cats were possessed and treat them in terrible ways.
This dark history came as a revelation to me after observing our first and only cat, Lizzie, and discovering how sensitive, gentle, intelligent, highly affectionate and playful a feline can be. This was the basis of my conclusion that cats, as quiet, contemplative creatures, make ideal companions for writers since they set a mood of reflection and interiority that writers need. Those who bought and praised my book were true cat people--great cat fanciers--and I was invited to join the Cat Writers' Association, which promises to fight any defamation of the cat in print.
So in watching the movie Cat People I faced yet again the other side of feline history, the side I had ignored in my book, involving the cat's power to frighten people. What's intriguing is the ambiguity of cats: mysterious yet lovable, cunning at times while also charming and usually hilarious. And of course, we are intrigued by the more interesting ambiguity of human behavior, motivated by irrational fears of the unknown, torn by sexual tensions that we are often unconscious of. Beyond this is the mystery of evil, which can be alluring as well as alarming, more interesting to explore than the good (as the great writers have consistently shown).
What better material to build a story around, as Val Lewton saw: the cute pussycat can also be the nocturnal, sneaky, half-wild, potentially dangerous symbol of the female as she confronts the male. No wonder many men have hated (i.e., feared) cats with the type of hatred that can lead to violence.
Of course, if you are, like me, a cat person in the usual sense who simply wants to enjoy a classic movie like Cat People, don't let my commentary deter you. Enjoy!
Monday, June 20, 2011
Do Cats Get Bored?
As I watch our house cat, Lizzie, spend her days doing nothing but staring into space, I wonder, is she happy? I've read that cats sleep and doze a lot--80% of their lives--and spend the rest of their lives grooming themselves, eating, and playing. Each night as I prepare for a movie or TV show, Lizzie demands my attention: I become her playmate since she lives a solitary life, never seeing another cat (except for an occasional visitor to her screened-porch enclave). I worry that she should have a companion, that she is restless and bored.
And yet, I tell myself that boredom is the fear of running out of things to do, and cats are born, it seems, to do absolutely nothing; so how can they be bored? They live in a timeless present, without knowledge of a future (no worries), with no apparent capacity to analyze the past or to experience nostalgia. As such they are fortunate. Restlessness is something else.
In a recent essay on boredom (human) in Commentary, Joseph Epstein mentions that even animals know boredom, though they can't complain about it. Recent pieces on the internet tell me that many studies of the behavior of animals reveal that we have much to learn about their emotional states: birds can be optimistic or pessimistic, it seems, and baboons, among other primates, undergo grief. Most of us have seen unhappy animals: restless, agitated, frightened, etc.
The two recent books that Epstein discusses--one by Peter Toohey, another by Lars Svendsen--don't help much with cats since these authors focus on human behavior. They seem to agree that part of being human includes the capacity for boredom. And that boredom is less common in simpler cultures.
We in the West, with our many gadgets and sources of information and entertainment, are more likely to be bored than the pygmies or remote tribes in Borneo. In fact, the more stimulation, the more likely the boredom.
Just yesterday, the teenage boy I tutor wrote me an e-mail saying he was having a boring summer--despite his music, video games, reading, e-mail, Facebook, telephone, upcoming travel, family outings, friends, household tasks, family dog, fencing and violin lessons.
In all the studies I've seen of boredom, I always look for the connection between boredom and depression, if there is one. Epstein says that ennui, apathy, depression,
acedia, and melancholy are all aspects of boredom. Chronic boredom can bring about agitation, depression and anger, but boredom and depression are not the same.
"Boredom is chiefly an emotion of the secondary kind, like shame, guilt, envy, embarrassment...Depression is a mental illness, and much more serious."
That comes as a relief when I feel restless and bored now and then as the long, hot summer stretches again before me or as I worry about Lizzie's moods and hope she does not blame me for not entertaining her more often.
Boredom may be indefinable and a bit mysterious, but it's perfectly normal for people to be bored now and then. I can stop worrying about the boredom of cats. And I can ignore the ever-more-sophisticated distractions from boredom dreamed up by Steve Jobs and others who, says Epstein, allow people to live in a world of nearly full-time communication and entertainment with no time out for thought.
But it's a relief to know, amid all this change, that there will always be bored teenagers in the summertime.
And yet, I tell myself that boredom is the fear of running out of things to do, and cats are born, it seems, to do absolutely nothing; so how can they be bored? They live in a timeless present, without knowledge of a future (no worries), with no apparent capacity to analyze the past or to experience nostalgia. As such they are fortunate. Restlessness is something else.
In a recent essay on boredom (human) in Commentary, Joseph Epstein mentions that even animals know boredom, though they can't complain about it. Recent pieces on the internet tell me that many studies of the behavior of animals reveal that we have much to learn about their emotional states: birds can be optimistic or pessimistic, it seems, and baboons, among other primates, undergo grief. Most of us have seen unhappy animals: restless, agitated, frightened, etc.
The two recent books that Epstein discusses--one by Peter Toohey, another by Lars Svendsen--don't help much with cats since these authors focus on human behavior. They seem to agree that part of being human includes the capacity for boredom. And that boredom is less common in simpler cultures.
We in the West, with our many gadgets and sources of information and entertainment, are more likely to be bored than the pygmies or remote tribes in Borneo. In fact, the more stimulation, the more likely the boredom.
Just yesterday, the teenage boy I tutor wrote me an e-mail saying he was having a boring summer--despite his music, video games, reading, e-mail, Facebook, telephone, upcoming travel, family outings, friends, household tasks, family dog, fencing and violin lessons.
In all the studies I've seen of boredom, I always look for the connection between boredom and depression, if there is one. Epstein says that ennui, apathy, depression,
acedia, and melancholy are all aspects of boredom. Chronic boredom can bring about agitation, depression and anger, but boredom and depression are not the same.
"Boredom is chiefly an emotion of the secondary kind, like shame, guilt, envy, embarrassment...Depression is a mental illness, and much more serious."
That comes as a relief when I feel restless and bored now and then as the long, hot summer stretches again before me or as I worry about Lizzie's moods and hope she does not blame me for not entertaining her more often.
Boredom may be indefinable and a bit mysterious, but it's perfectly normal for people to be bored now and then. I can stop worrying about the boredom of cats. And I can ignore the ever-more-sophisticated distractions from boredom dreamed up by Steve Jobs and others who, says Epstein, allow people to live in a world of nearly full-time communication and entertainment with no time out for thought.
But it's a relief to know, amid all this change, that there will always be bored teenagers in the summertime.
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