Animals

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species into a myriad breeds many of whom would be lucky to survive for more
than a week in the wild. I may be wrong but a snotty, gasping little creature
like a pug with its appalling sinus problems has no evolutionary niche apart
from the second floor of a high rise apartment. A Shih Tzu – that most onomatopoeic
of breeds – commonly suffers from hypothyroidism, intervertebral disk disease
and breathing problems which probably prevent it from hunting further afield
that the more expensive suburbs of Beverly Hills.
Whereas your common working dog is definite utilitarian and worthy of respect.
Even the Corgi, much favoured by the Royals can be a fine cattle dog, historically
used to move cattle from Wales to the Smithfield Meat Market in London. I must
admit that the partnership between man and dog in a sheep dog trial or in a
high country muster is a thing of sublime beauty when you see the fantastic
understanding between two species in controlling large numbers of chops covered
in wool.
But after the hardships of a life in the office or factory floor, or the stress
of family relationships what could be more accepting of oneself as a loved person
than the adoration of a Pomeranian, parrot or pachyderm?
Whilst not a pet or animal person myself I seen to have had reluctant acquaintance
with more than a few species. But never a dog – somehow their dependence,
their drooling needs are not for me. Though perhaps a Newfoundland would have
the annoyance factor of rescuing children from the surf whether they wanted
it or not. What havoc one could cause at the Torquay Surf Carnival!
What I do not understand, or have any idea of, is the concept of animal consciousness;
whether they reflect on themselves in a way like us. We humans regard our self-awareness
as that which defines us from all other species. We look at other humans and
believe that, even if we cannot understand why they do some things, that we
at least share the same sense of self. We are defined by common and shared pasts,
we have histories and encode memories in written histories.
It may well be true that dolphins are smarter than we are but not unless they
get out of the pool and argue aesthetics are they going to be taken seriously.
Jumping through hoops for sardines doesn’t cut the mustard in the world
of Schopenhauer and Spinoza unless the late Douglas Adams was right.
Currently our house is blessed, if that is the word, with one elderly and just
surviving cat, a neurotic Birman, who would be approximately ninety-two years
old in human years. This makes her slightly older than either of my parents.
The animal sleeps more than twenty hours a day. This must be some sort of a
life but it does demonstrate an alarming lack of curiosity; the remaining few
hours are spent in eating, being groomed and randomly defecating. She intermittently
makes a noise that is a cross between nun being tortured, a cockatoo on heat
and a Junkers JU 87 ‘Stuka’ dive bomber, a cry that will penetrate
several closed doors and raise the dead. I am told that this indicates not that
she is crazy but that she wants something, usually to sit on one’s lap
for either comfort or to find refuge from the cold. My own opinion is that it
is because the breed has one of the lowest levels of genetic diversity and she
is expressing her inner Tasmanian. It is the same attention-getting behaviour
that a baby, or someone in the deep throes of senility. Fortunately as emotional
tears are a uniquely human trait she cannot resort to them.
As the aphorism goes, “Dogs have masters, cats have servants,” and
this is true of all the cats that I have known.
Whilst all cat owners protest that their moggy would never kill anything they
all do and have wreaked havoc on this and may other country’s unprepared
wildlife. Even Birmans are ferocious and effective hunters and bells around
their necks make no difference unless it weighed 17 tonnes like the “Great
Paul” in the southwest tower of St. Paul’s Cathedral. (If they go feral,
and many do, they grow into legends and are mistaken for leopards by the short-sighted
and dim of wit. There is one that features regularly in our local Gazette to
most people’s amusement.)
Strangely one of the saddest moments in my life concerned an animal, in this
case a large bay gelding, an ex-racehorse and very old in years who had given
good service and companionship. It came to be my decision whether he should
be put down or not as the hills were steep, his legs were frail and winter was
approaching. He slowly made his way up the rise and laid his large head on my
shoulder and his deep brown eyes looked into mine. I sometimes think he knew
but there seemed to be an understanding between us. As I said emotional tears
are a uniquely human trait so only one of use was in tears when we parted never
to see each other again.

*Experts (?) generally
agree that the first two years of a cat’s life are roughly equal to the first
25 of a human’s. Thereafter, each additional year equals approximately
four ‘cat years’.