I see by the morning paper that the humans are fighting again over a territory. This one is called Gaza.
What is the problem? I, Sherlock, am here to explain it, for if there is one thing I understand, it's territory, the other things being food, sex, and safety in that order. Then comfort, of course, but that's a luxury. How do I know so much? By instinct, which means, I am born knowing what to do, and my brain doesn't get in the way.
That's the trouble with people right there, big brains, and the fact that they use them to create weapons. This is somewhat understandable, since they don't have any claws. If you don't have claws you end up using teeth, which is what is wrong with dogs, one thing wrong, anyway. If you don't have teeth, it's worse - you revert to the brain, and that's where people get in trouble.
We cats don't have these long, extended wars over territory. That's ridiculous in a world where there is plenty of it. To start with, if you're going to make your way in this world as a wandering tom, you learn to evaluate the guy who's living in the territory now. You don't pick fights you're bound to lose. Hamas could take note of this.
Second, if you do fight, it's win or lose, not draw. Someone gets beat up and limps away. Does he hang around the edge, looking for another chance to get beat up? Not unless he's been human in a recent life. He goes off and keeps looking. There are lots of territories in the world. A cat doesn't have space in his brain to hold some Idea about "That's my people's Historical Territory," for history isn't real.
Also, a cat fights alone. He doesn't belong to some group of cats, but to all cats, and also to none.
Nor does a cat think, "That's My Holy Land." All land is holy and all land is his, if he can defend it. But he doesn't need to own everything. You can only range so widely. This is another advantage of not having a brain that creates powered vehicles and satellite spys and stuff. For us cats, it's about how much land you can roam and mark every day.
It's so simple, that's why humans can't get it. I've observed that the bigger your brain, the harder it is to see the simple things. I don't know what to think then about elephants and whales, except they have a lot of body to take care of with that big brain. That's okay. I don't need my theories to make sense. I'm zen.
Nesta is calling for me to come look out the front window to see the birds on the feeder. She is happy we're home. She meows these short snappy soft sounds of delight. . . . Here is a picture of her birdwatching on an ordinary day.
Sherlock's commentary: The cat sleeps happily in the sun, Unconcerned about shadow, Contented, nothing to gain. People could learn from that, but will they?
This morning while we were meditating, a Mu walked past the windows and down the garden path. Muuuu mom said. She is pretty predictable.
I don't talk as much. Therefore I noticed when the Mu turned around and stretched that it has a little white blaze on its chest. Ahh, I thought, it is like Suzuki Roshi said, the white screen in your mind will always have some stain on it. Same with black. They like to think of themselves as black cats, but there are always a few white hairs. So nobody should be too proud.
Thanks to Daron Larson for sending on this beautiful poem.
Against Certainty by Jane Hirschfield, from After There is something out in the dark that wants to correct us. Each time I think "this," it answers "that." Answers hard, in the heart-grammar's strictness.
If I then say "that," it too is taken away.
Between certainty and the real, an ancient enmity. When the cat waits in the path-hedge, no cell of her body is not waiting. This is how she is able so completely to disappear.
I would like to enter the silent portion as she does.
To live amid the great vanishing as a cat must live, one shadow fully at ease inside another.
Dear Sherlock, I am sending a couple of pics to show you a little about my life here. Mom brought home this dog and Barb brought the dog a bed. Well, I showed them who is the alpha animal here and plopped right down princess style in the middle of that thing. Is it ever comfortable and it's MINE.
Then this fake Christmas dog appeared and Mom wanted a picture. Well as long as it's fake I'll do it to please her but, as you can tell, I thought it was stupid.
Hope your day was peaceful. Be grateful you don't have a big macho cat and a dog to interfere with your plans. Mariah
Sherlock's reply. First of all, if you think I'm publishing the picture of you in bed for every tomcat on the planet to see, think again. You are old enough to know better. I must say, you are pretty good-looking for an old cat.
I don't know how I can help you with your life. You have to live with another cat and a dog? Obviously you've made mistakes along the way, not put your paw down when you should have. Your choices are limited. You're pretty old to take off and look for a new owner, believe me, that doesn't always work out well. And you look too self-willed to really accept them and make the best of it. All you can do now is bite someone, I guess. Sherlock
Well, Dalai Grandma is trying to write a post about spiritual practice, so I thought I'd put in a few notes. Thanks, Gini, for telling us about this video.
Will this turn out like so many internet romances, a disappointment when you actually get together? No, because neither one of us goes out. Anyway, they took away my masculine parts a long time ago without asking my opinion.
So we are fated to love from afar, like Dante and Beatrice. (I'm not called The World's Most Educated Cat for nothing.)
Well friends, it's breaking news. In my post titled "The bailout: A cat's perspective" I recommended -
. . . the Fed might as well do it. They have huge copy machines, I saw them on TV. They can make all the moneys they want just like that. So give them the money.
And that is exactly what the Fed has decided to do, having spent some time thinking over my advice. Today's front-page story in The NY Times says:
. . . the Fed bluntly announced that it would print as much money as necessary to revive the frozen credit markets . . .
Now, I know that you're wondering what this means for you and your cats. I would not presume to predict, except to say, go out and stock up on catfood and litter while money is still worth something. You won't regret it.
As a cute orange cat, I can relax with the best of them. I find it is easy to look serene and tranquil. I am a tad bit dismayed that relaxing seems to be your only activity. Are there no pics of you in motion? Are your eyes ever open? I myself prefer buff, expressive cats.
Please tell me you are an active and involved cat.
Sincerely,
Pekoe Louise Stickertongue Pi
Dear Pekoe - God, you woman cats. Is this how it's going to be, you falling all over me, no interest in philosophy?
You didn't attach a photo.
Buff, expressive cats. I would have thought somebody with a middle name of Louise would be more refined. Sherlock
Dear Sherlock, Be patient, I will get my slave to send you a better one, once I make my final selection. She is a little slow on the computer, but expect it today or tomorrow.
I like a well rounded cat, not just an idea cat. I believe that a little physical exercise increases the flow of ideas. Makes the diet cat food taste a little better too.
What are you reading these days? I, myself, am reading up on the Mouseketeers, but I have not got to the good part yet. Keep in touch, and think about paw touches.
Pekoe
Dear Pekoe, I do exercise, but my woman uses this cell-cam that is very slow, so all she gets is a blur. She has sworn to upgrade.
I am still reading Archy and Mehitabel. I am not so fond of cockroaches (Archy), but Mehitabel - now there was a cat who knew how to enjoy life! That's where I learned French. Toujours gai was Mehitabel's motto.
Paw touches. Be sure to send me that picture. Sherlock
My humans may look at my beautiful pink buddha belly but they may NOT touch.
Your faithful reader
Lu (not to be confused with MU) [photographer: Kit Spahr]
Dear Lu, Thank you for writing.
Your photo answers once and for all the vital question, can a female reach enlightenment? I have never seen a better example of the perfectly natural. Obviously you feel free to be yourself, to express yourself fully, fearlessly. Even when there's a camera around. You might want to think about that before your belly ends up plastered all over Facebook.
Can a female attain enlightenment? The question itself - I know, I'm the one who brought it up - demonstrates a misconception. All cats are naturally enlightened. That's why you don't see us chasing Frisbees.
I'm glad you are sitting. You might want to give thought to your posture. Sherlock
Recently, a human visitor to my home said - her voice full of admiration - That is the most contented cat I've ever seen. I wish I could relax like that. And so on. It was plain that she wanted to know my secret to happiness. I will try to answer, even though I suppose I'm going to sound like one of those Buddha cats. It can't be helped. I am what I am.
First of all, what do I have to be unhappy about? I have a pretty cushy life. Warm, dry, safe, well-fed, hardly ever screamed at. I have my own private litterbox and a sizable territory in which I am the only cat. I am the center of this world, universally admired for my talent and beauty. These things don't hurt.
But it's a fact that a lot of cats who have all that are still not happy. If they're out, they want in. If they're in, they want out. If they're not allowed out, like me, they won't accept it, but keep trying to rush the door and getting squished in the process. They have plenty to eat, yet they make their owners miserable winding around their ankles in the kitchen meowing pathetically, not willing to wait a minute for their bit of the fish. Every meow seems to say, Want.Want. There's the problem. Those cats are victims of their craving.
I'm not saying a cat shouldn't crave a treat now and then, or be curious about what's on the other side of the door. The thing is not to be obsessed with what you want. That's called ambition - a human trait that can rub off on their animals, and it isn't pretty.
If you cultivate detachment and aren't grabby, all sorts of rare and interesting things naturally come your way. I always like to point out that it's in the posture. Nine times out of ten, if you just sit watching your humans eat, paws together neatly, and stare up at them with large, beautiful eyes, as if you could speak, they will cave.
If they don't, you'll live. You don't have to win every time. Kittens don't believe that, but it's true.
So the bailout is stalled again. Why am I not surprised?
I wouldn't want to give the impression that I care what goes on in the television, but it's mildly interesting, and what else would a cat write about? Mom surprised me while I was napping so I bit her and she got mad. How interesting is that?
I do have my own perspective on this Big Three bailout, dating to the time in my reckless youth when I was a wandering tom and joined a feral community. Feral cats are regular domestic cats that are hoboes. We stay for a while in a sort of community wherever there is a reliable food source. If I have one regret in life, it's that I have never lived on a Greek fishing island. But this wasn't too bad, a camp that rented out to various kids' groups. I will say, you can easily get your fill of kittens, all that whining.
The female cats had a certain sort of organization by the dumpsters, each one having her own little territory. But they would form friendships too, sitting together, rubbing faces.
Male cats now, we are a different story. We don't need to cooperate to kill, and certainly not to mate, and we don't believe in sharing. It's a mancat thing. Someone that can't catch his own mouse is out of luck.
You are wondering, what does that have to do with the political squalling going on over the bailout? Think of it this way. The Democrats are like female cats. Cooperative. Well, somewhat. Always worried about feeding the kids. And The Republicans are like male cats. The biggest toughest cat gets the wren. Share? You're kidding.
So what's so unusual about that Illinois governor, anyway? It has to amaze you, how human beings are always making up rules that fly in the face of instinct.
I, Sherlock, actually have a domain called zencat.com, though I haven’t figured out how to get up on it yet. The filing cabinet is easier.
People sometimes take one look at me and say, Who are you to call yourself a Zen cat? You aren’t black. You aren’t even one solid color. Or thin.
It’s true, I am blessed with healthy avoirdupois. I eat Cheezits, after all. And houseplants. Then there’s the history inscribed in my body. One of my canine teeth got broken off in a street fight. I have a notch in my ear. But most of all, I am a piebald cat.
Being piebald I am basically white overlaid with irregular splotches of tabbyish gray and taupe. I have black eyeliner around one eye. That probably means something, but I don’t know what. Anyway, every piebald cat is like me, but at the same time, unique. That’s Zen, being contradictory.
I’ll tell you what Zen isn’t. It isn’t about having no fur at all so you never shed and nobody ever has to vacuum. Shedding is natural. The world wasn’t invented for humans. Get used to it.
I guess humans think it's cool to have someone else groom them until they don't look anything like themselves. The fact that dogs will let people do this just goes to show you they aren't really part of the animal realm. They have lived around people too long. It'll do that to you if you don't watch out.
This morning the man was amused by an item in the paper that said the GOP spent $165,000 grooming Sarah Palin. "Yes," said the woman, "and overnight she turned back into the same person." She has a dream that one day there will be a reality show that goes back to visit all those guys the Queer Eye boys fixed up, and they will turn out to be the same old mess.
It's fascinating to me, for I am The Cat and I observe. In human fashion, she sees the truth and yet doesn't apply it to her own behavior. She wants to groom me with this steel comb. As if I was not a self-grooming animal, perfectly capable of shedding my own hair where and when I want to. You would think it was obvious. Have you ever seen cats sitting around like monkeys picking fleas off of each other? No. So get over it.
I might look like I am sleeping, but I am thinking deep thoughts today about how complicated people make things. I believe it's because their brains are much larger than necessary, so they use them for abstractions, like money. Money doesn't actually exist. I mean, it isn't really worth anything. You can't eat it, if you do, they get really mad. I don't like to sleep on it, it's got too many skin flakes. I like to sleep on a bed of various colored tissues from old gifts. Good energy in gift-wrapping paper.
Take this auto industry bailout. Apparently the Big 3 can't make any money selling their cars. They don't make any money off me, I'll tell you that. I have no use for cars at all. The only place I've been in a car in the last 12 years was the Vet. I don't like vets, male or female, I am perfectly impartial when it comes to going places where there are dogs in the waiting room.
So I don't care a bit about cars, just keep me out of them. But I am a generous cat. The Big 3 want money so much they were actually willing to drive one of their own products to Washington to ask for it. That takes courage. I don't know what they're going to do with it, just lose it, I guess, like I lose all my pingpong balls. But they seem to think it will make them happy, so what's the problem?
I have a color copier right here in my own study, I am sure we could make a lot of moneys. You can get more than one on a sheet of paper. But the Fed might as well do it. They have huge copy machines, I saw them on TV. They can make all the moneys they want just like that. So give them the money. It's not as if it was chicken.
I didn't invent language, especially not Japanese, so don't blame me. It's my people who took to calling the outdoor cats Mu, the cats who prowl around my house looking for an opportunity. They can forget it.
First, only the Carter's twin black cats were called Mu, since my people are slow at figuring out which one is Jake and which one is Elwood. The Mu's make a regular thing of napping underneath the hosta in the front garden, and then they have their routes. If someone notices one of them crouching under the holly thinking robin robin robin here robin, they call out "Muuuu." I come running to that window. As soon as they figured out that I do that, they generalized it. Now they call "Muuuu!" and I know there's some sort of cat out there. Make a note: not one of them has ever gotten in here.
Some of my more esoteric readers may know that chanting Mu is popular in certain Zen traditions. I won't go into the story, it is one of those koans, and they don't make any sense, especially when they are about dogs. Anyway, "mu" is just a Japanese word that means "nothing" or "no", and I don't care how many times people yell it, I haven't noticed anyone getting enlightened around here.
This is one of those arty photographs the woman is into now that she has a cellphone camera and doesn't worry about wasting film. It is me, rolling over when she comes through a doorway.
I know, I know, all you Kittens out there roll over all the time, so what's the big deal? This: I have trained her to give me a sequence of treats when I roll over at a certain spot on the Berber rug.
She doesn't do it every time. Kittens are erratic, but they have nothing on human beings. You can't count on them for anything. They might even pack Luggage and then not go on a trip. Or they might go and be gone one night or six nights or for all you know, never come back.
Basically, the woman comes out of her study mid-morning, I can usually count on my treats. One for rolling over and back. One for round-and-round (don't ask). One for Big Tall Cat, which is my yoga. And one for Go to the library and pick out a book. This is one of her little conceits, putting a Dentabite on the basketry trunk that she keeps library books in. Well, she's a Poet.
I alertly assume rollover readiness whenever she goes out of the house, even to check the mail. Or sometimes, if I have nothing else to do---and of course, being a cat in a house on a ravine keeps you busy, what with windows and screened porch and all---I just lie there and watch. I probably get treat squence at least 3 times a day. Beyond that, I choose not to count. I probably could if I wanted to. But I am the cat.
The Ongoing Opportunity of Aging
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The sandy beach is the ultimate barefoot experience. Once the sun is high
the sand is exquisitely hot. You dance over it to the water's edge, where
the...
9 years ago
Followers
copyright 2008, 2009, 2021. The title "The Sound of One Paw Scratching" is copyright 2012, Jeanne Desy.
Susan Barrett writes - 
[photo, a Steinlen poster]
[Photo: The Tucker archives - thanks, Winki]
Dear Sherlock,
Here she is, my recent correspondent, Pekoe Pi, the picture of winsome allure.
[translator's note: Sherlock in motion]
[photo: Me, contented]
So the bailout is stalled again. Why am I not surprised?
[photo: Sherlock in his fat suit]
[photo: Sherlock contemplates the news]
I didn't invent language, especially not Japanese, so don't blame me. It's my people who took to calling the outdoor cats Mu, the cats who prowl around my house looking for an opportunity. They can forget it.
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