The Parable of the Cat

When my children were small, we had a complete ensemble of pets. Each of our two children had a cat. My son’s cat was Sylvester. My daughter’s was Scratchy. There was a family dog. His name was Sasquatch, but more on him another day.

All the animals lived in relative harmony inasmuch as none of them would stoop to devour any of the others. Overall, they were a great part of our little family.

Then it happened. I was at work when the telephone rang. It was my near-hysterical wife. She was calling from the veterinarian’s office. It seems she had travelled to the local elementary school to retrieve our children. When they returned home, they discovered Sylvester lying on the front porch, grievously injured. One of his rear legs had been wrenched free of his body except for a shred of flesh. They had rushed the hapless animal to the vet for emergency care.

The next thing I knew, I was speaking to the vet.

“I can save the cat, but the leg will have to go. I will throw in neutering. The whole bill will be around $1,800.”

“Surely the poor wretch would not survive such surgery,” I hinted broadly.

“Oh, the cat will be fine. Heh, heh.”

In those days, $1800 was serious money.

In a few days, the cat returned home, hopping about on his three remaining legs. As time passed, he became more than a bit eccentric. On occasion, he would flatten his ears and begin yowling in anger. Then, he would select one leg from the available human collection and attack it for all he was worth.

“Rarrrww!” Said the cat, springing for a leg.

“Aarrrrgghh!” Replied the human in turn.

It took a short time to solve the mystery. The poor feline was experiencing pain from his phantom limb. The humans learned never to turn their back on little Sylvester. He might sever their femoral artery.

So it went, year after year. Sylvester finally developed self-esteem issues and slept his days away in the cat box.

Since parables must have at least one lesson, I shall suggest one here. You may submit your own take as well. After all, I am not really a prophet or anything.

Sylvester, like others and possibly me, felt he was under attack. He knew the pain was real. His response was the most logical one for cat or man. He attacked the nearest visible source. The problem was he could not grasp that he was creating his own pain.

It was a long time before I realized the cat and I frequently made the same mistake.

Sylvester is a long time resident of cat Heaven now. Still, I would hold him close and stroke his lunatic brow if I could. After all, he left me a great gift.