Friday, May 4, 2007

It's natural

Well. When we do something awful to another, we are being ourselves, aren't we? I could regurgitate all the dribble about nature/nurture or even biosocial theories from those now-worthless psych books rotting away in my closet- but that stuff is common knowledge so how about I skip it?

Suffice it to say, when a 1,000 strong bunch of crazymen ambush a 17 year old girl and kill her in a frenzy of yipping and yelping like a pack of hyenas tearing into a lion cub... they're just being themselves. They are only doing what they were taught, programmed, destined etc. to do. Hell, all of us would do it, if we were THEM. You know, like cavemen would do. If cavemen would do it, of course we must see the intrinsic wisdom behind such acts. I probably wouldn't go so far as to say cavemen would do it, because why should they get blamed for people in the TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY behaving in such a way? Perhaps we ought to take all of those guys and stick them in an MRI or CT or whatever scientists do, just to see if they all have the same genetic abnormality or frontal lobe injury. Or again- I will bore you by suggesting that there is nothing wrong or abnormal there.

I mean, it simply CAN'T be their fault that they have unleashed such raw hatred on a human being- for being a human being without a penis. This may come as a surprise, but the subject of this discussion is not the Kurdish crazies from this post. I am thinking of them right now, but it's only because I am trying to figure out myself where self-preservation; nature; the whole nine..... meet personal responsibility.

Last night I could not sleep. I wanted to watch all the cable news channels I could because I hoped I'd see a story about the stoning, and how outraged the world is; of course I was up all night and I didn't see ONE. Around midnight, I started noticing weird noises outside. Great, I thought. More cats fighting.

I looked out and noticed a kitten. Tiny little kitty, hissing and hopping around while a bigger, tougher, older and obviously virile cat pounced and I
don't even want to say what unspeakable things happened. My outrage was uncontrollable. I ran outside and scolded the male cat with as much ferocity as I could muster. I also advised the young cat to hurry and escape while I had the monster cornered. Nothing doing.

Little Kitty just sat there patiently watching Mental Hygiene chase Monster Kitty around the yard, into the street and back. I watched as Little Kitty was repeatedly molested (although she kind of asked for it a few times to be honest about the whole thing) all night long. I'm sure my neighbors know to avoid me from now on.
At dawn, I was tuckered out from trying to be the cat world's Margaret Sanger, and decided that it was a good thing Monster Kitty was tuckered out too and had taken it upon himself to catch a quick nap. I crawled into bed, wondering WHY Little Kitty didn't RUN when I was right there chasing off Monster Kitty.

There was a knock at the door.
It was a friend who works nights and had stopped by with a ripe pineapple for us to share. I welcomed him with my agitated tale of brazen predation. As I sliced off one end of the fruit, I searched his face for the indignation that I was sure MUST spill over his face when he realized what atrocity had been committed on my block. But alas, nothing of the sort.

Says he: "What's the big deal, it's only natural. Mean to tell me you've never seen two cats fucking?"

Excuse me? What the fuck did you say?
Natural? I do not think so, I said. He scissored her little neck in his jowls so she couldn't get away from him. He chased her down, ambushed her. That's not natural, I insisted.

My friend chuckled. Why couldn't he have simply feigned horror?
"Oh. So you've never seen animals mating on channel 8. That's what you're saying."

I thought about it. Come to think of it, no I have not. I don't want to. I look away during the rape scenes and the kill scenes. And I switch the channel when the runt lags behind and gets lost.

The professional debater suggested that this is my problem. I have not seen it, so of course I don't understand it. It's called rel---a---
tivity, he said. In my most polite manner, I assured him that I know what relativity is, for heaven's sake.

I still
hate that damn cat. I'm never going to feed him again, and I hope he starves!

Says he: "Oh, he'll be fine. He'll eat first and none of you bitches will have a damn thing to say about it."

I sighed and pondered what I knew was true.

After all, the cat can't help but be himself.

1 comment:

Seraphic Single said...

Yes, apparently that is the way it is in the animal kingdom, alas. Well, at least for cats. Maybe also for dogs, although I am not sure they grab their mates with their teeth. If you watch it, recall the scene on "Sex & the City" when Charlotte allows her pet spaniel, Elizabeth Taylor, to go for a run in the park when she is in heat. And lo, Elizabeth Taylor is set upon by dogs of every description, with a horrified Charlotte shrieking at her husband to do something.

Being an animal must really suck sometimes, and that is one reason why it is absolutely horrible when a pack of men behave like animals. The difference is that male animals never attack females of their own species to hurt or kill them for fun, which is what the men you allude to were doing.