Boston University College of Practical Arts and Letters - Sivad Yearbook (Boston, MA)

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Among Us Cats || T seems to have been the customary quip, from time immem- | orial, to compare women to the inhabitants of catdom. But why only women? Why should we suppose men to be any different? Is there, I wonder, such a being as a man so mag- nanimous as not to possess and demonstrate some “catty” characteristics, once in a while? If there is, I would surely like to know about it. Probably the best reason why we generally like dogs and horses far more than cats is that, in cats, we see the reflection of our own traits. Unless a reflection tends to be flattering, that mirror of ourselves is con- temptuously rejected. And our pictured traits in cats are not always flat- tering. Far from it. No wonder we adore our dogs. The reason? They are not like us. We may regard cattiness in the human race from the point of view of characteristics and traits and from that of certain physical resemblances. The first point of view is the more common one, but the second is by far the more interesting. We will be systematic and discuss the first one now; the other will come later. Have you not heard people say (mostly women, I’ll have to admit), “Of course, she’s all right, but—”? Do you not get all ready to feel the claws scratch and hear the ‘‘meows” rend the air? I do. Every time J hear such a sentence, or its equivalent, I have a vision of a group of cats, perched precariously on the ridge of the alley fence and complaining loudly, in a melancholy tone, to the moon. And then, have you not noticed that cats are first of all concerned with their own comforts? How different from a dog, who thinks first of nis adored master and last of himself! Which of these two do we humans resemble, I wonder? Is it not perfectly obvious that we are “human cats”? We are extremely self-satisfied and, like a cat, we purr when well-fed and physically comfortable. We are not so pleasant when hungry. Intel- lectually we seem to be partially dormant. Then, just rub our fur the wrong way. Just try it! If you have never felt the searing scratch of a claw, you certainly will now. Also, we hate to give up our vantage point. And how about our brothers, the cats? When I have tried to cajole or to move by force His Majesty, I have tried in vain. It just cannot be done. And just such are we—cats, immovable, blinking at the light. [ 221 ]

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Hymn of Youth GOD: Life is so gcod! A thousand sorrows cannot shake ; fi My unconfined joy; A thousand blows can never break '| My treasure or my trust. For I am young; all blessings light On such as I—who seek, And in the seeking find delight, But in fulfillment, all That heavenly wisdom wants or man Can hope. The darkened shades Shall never close my soul or ban The light of youth from me— I feel that promise and exult! My spirit stands forth free, And I can laugh at fate’s insult. All time is mine, all song, All victories, all joys,—my tongue Extols the world, for Life Is good, and I am young! ELL a [ 220 ]

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And now we turn to the consideration of common physical resem- blances “among us cats”. Oftentimes on my way home, I amuse myself by attempting to catalogue my fellow travelers on the train—to catalogue them according to cat standards. You have no idea how diverting a game this is. Do you see, across the aisle, that tall, lean, saturnine fellow with a furtive expression in his eyes—a man neither young nor old? Do you know what he is? A common species of alley cat. Do you see the resem- blance? And that well-upholstered woman a few seats down the aisle? What is she? Why, she is an over-nourished, sit-by-the-fire tabby-cat. She has no pedigree, but she is comfortable and kind. She is too satisfied to be otherwise. You have seen, have you not, the “hobo cat”? He is quite lean and ner- vous; he is all energy, speculation, and has an inexhaustible curiosity about the world and life. I have seen many people like that. Their eyes are bright, shining; they move with the sure-footedness of the cat, and, like their green-eyed hobo friends, they are lithe and restless. They are young, eager tourists of the rails who have an all-absorbing curiosity about people and places. Also, like the hobo cat, as they grow older they grow unkempt and shiftless and their eyes are always searching, searching—for what, they know not. The wanderlust has had its way. What did you say? Oh, yes, to be sure—the tame cat. That tall, thin, young chap over there—do you see him? His hair and eyes are of a non- descript color and he has an indifferent smudge on his upper lip—I believe he calls it a moustache. To complete the impression, he wears on the top of his head a soft hat of the pancake variety. Yes, indeed, tame-cat is written all over him. And then, those big, red-faced, burly men who do more or less manual labor—these I have, in the main, labeled “‘tom-cats’”. They are rough and rugged, and can stand as much punishment as the tom-cat who serenades us at 2.30 A. M. and somehow still manages to survive. And, last of all, we have the loveliest and most charming—the aristo- crat. Such people are tall, gracefully slender; their features are delicately and exquisitely modeled, and their skin is smooth, creamy, and soft; they dress well and in excellent taste. They are Persian cats, the aristocrats in the land of felines. They are at once the most delightful and the most dan- gerous of all the cat tribe. I have no doubt that you will think, “What a catty, scratchy essay!” Quite true, but such is life ‘“‘among us cats”. fine Cc [ 222 ]