Page 13 - Fables volume 2

How the Cats Make Sense of People
A Grimalkin’s Grandkits story

“What is it with people?” asked Meringue. “Most of the time they
don’t make any sense. Yesterday I heard one of them say it was raining
cats and dogs. I ran to the window, but I only saw water coming down.
Do you understand them, Grandcat? We asked Momcat, but she just told
us to shut our mouths and open our eyes and ears.”
Grimalkin stood up, stretched her spine and lay down again. Her
grandkits had awoken to find their mother absent once again and the old
tabby in charge. Oh, well, she thought, maybe I can keep them from
wandering off if I impart some useful information about the bipeds.
“Gather around, little ones,” she said softly, “and I will make sense of
it all for you.” It was a cold morning. The rain had stopped, but a chill
wind was blowing outside. The imperfectly-fitting flap on the pet door
through which the litter’s mother had gone out hunting was letting in a
thin but constant stream of cool air into the back porch. Soon Grimalkin
had all the kittens snuggling up to her, purring in unison.
“I suppose,” she began, “you are wondering about their senseless and
meaningless chatter. That alone should make it obvious they are really
nothing at all like us, but they don’t have enough sense to realize it.”
Furkin was puzzled. “You mean they don’t have all the senses we do?
There are so many: sight, sound, smell, touch, taste, hunger, thirst,
danger, orientation, balance, vibration—oh, I can’t keep track of them
all, and Momcat said that more were on the way as we grow older.”
“No, people probably have them all: but they are weak. They have
joints and nerves and muscles, too, as you have undoubtedly observed;
yet, again, they cannot compete with us physically, pound for pound. Not
in speed, reaction time, maneuverability or self-control.”
“Then why don’t we just kill and eat them?” wondered Leonid. “Is it
just their size that gives them power over us?”
“I’m afraid not,” she replied. “Otherwise we could organize and hunt
them by night, when most of their senses are particularly useless. The
thing that keeps them on top is some quirk in their brains: they are able
to invent real things. All the food they give us; the shelter we have here;
the warmth when they let us inside—all that comes from their brains. We
create nothing but imaginary prey when the real thing is absent.”