Page 13 - The Gluckman Occasonal Number Nine

an officer, who stresses the importance of memorizing emergency
procedures. His audience is restive, however: they are on board to
have a good time in a childish fantasy of eating, drinking, gambling,
and being entertained; they chafe at the sudden intrusion of real-word
danger. Many, if not most, do not take the lesson—and the
warning—to heart, and cannot wait to shed their ill-fitting life jackets
and get on with their meretricious Bacchanalia.
That night, however, a similar drill is held by hundreds of stowaways:
the ship’s rats. The leader of the colony, a large alpha male, directs
the others to specific stations. There they acquaint themselves with
the best places of concealment within each lifeboat, and where the
rations are sealed in their lockers. And, most crucially, learn the
shortest path of arriving at those boats (rats are good at learning
mazes). The leader stresses that they must be first to react to danger
and first to arrive at their new hiding places; they have a reputation to
uphold as well as living long enough to infest another ship. They pay
close attention.
Moral: Size may not be an advantage in survival.

Parafable of the Molehill

Sissypuss, an indolent feline, found a golf ball. Having watched
nearby golfers, she rolled her ball up a molehill, blocking its opening.
A mole within, ever alert, saw the obstruction and ejected it. The cat
chased it down the incline, stopped it and rolled it back to the same
place—with the same response from the mole. The action repeated
several times before the rodent popped out its head to object.
Sissypuss replied that she will continue because she likes the game,
and that she is very patient and focused. The mole said it cannot live
with a ball blocking its access, so it is forced to continue participating.
But a situation cannot go on forever: sooner or later, even if both
parties persist, something will happen to change it. After a while
Sissypuss said, “Don’t you ever get tired of pushing the ball up out of
your hole?” “Me?” said the mole. “No. Why should I? I just started
doing this. I’m fresh as a daisy.” The cat is perplexed. “But—but, we
have been doing this dozens of times.” “Not me,” said the mole.
“That was my Uncle Toothy. I’m one of his nephews, Snaggleclaws.”
“One?” said the cat. “How many nephews does he have?” “Oh, I
don’t know exactly. Maybe fifteen or twenty of them are down here
now.” Sissypuss considered that for a minute, and then said: “I think