Page 87 - An Evening with Maxwell's Daemons
P. 87

The Mother Ship is Real!

          Fred Feghootsky cleared his throat apologetically.
          “Ar-humph. My turn, and I must beg your indulgence. My next
        idea may seem laughable, but it has been percolating for a while in
        my brain. Actually, I’d hoped something else of mine would have
        gotten  published  by  now,  and  this  one  wouldn’t  have  to  see  the
        light of day or hear the laugh of ridicule. Just bear with me: perhaps
        you can see the possibilities in this, and give it a little shove along
        the road to completion.”
          He looked around the table at the other Maxwell’s Daemons. No
        snickering, raised eyebrows or squirms of revulsion—yet.
          “As  everyone  knows,  Felis  catus  has  become  a  fixture  in  this
        country. Uncounted millions coexist with humans in every sort of
        environment. They come in a range of colors and sizes, mostly the
        result of our meddling in their mating choices. Nevertheless, their
        similarities far outweigh their differences. Through the centuries we
        have  noted  many  curious  aspects  of  our  cats’  behavior;  many  of
        them  seem  mysterious,  even  otherworldly.  Thus  cats  have  been
        associated with magic and witchcraft, as well appearing to be a sort
        of  perfected  template  for  predation  alternating  with  leisure  and
        comfort-seeking.  Physiologists,  taking  the  reductive  view,  tell  us
        that cats are animals, full  stop; psychologists,  probing the  human
        unconscious, tell us that we projected our fears and desires on these
        innocent and quite natural creatures.”
          “Yet questions remain. How can they find their way home when
        abandoned  hundreds  of  miles  away?  Why  do  they  seem  so  self-
        sufficient,  even  disdainful  of  the  intelligent  bipeds  expending  so
        many resources on keeping them happy? How can they stare into
        space—or  somebody’s  face—without  blinking  or  thinking?  Are
        they in a trance? This gray area of uncanniness keeps cats on the
        edge of our feelings of being in control, of knowing what is going
        on around us.”
          “Okay,  those  are  givens  are  far  as  I’m  concerned—and  they
        open the door to all sorts of fantasies involving cats. But those are
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