Animals Are People
A sample chapter from Animals Are People by Peter Morville.
Chapter 7
Dad slumps into his chair at the dinner table.
“Sorry I’m late. I’m so darn tired. I didn’t know farming would be this much work, even with modern technology. No regrets though. I’m happy to be done with meetings. And I did see the funniest thing today. A cow chasing a fox. She was just curious. But the fox sure looked worried.”
“That reminds me,” says Mom. “I have a true-false. So, today my meeting was canceled, because my client fell off his own roof, or I learned our neighbor is a world-famous UFO conspiracist, or Miriam told me somebody shot a bullet through their dining room while they were eating.”
Wow! That’s a true-false I’d expect from Dad. I take the bullet. Dad picks the UFO.
“Nope. You’re both wrong. My client is fine. But our neighbor, three doors down, the one with the wrought iron fence, he claims to be in touch with extraterrestrials, and to have briefed the CIA and several US presidents. He makes documentaries on alien encounters. And millions of people watch them. I’ll send you a link to one of his videos. People really believe this stuff. It’s so damn weird!”
“Mom, that’s a good one. This place is crazy town. People up North are so normal compared to folks down South.”
“Not sure I’d agree,” says Dad. “Remember Beth Olin’s garage sale, right before she moved out? Quite the arsenal. Who’d expect a little old Ann Arbor lady of packing so much firepower? So what about Miriam and the bullet?”
Mom smiles. “It’s terrifying! The whole family’s eating dinner when they hear glass break. A pane from their china cabinet has shattered. Next, they discover a hole in the window pane. Long story short, Junior’s fifteen-year-old son tried shooting a deer right off his front porch. The police came, and the game wardens. It’s like a TV drama. But just another day in Scottsville.”
This is our first family dinner in a while. Mom made spaghetti bolognese with mushrooms and spicy vegan sausage. It’s delicious. Everyone is happy. So I decide to press my luck. “You know the dog I told you about? Ghost. The stray I’m caring for. Gage says I can have her, as long as you’re good with it. She’s well-behaved, and so beautiful. I love Ghost. I’ll care for her. Okay?”
Later, I tumble into bed, and I know my plan will work. Mom and Dad want to talk before deciding. But I’m sure they’ll agree. I expect my beloved wolfdog will be home in time for next week’s first-ever vegan Thanksgiving.
Ghost is a sign. I’m on a roll. I’ll be a great cat burglar. Finding Bodhi was easier than I expected. In my memory of his memory, I recognized the road divided by a grassy median as Jefferson Park Avenue. So I used Google Street View to scan the neighborhood of Fry’s Spring, until I spotted the yellow house just across the street from Bodhi.
Positioning the trail cam was tricky but worthwhile, since it revealed they don’t lock the front door, which, by the way, is a total bonehead move. Anyway, it’s a young couple with a little girl, and their weekday schedule is regular as clockwork. I’ll walk right in while they’re at work, and I’ll just carry Bodhi from the house to the car. My plan is dead simple, though clearly not without risk.
That’s why I’m reading The ALF Strikes Again. It’s a collection of essays and interviews by members of the Animal Liberation Front. I got it online. It’s the first time I’ve owned a book that feels dangerous. I keep it hidden in my closet. I bought it for tactics, but it’s even better for inspiration. University of Hawaii students formed an “Undersea Railroad” and freed dolphins from isolation tanks. Two British guys sank whaling ships in Iceland. A small team burned down the University of Arizona Microbiology Building, after saving over a thousand mice, frogs, guinea pigs, and rabbits from experiments. I’m inspired by their cunning and courage. Once you see animals as sentient beings who think and feel, you can’t believe it’s okay to use them. But as the book says, “Opinions are just words until you take a risk for them.”
The next day, our philosophy class begins right on time. “So, Jo, tell me how you feel about Michel de Montaigne.”
“I’m in love! Or, at least, Montaigne is the first philosopher that I don’t hate. He says, ‘The most vulnerable and frail of all creatures is man, and at the same time the most arrogant.’ That’s one claim to human exceptionalism that I can endorse. And he writes ‘There is no apparent reason to judge that the beasts do by natural and obligatory instinct the same things that we do by our choice and cleverness,’ and ‘When I play with my cat, who knows if I am not a pastime to her more than she is to me?’ Montaigne knows that animals are people. Just like us, they can be happy or sad, grateful or vengeful, generous or jealous. It’s nearly five hundred years ago, and he gets it!”
“I agree. We’ll talk about An Apology for Raymond Sebond in a moment, but first tell me how you reacted to the essay On Cruelty where he says, ‘I cruelly hate cruelty, both by nature and by judgment, as the extreme of all vices. But this is to such a point of softness that I do not see a chicken’s neck wrung without distress, and I cannot bear to hear the scream of a hare in the teeth of my dogs, although the chase is a violent pleasure.’ It’s hard to read.”
“Inari, it really upset me. He knows that animals suffer, yet he hunts and eats them, though he adds, ‘I hardly take any animal alive that I do not give it back the freedom of the fields. Pythagoras used to buy them from fisherman and fowlers, to do the same.’ So he believes Ovid’s myths!”
“Nice catch, Jo. Montaigne is certainly no stranger to myth. So do you think he was wrong to hunt?”
“Of course I do! I’m against all hunting and fishing, Inari. It’s horribly cruel and totally unnecessary, and I hate it.”
“But what if you must hunt to live, or to be healthy? In sixteenth century France, famine and malnutrition were common. The Lord of Montaigne was safe from starvation, but he couldn’t buy fortified cereal or vitamin B12. It wasn’t always so easy to be high on the vegan spectrum.”
“I guess it’s okay if you hunt to live. But, Inari, I hate catch and release. When Montaigne calls the chase a violent pleasure, he makes me sick. To be hunted by a pack of bloodthirsty hounds — it must be absolutely terrifying!”
“Jo, it often helps to separate ethics and aesthetics. Aesthetically, I don’t like hunting either. It hurts my heart. But if you hunt to eat, I believe it’s not unethical, as long as you keep suffering to an absolute minimum. Also, hunting is necessary to regulate animal populations, now that we’ve killed off most of the predators. But let’s get back to Montaigne’s myths. What else did you notice, Jo?”
“In the Apology, he says, after King Lysimachus died, his dog Hyrcanus refused to eat or drink, and when they burned the body, he threw himself into the fire. I find that hard to believe. But Wikipedia tells a similar story. And there’s a statue of Hyrancus in Athens. So who knows?”
“Good. Montaigne would approve of your skepticism, Jo. What does he say about knowledge?”
“I love when he says, ‘To really learned men has happened what happens to ears of wheat: they rise high and lofty, heads erect and proud, as long as they are empty; but when they are full and swollen with grain in their ripeness, they begin to grow humble and lower their horns.’”
“What else, Jo?”
“Montaigne says, ‘The wisest man that ever was, when they asked him what he knew, answered that he knew this much, that he knew nothing.’ Socrates according to Plato.”
“That’s right, Jo. Very impressive. So Montaigne says that ‘the world is filled and soaked with twaddle and lies.’ He’s a skeptic. His motto is ‘what do I know?’ His emblem is ‘que sais-je’ inscribed over scales. Since our senses and reason are fallible, we must suspend judgment. 1568 is a fitting time to make that case. As he says, ‘The sky and the stars have been moving for three thousand years; everybody had so believed.’ Jo, I presume that you learned about the Copernican Revolution in school.”
“Yep. People believed the earth was stationary at the center of the universe. The sun, moon, stars, and planets all orbit earth. Geocentrism was gospel. Until Copernicus proved it wrong.”
“Actually, geocentrism was gospel until 1822, when the Catholic Church adopted heliocentrism. Initially, Copernicus wasn’t considered to be a threat, since his ideas were thought to be absurd. Montaigne was ahead of his time in recognizing the work of Copernicus as the catalyst of a paradigm shift. The consequent scientific and spiritual revolutions changed our conception of the cosmos, and of our place in the universe. Man is not central. Jo, even to this day, our mental models have yet to absorb this profound change. So we stumble around in the toxic rubble of patriarchy and anthropocentrism.”
“Amen! But, Inari, why didn’t Montaigne get in trouble? He writes ‘Man is certainly crazy. He could not make a mite, and he makes gods by the dozen.’ I’m surprised that Michel de Montaigne wasn’t burned for heresy.”
“Montaigne used Pyrrhonian skepticism as a foil. If we know nothing, then we are forced to trust God and Church. When he says, ‘I speak the truth, not so much as I would, but as much as I dare; and I dare a little more as I grow older,’ it’s a hint. Michel de Montaigne is crazy like a fox. But what I love is his introspection. We’re out of time, so I’ll leave you with one of Montaigne’s most famous maxims: ‘The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself.’ Think on it. Feel on it too.”
As I hug the curves up Route 20, I feel lucky to know Inari. We are kindred spirits. And I love the way we argue with philosophers. Inari is the first adult who’s encouraged me to challenge authority. And that quote sure is timely. I belong to myself by acting on my beliefs. Bodhi is a barn cat. It’s my duty to set him free. I want to tell Inari. But I can’t take the risk. Not yet.
I park on the street, stride to the front door, and walk right in. I’m calm. Look like you belong, and you’re invisible. I’m wearing a hat and gloves. And I switched license plates, so no worries about fingerprints or cameras. Now to find Bodhi. There’s a climbing tower in the living room. But no cat. I peek behind the couch. No luck. In the kitchen, both water and food bowls are full. I choose one of their animal magnets, a tiger, to attach my note to the refrigerator.
The note says, “ANIMALS ARE PEOPLE. CATS LOVE BEING OUTDOORS. YOUR HOUSE IS A PRISON. THIS CAT IS BORED, LONELY, AND ENGAGING IN SELF-HARM. YOU ARE GUILTY OF CRUELTY. THIS POOR CAT HAS BEEN LIBERATED. WE WILL BE WATCHING YOU! — ANIMAL LIBERATION FRONT.”
After checking the bathroom, I reluctantly creep up the stairs. It feels wrong to be intruding so far into their home. The house is too quiet. I tiptoe down the hall, past a couple of closed doors to the one that’s ajar. I spy a queen-sized bed, two nightstands, a big dresser, and a small closet.
If I was a cat, I’d hide under the bed. As I crouch down, I notice the comforter has a cute kitty pattern. I’m sorry that I’m taking their pet. But he deserves freedom and love. The good outweighs the bad. Sure enough, nestled among the dust bunnies, there’s Bodhi. It’s a good thing I have a plastic baggie with chicken flavor treats. I palm a couple, hold out my hand, and call “here kitty, kitty.”
Right from the start, Ghost knew to trust me, as if the dream forged a psychic bond. I expected the same with Bodhi. I figured that he’d come right away. My mistake! I should have known — cats are contrarians. I slowly reach under the bed to gently scoop and slide Bodhi towards me.
A flash of pain. I yank back my arm, scramble away from the bed, slump back against the wall, and holy fuck that hurt! It’s a nasty scratch, right down the inside of my forearm. There are droplets of blood on the floor. You bastard! What the hell? I’m trying to help you. I should abort the mission. This is so stupid. I’ll grab paper towels, wipe up the blood, and get the hell out of here. Wait, what the fuck was that? I swear to God I think I heard a door close. Is that footsteps up the stairs?
Seconds later, I’m cowering in the closet with the door ajar. Somebody is coming. Sounds like heels. Maybe she forgot something. This is bad. I’m so stupid. She’s in the bedroom. I’m sitting cross-legged behind a wall of clothes on hangers. I close my eyes and still my breath. If she looks in the closet, I’m done. I guess I could run. But she’ll call the cops for sure. I cannot handle a car chase or prison. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I hear a drawer open, the nightstand near the closet, shuffling, the drawer closes, footsteps receding — the front door slams with a bang.
I’m safe. Thank God. All is quiet except for the pulsing in my ears. I can hear my own heartbeat. I’m cold and sweaty. My legs are damp. I think I peed myself. I need to get out of here. I’m about to stand up, when I sense movement in the closet. And just like that, Bodhi curls into my lap.
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