A Lesson about Walls

Mamasita Waxes Philosophical on Relationships and Foreign Policy

 

Until today, I did not know that the stray calico cat in my garage was so wise.

Sure, I knew a lot about Mamasita. I knew that she was a dedicated young mother to her two-week-old kittens. I knew that when a human is in the vicinity, she needs to be always within two millimeters of that human (no matter if said human is coming, going, sitting, standing, or scooping). I knew that she lays turds that, no joking around here, seem to defy the physical principal of conservation of mass, they being almost as large as Mamasita herself. I knew that her leaps were sprightly and young, her purr almost distractingly loud, and her breath not so bad for a cat. I knew these things. But until today, I did not realize that Mamasita was a master of the parable.

It all goes like this…

Yesterday I walked out to do my foster parent rounds in the garage, but only counted three kittens. One was missing. Mamasita was roaming the garage freely, seeming preoccupied but not nervous. I peeled my ears and heard a faint mewing, and minutes later I found the white/gray kitten tucked in a distant corner under a folded inflatable swimming pool that I had bought for my nephew Jackson. Now, this white/gray guy is the precocious one, the adventurer, the independent and fast-growing alpha kitten. So, I figured he went out for a jaunt on his shaky little legs and got himself into a pickle. No problem. I returned him to the cardboard cat condo, somewhat proud of his trek but a little concerned of what would have happened had I not found him under the garage rubble.

Going on rounds a second time, lo and behold if the other biggun, the pure white one, hadn’t followed that same trek and gotten into the same pickle. I found him, mewing from the corner under Jackson’s deflated swimming pool, and returned him to the cardboard condo.

Well, well, well. Still basking in the undeserved glow of helping save the fading tiger just a couple days before, and therefore overconfident in my ability to make good decisions for a different species, I got right to work. See a problem, find a solution. That’s me. Within about 10 minutes, an elaborate and generous wall had been built around the cardboard condo. It was truly a garage masterpiece, if I must say so myself – a sturdy conglomeration of plywood, wire, shoelaces, dumbbells, and boxes. Upon completion, I surveyed the new safe haven for the kittens. Beautiful. Ingenious. I had built an environment that would allow the kittens enough range to exercise their wobbly legs, yet prevent the dangerous treks under and betwixt the garage rubble.

It came time for evening rounds. This time, there was only one cat in the cat condo. The other three…you guessed it, under Jackson ’s deflated swimming pool in the distant corner of the garage. Okay, in (yet another) “ah ha” instant of self-humility, I realized that these darned kittens weren’t crawling to that corner themselves – Mamasita was carrying them there! Up and over my ingenious wall, mind you.

This catalyzed sudden analysis and introspection on my part. Here I had made this plush cardboard cat condo, packed with my freshly washed fleece jacket and clean towel, set about in carefully planned proximity to food and litter and carefully encased in homemade fencing, and yet Mamasita is moving her little ones to a far corner laden with cobwebs and dead insects and covered by moldy plastic. This choice was no fluke of immature parenting on her part, or it wouldn’t have been repeating itself all day long. I had to face an eternal and cleansing truth – Mamasita knew better than me. She was the cat. She was the mother. Even though I couldn’t figure it out, she surely had her reasons, being the elegantly programmed and evolutionary-forged beautiful beast she is. I knew no more about what was good for Mamasita’s home-building than she knew about how to get my dusty truck in the driveway started. And there it was, plain and simple. I swallowed my pride, disassembled my ingenious garage wall, and let Mamasita do her thing. I did throw another fleece and some sweatshirts into the new corner, I admit, but I left it at that.

The next time I did rounds, Mamasita was warmly huddled in the new corner, under Jackson ’s deflated plastic swimming pool, with all four kittens safely nestled in her bosom. They seemed very happy.

Epilogue

Could it be that Mamasita was actually laying out a valuable parable?

The spirit of spring time is to notice the small and the subtle, and to realize that it will blossom into something much greater, and so I say: Yes! Yes, Mamasita is onto something here. A lesson for me, a lesson for us all. The lesson is this – sometimes we don’t know diddly squat. Our diddly-squat prowess is most pronounced when we try to make executive decisions for others who have far different backgrounds, for those who come from a different reference frame of life.

You could “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus” this thing all you want, but I believe the lesson goes much further than why couples stumble around toilet seats and choosing which movie to go to on Friday night. This lesson resonates in world affairs, where often a powerful nation will impose its logic and values on another without consulting or appreciating the importance of history and reference frame. Despite best intentions, the powerful often destroy those they intend to help.

When we listen, we allow the innocents of the world to tell us eternal secrets. The children, the oceans, the icebergs, the trees, the fish, the kittens …they speak. Mamasita’s “parable of the wall” shouts like Lady Wisdom from the street corner.

 

Note from the author: The U.S. is continuing to build highly controversial walls in and around parts of Baghdad . Our military planners think they’re doing the right thing. Iraqi government and the newly walled population, those we intend to protect, have en masse shouted their disagreements. They say it will make things worse, much worse. We aren’t listening, and the walls continue to go up. See here, here, and here, for example. Or here for sarcasm, Onion-style.

This is the original, alleged escapee.	One corner of the ingenious garage wall.
The new corner. Jackon's deflated swimming pool has been peeled away, but is evidenced in the lower right corner.	These 3 look happy enough in their new corner, don't they?
Mamasita holds the fading tiger, who is no longer fading by the way. Again, note the everpresence of Jackson's deflated swimming pool.	"Wisdom calls aloud in the street, she raises her voice in the public squares," Proverbs 1:20.

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