Love Me, Love My Dog—and Cats

The philosopher C.S. Lewis categorized love in four ways: affection, friendship, romantic love, and charity. Valentine’s Day cards run the gamut, addressing everyone from lovers to teachers to pets. I wonder if Lewis would think that cards for pets are symptomatic of corrupted affection, or storge, since pets can’t read. Do we buy them to indulge ourselves? Perhaps the best Valentine’s present for Rover is a dog biscuit or an extra walk on the Creeper Trail. I know that my cat Billy, who doesn’t know the difference between a Valentine and a Kleenex, would prefer a bowl of goat milk.

An economist could say these cards exist because there is a market for them. Capitalism entices people to buy the silliest of products, and these cards do make us smile. A veterinarian might hypothesize that they are subliminal reminders to be kind to animals. A psychological explanation could be that such a card earns romantic capital if a man wooing a woman buys the card and sets it where she can see it. Whose heart wouldn’t melt?

Better yet, a suitor could dispense with the cards and just fill his house with additional animals. My husband’s own affection for cats was a real draw during our courtship. When he told me how he rushed to Bristol Mall one evening to find a friend for his cat Malone, who was grieving because she had lost her platonic mate, I knew I had found a kindred spirit. Friendship, or philia, between humans often foreshadows romance.

Romantic love, eros, is a human bond so celebrated over the centuries that greeting card stock has got to be worth something. While it is possible to love someone romantically without first feeling affection, friendship, or even charity, the other loves help romantic love to blossom and persevere. Isn’t it nice to find an affectionate, friendly, charitable person before we entrust a heart?

When I visited Barry during our engagement, I would tote my cat Tutti so he could get used to Malone and Sweet Pea. Perhaps the most romantic thing Barry ever said during those days was “Why don’t you let Tutti spend the night?” When I drove away that evening, leaving my cat to settle in, I knew I would be home soon. Tutti never returned to my house, and I eventually moved in with him in our new home—and with my new husband and his pets.

We’ve been together a long time, long enough for some turnover. Sweet Pea, the store-bought cat, passed on. Then Billy showed up on the edge of our yard, a starving barn cat wounded from being half eaten by a dog. We took him in, got him fixed up, and then came Spot. Spot showed up after somebody dumped her out down the road. I never thought I could feel affection for a dog, but when she climbed into my lap that first night, I knew that I would not let her ramble on. Tutti died last year, and Miss Malone, approaching 19, wonders where he has gone.

All of our animals, including the short-lived hamster Hamtaro and every fish that has swum in and out of our lives, have taught us a little more about charitable love, or agape, which Lewis saw as an unconditional love that draws us closer to what is best about our human natures.

When Barry and I are old and gray, sitting by the woodstove on Valentine’s Day, we’ll surely reminisce about the creatures that once dwelled with us. I’ll get out of my rocker to find one of those whimsical photographs pet owners can’t resist taking. Then our new kitten will come bounding through the house to remind us to pour a bowl of goat milk because, after all, a pet deserves a little special treatment. Malone, having broken a record for longevity, will look up from her cushion and meow.

Felicia Mitchell. First published in Washington County News (Abingdon, VA), 11 February 2004, p. A4. WCN is a publication of Media General Operations. Copyright 2004.

Starling Advisory

Our common earthworms are immigrants. A legacy of settlers, they have replaced native earthworms, which are, it seems, extinct. Unlike viruses that cause epidemics, or imported birds that proliferate like starlings, these earthworms respect their environment. So why are computer viruses called worms? “Starlings” is more apt. Also an import, the starling has flourished on our continent for more than a century, earning a reputation as urban pest. Think about these birds congregating by the thousands, nesting here and there, stealing nests as soon as other birds build them. No worm was ever as obstreperous.

The other day I had to delete numerous email messages from computer network administrators advising me that I had tried to send a worm through email. By afternoon, I was an official scourge, like the starling: Felicia, the urban pest, distributing worms. Or was I? I never open unknown attachments, and my virus software is always up to date. A little obsessive, however, I logged on to another virus service and scanned my entire system. I then did a full search of all drives, from my computer to my network drive, for the virus. It wasn’t there. It wasn’t there, but it wanted people to think it was. This virus was as sneaky as a starling.

Computer viruses are sneaky and destructive. I guess that’s why they’re called names like “W32/Mydoom@MM.” That day, one in twelve emails around the world was infected with W32/Mydoom@MM, which created chaos. Imagine all the servers that had to deal with “my” email messages, the ones I didn’t send, along with all the others. Multiply this phenomenon by Internet providers around the world. The mess that resulted was sort of like the mess that results when two thousand starlings party on a cherry tree.

Evidently, W32/Mydoom@MM was intelligent enough to “spoof” email identities. It could generate random email addresses, some real and some fake, in order to spread itself far and wide. It didn’t matter if my computer was healthy or not. People all over the world who didn’t understand computer viruses were going to think I was derelict. Just as a starling will steal another bird’s nest, a computer virus was trying to make the world think that it had stolen mine and that I, in turn, wanted to steal others. How crafty!

Would a worm be smart enough to pretend to be me? The common earthworm is much less flamboyant or even intelligent than W32/Mydoom@MM aspires to be. A starling, in contrast, is intelligent as well as egotistical. Tens of thousands of starlings have been known to infiltrate neighborhoods, causing structural damage to buildings and even clogging water supplies. Internet viruses are like that. They accumulate in flocks and cause lots of damage, not just to other birds’ nests.

I was not sending the virus, but I still felt that my good name, or at least my good email address, was being sullied. Given the litigious nature of our society, I wondered if I should panic. All I needed was a server in Indianapolis to sue me for sending viruses through the Internet. Fortunately, email trails would help my case. One email seemed to originate in Parsippany, New Jersey, while I was seated at a desk in Washington County, Virginia. Starlings do have wings. And no offense, but they all look a lot alike.

I know that not every worm is as wholesome as an earthworm. Some worms are as creepy as viruses, causing problems from intestinal distress to elephantiasis. However, I’m still sticking with the starling metaphor because our starling population acts more like a rampant computer program designed by human folly. In 1890, sixty starlings were imported to the United States by a man who wanted to introduce Shakespeare’s birds to our country. Last count? About ten million. Unlike the most disgusting worm, the starling is a pest because people made it one: just like W32/Mydoom@MM.

Felicia Mitchell. First published in Washington County News (Abingdon, VA), 4 February 2004, p. A6. WCN is a publication of Media General Operations. Copyright 2004.