Human vs. CATgpt

Introduction

My daughter texted me, “Perhaps your next blog post can be about CatGPT lol, it’s a thing apparently.” I misread this as “ChatGPT” and though she was taking the piss, since I’ve blogged three times already about ChatGPT (here, here, and here). I was like, fair enough, I’ve exhausted this topic (at least for now). But then I realized no, she actually meant CatGPT. So, I decided to check it out. This blog answers the burning question: does CatGPT offer better A.I. than its (highly overrated) cousin, ChatGPT? 

Getting started

For some reason, the website is not at catgpt.com (probably because somebody snapped up that domain and is holding it ransom for a gazillion dollars). The feline A.I. chatbot is at https://cat-gpt.com. There’s a free version and a paid version. Since everything on the Internet is supposed to be free (or rather, cost us nothing but our privacy), I chafed at the $5/month version and ignored that option completely. (As should you—it’s probably a scam.) Other than that, the website is fairly straightforward, with a user interface pretty much identical to ChatGPT’s.

With no further ado, let’s get started. My inquiries are shown in italics. The CatGPT’s responses are in plain text. Where CatGPT uses images to enhance its responses, I’ve substituted my own, out of concern for possible copyright infringement … something ChatGPT doesn’t seem to bother with, disconcertingly enough…

Hi CatGPT. What are you? Are you a natural language processing engine?

Meow. Meow meow. Meow - meow meow. Meow meow, meow. Meow meow - meow meow meow. Meow meow. Meow meow - meow. Meow meow meow. Meow meow meow meow. Meow.

Interesting. You seem even more verbose than ChatGPT.

Meow meow, meow. Meow meow - meow meow meow. Meow meow. Meow meow - meow. Meow meow meow. Meow meow meow meow. Meow.

Okay, I see that I’ve perhaps offended you. I guess I can’t blame you for being voluble at times, such as mealtime. Humans just don’t listen, so some repetition is necessary … I get it. Okay, so let’s see how good your A.I. truly is. Can you write a quatrain of iambic pentameter with an ABAB rhyme scheme, on the topic “why cats refuse to look at their reflection in a mirror”?

Meow meow meow meow meow
Meow meow meow meow meow
Meow meow meow meow meow
Meow meow meow meow meow

Hmmm. I think maybe you just got lucky, since “meow” is naturally iambic, and it rhymes with itself—on two syllables, no less! So how about a couple lines of dactylic trimeter on the subject of “do cats fling their litter everywhere on purpose”?

Meow meow meow
Meow meow meow

Just as I thought: you have no concept of meter. I’ll bet you can’t even count syllables. You’re no better than ChatGPT at verse, I’m afraid. But then, I guess that makes sense: an A.I. is trained on gobs of data from the Internet, whereas everyone knows you can’t train a cat. But answer me this simple yes/no question: if you actually caught a bird, would you even eat it?

Meow, meow meow meow, meow - meow meow! Meow meow, meow - meow meow meow. Meow meow meow meow, meow meow - meow meow? Meow meow meow meow, meow meow - meow meow meow meow, meow meow.

I am realizing that one of the things I like about cats is how quiet they are. Watching you stalk prey is delightful. That said, it’s also calming for me to watch a cat sleep. Which reminds me: you and your ilk seem to sleep an awful lot. Are you depressed?

Meow meow meow meow - meow meow! Meow meow - meow meow meow. Meow meow meow meow meow - meow meow?

Fair point – you seem to relish your sleep, and all the activity surrounding it: getting comfortable, washing, settling in, periodically awaking so you can stretch, etc. We humans might learn from that, a universal lesson about enjoying an activity even if it is routine and born of simple biological necessity. Oh, hey, speaking of “universal,” if cats all speak the same language, why do non-English-speakers render your utterance in such varied ways as “meo” (Vietnamese), “meong” (Indonesian), “miaou” (French), “miav” (Danish), and “maiow” (British English)?

Meow meow meow meow meow meow - meow meow meow meow. Meow meow meow meow meow - meow meow meow meow meow meow.

I guess you’re a real American! Fair enough. Moving right along, I want to ask something that’s been on my mind for years: do you resent having been neutered? Did that rob your life of all its meaning?

Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow.

Yeah, I kind of figured that was a sore subject. Perhaps you’re heading for your cat dish assuming I’m going to give you a snack now, like I always do when I accidentally step on your tail and you shriek with pain and outrage. So … I guess this is as good a time as any to bring up something else I’ve felt kind of bad about: when we got you from the pound, they explained that they’d already embedded a microchip in you, in case you ever got lost, and all we had to do is register it on the Internet and pay a monthly fee to maintain your file, but I’m too cheap. Does that bother you?

Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow-meow meow meow meow meow meow.

I do wish you’d say something more eloquent. I’m reminded of Edgar Allen Poe’s famous poem “The Raven,” where the narrator keeps asking questions but always gets the same response, and eventually develops a theory about the bird:

“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast & followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never—nevermore.’”

Eventually the narrator, who evidently has a masochistic streak, starts asking the raven loaded questions, just to suffer the repeated stab of pain from this “thing of evil—prophet still, if bird or devil!” and its never-changing reply. In that vein, answer me this, feline chatbot: is Noam Chomsky onto something when he posits that A.I., when challenged on its “moral indifference born of unintelligence,” exhibits “something like the banality of evil: plagiarism and apathy and obviation”?

Meow. Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow!

You know what, CatGPT? I tire of this pointless exchange. Cats—real ones, I mean—aren’t about dialogue. They’re about fur and fluff and soft bellies and expressive tails and above all, about petting and pouncing and washing and snuggling. They don’t need Internet, they don’t need keyboards, and they arguably don’t even need a mouse. So I’m not going to hit Enter now. I’m going to have the last word for once, and then go find my actual cat for some nice, quiet quality time.

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Ask an Empty Nester

Dear Empty Nester,

I’m about to send my youngest off to college, and the way she’s talking, I doubt I’ll even see her over the summers. It seems she’s gone for good, which I guess is the whole idea. My question is: what should be done with her bedroom? I don’t want to make it into a shrine or anything, but to eliminate all trace of her seems a bit callous. Any suggestions?

Jeannie E, Seattle, WA

Dear Jeannie,

To some degree, this is a matter of real estate: how large is your home? If you lived in a land of giant houses, like, say, Houston, any modification to that room might not be worth the bother. But if your home is typical of Seattle, sounds like you could really use a proper guest room. So you’ll want to make that room attractive to your friends and relatives, which means pulling down the BTS or Monsta X poster, ditching the stuffed animals, upgrading the battered old bumper-sticker-plastered dresser, and if necessary (e.g., if the walls are red or black), repainting.

That being said, if you want to preserve something of your daughter’s essence, in an aesthetically pleasing way, leave her bookshelf exactly as is. Perhaps you have fond memories of seeing her behind this or that book, and after all you probably bought her some of them, especially if your daughter was wise enough to insist you hold on to her favorite children’s picture books. (Note that if your kid doesn’t have a bookshelf full of books to leave behind, you’re a shitty parent and all bets are off.) (Kidding!) (Sort of!) (No seriously, I’m kidding!)

Dear Empty Nester,

My son’s grand European tour dovetailed right into his departure for college, so my husband and I got an early start on our empty nester experience. The main thing I’ve noticed so far is that we’re kind of snippy with each other, especially about—of all things—the perennially low gas gauge in our car. We used to blame our kid for this (and frankly he earned that), but with him gone it’s still going on. My husband swears he doesn’t run out the tank, and while he’s not known to be delusional, I’m sure I’m not the culprit either. Are we losing our minds?

Emily K, Portland, OR

Dear Emily,

This could just be a phase as you adjust to life without your son around. Perhaps both you and your husband are flakier than you think when it comes to filling the tank, having long scapegoated your kid, and now the size of this problem is being exaggerated. You might also reasonably chalk some of this up to sky-high gas prices; maybe you’re getting just a few gallons at a time because you keep finding yourself almost out of gas without a reasonably cheap gas station nearby.

There’s a silver lining here, by the way: at least your son learned to drive! As described in this Wall Street Journal article, a growing number of Gen-Z kids aren’t bothering to learn; in 1983, 46% of 16-year-olds got their driver licenses, whereas in 2014 that had fallen to 24.5%. Don’t get me wrong, cars suck and we should all be biking instead, but knowing how to drive is an inarguably useful skill.

Dear Empty Nester,

It’s been almost a year since we dropped our child (er, adult, I guess) off at college, and when he didn’t even come home for summer break, my wife and I relapsed right into the empty nester funk we’d suffered originally. It might even be worse this time. It’s so bad, my wife is talking about getting a dog. This initially struck me as a really weird, hail-Mary type of notion, but I’m starting to think I’m just crazy enough to try it. What do you think?

Malcolm R, Oakland, CA

Dear Malcolm,

First of all, I am not a dog person, so I am fundamentally unqualified to answer this question, but I’ll give it my best shot anyway.

If you have never had a dog, this seems like a strange time to get one; or, to put it another way, if you’ve lived this long without a dog, do you actually fancy yourself suddenly becoming a dog person? Meanwhile, there are practical things to consider: as an empty nester you now have the opportunity to travel more, but a dog can seriously cramp your style. You should probably interview your dog-owning friends see what you’re getting into.

It also strikes me that a dog would be a questionable replacement for a typical teenaged human, with their moodiness, their tendency to hole up in their room, and their inevitable lack of greeting when you arrive home. In short, it’s likely your departed teen behaved more like a cat. Wouldn’t that be a more realistic surrogate?

Dear Empty Nester,

Why are we called empty nesters, anyway? It’s not like the nest is gone; we parents are still in it, thank you very much!

John S, Ashburn, VA

Dear John,

I wondered the same thing, before learning more about the avian behavior underlying the metaphor. For one thing, as described by Audubon, a bird’s nest exists purely for the eggs and hatchlings, and is then abandoned. If we want to be pedantic about it, the empty nest metaphor isn’t very apt unless the parents sell their home and move.

But it actually gets even more complicated than that. The real power of this metaphor derives from its allusion to brood parasitism, the practice of a bird laying its egg in another bird’s nest, manipulating the creator of that nest (the “host”) into raising its young. Isn’t this how all parents feel, before their nest empties out—as in, “Who are these evil teenagers and where did my sweet little children go?!” (This is related to the concept of “soiling the nest,” wherein—perhaps by biological design—your teenager becomes more and more annoying over time, to make his her departure a relief rather than cause for lament.)

The metaphor of brood parasitism is also a means to understand the guilt you are feeling now: just to get this kid out of your hair, you’ve planted her in a college dorm, making her her RA’s and roommates’ problem. They can try to get her to turn her stereo down, stop slamming doors at night, and not leave piles of laundry all over the floor. Offloading your chick to someone else’s nest feels  downright irresponsible, doesn’t it? Yeah … she learned from the best.

Dear Empty Nester,

This is really weird: although I think I’m coping pretty well with the empty nest (it’s only been a week), I startled myself the other day by calling my husband by our son’s name! Even more surprising, my husband says this was the second time I’ve done it. Am I losing it, or is this a known phenomenon?

Tracy A, Castle Rock, CO

Dear Tracy,

I have not only heard of this, but I did it myself! I wouldn’t read too much into it … just a brain glitch I think, based on your departed kid being on your mind. Perhaps it’s like that game where you tell somebody to say “stop” fifty times in a row, and then you ask him, real quick, “What do you do when you see a green light?” and he answers, “Stop!”

If, on the other hand, you start calling your husband by your ex-boyfriend’s name, then you might have bigger issues, like you’re reverting too far back to your previous life…

Dear Empty Nester,

I am having a disagreement with my wife about how much contact we should have with our son during his first couple weeks at college. She thinks he might be shy about reaching out to us for assistance, but I’m guessing he’ll love the independent feeling and would prefer to be left alone. When it comes to phoning, emailing, or texting a recently fledged kid, how much is too much? Please reply soon … we’re sending him off next week!

Rob S, Council Bluffs, IA

Dear Rob,

This will certainly vary from kid to kid, and based on where yours falls on the spectrum from already independent to totally coddled. I guess I would err on the side of less contact, since there are so many resources available to kids these days, with their parents likely being be a last resort. Remember, when our generation started college there was no Internet; most students lacked cell phones; and there was no Amazon … and yet, we somehow survived.

My younger daughter, a freshly minted college freshman, mentioned recently during an (albeit brief) phone call home that her alarm clock had broken and she had no idea how she’d wake up in time for her first class on Monday. So I suggested she use her (non-smart) cell phone, which surely has an alarm clock feature. She seemed to shrug off this idea, and dropped the subject. Well, the next day I downloaded the owner’s manual and sent her the instructions via email. Shortly after that, I sent her an unrelated email about some college lecture notes from thirty years ago I’d just stumbled across, relating to Nikolai Gogol, a writer we both enjoy.

Well, guess which email my daughter responded to first? Correct: the random one with no practical purpose, about how Gogol was a disgusting little kid, etc. To be fair, my daughter did reply to the alarm clock one too, but only to say she’d figured it out on her own. I have to say, I felt much better about the Gogol email. Her response to it told me she was alive and well and on top of her correspondence, and I didn’t feel like a mother hen. (Frankly, I’m more of a father rooster at heart.)

Dear Empty Nester,

I’m going to be an empty nester soon, along with a few of my friends and neighbors, and at some point someone was talking about silver linings and said something about free stuff. Is there some way to get free stuff out of this deal? I hope it’s not just bumper stickers or ball caps from the university…

Peter L, Albany, CA

Dear Peter,

You’re in luck! It just so happens there’s plenty of free stuff in our community, thanks to parents cleaning out their kids’ rooms. I’m seeing all kinds of perfectly good things dragged out to the curb: desks, chairs, old lamps, a clock radio, a boom box … you get the picture. My wife set out the six or seven stuffed animals our kids didn’t insist on keeping, and they were all taken … even the home-sewn turtle whose head was starting to come off. If you hurry, you might still nab this stereo cabinet (if that’s what it is) though I already scored the little alarm clock:

Dear Empty Nester,

My son, who starts his freshman year in a couple weeks, shocked me the other day by casually mentioning he’d be coming home once a month or so to do his laundry. (His college is only a couple hours away.) Is this a standard behavior? Should I allow it?

Lisa N, Sacramento, CA

Dear Lisa,

Look, this kid has a lot on his plate. He’s got his grades to think about, and making friends besides! I think you should drive out there twice a month, pick up his laundry, and do it for him. And bring him lots of baked goods while you’re at it (cookies, brownies, etc.). And if you really care about him succeeding socially, you should probably do his roommates’ laundry as well. And then write all their papers for them.

Have I made my point? Your son presumably has his tuition and dorm fees covered … he shouldn’t even be asking about laundry.

Dear Empty Nester,

I just have to say it: my youngest is going off to college soon and I’m already feeling pretty down. One way I try to process these kinds of feelings is through art, literature, etc. that goes into the problem I’m grappling with. That said, I don’t want to spend a lot of time wallowing in my grief by reading a 400-page novel on the topic. Any recommendations for a good empty nester movie or something?

Aaron W, Minneapolis, MN

Dear Aaron,

I know just the thing: “Bao,” an animated short film from Pixar (available on Amazon Prime Video). There’s a nice interview with the director and the producer here.

Dear Empty Nester,

That bit about brood parasitism being part of the empty nest metaphor ... you totally made that up, didn't you.

Mike R, Sheridan, WY

Dear Mike,

Yeah. I did.

Dear Empty Nester,

I’m getting ready to drive my kid cross-country to drop her off at college, and I completely grasp that this is the intended outcome of her upbringing, that things are going to plan, and that the best case scenario is that she immediately adjusts, thrives socially, and doesn’t give her family a lot of thought. At the same time, I must confess I’d feel heartbroken if she didn’t miss her father and me at least a little. Is there any way for me to tell if she does, or will, and is that even realistic to hope for?

Kaitlin C, Fairfax, CA

Dear Kaitlin,

This is a common question (fielded not so long ago by the columnist College Dad as well). The fact is, you should brace yourself for your daughter to be totally unemotional during the final sendoff (even if you’re crying your eyes out), and pretty blasé in the weeks to come as well. Bear in mind, she’s blasting off into an exciting future, and all her hormones are united in jettisoning her old life with extreme prejudice. You are correct that the best case scenario is a swift and complete detachment.

That said, if your family has a pet, your daughter will surely miss him or her. Pets are much more attractive and cuddly than parents, and never pester the kids for anything but food (which after all is easy and fun to serve up). I also wonder if longing for the family pet is a kid’s way to sublimate homesickness into a more acceptable form.

Our younger daughter’s big goodbye took place last week, and it was predictably brief and offhanded (especially for her). But during her final week at home, she was moved to write a poem about our cat Freya. The poem ponders how little we can understand our cat; how differently she perceives the world; how she likely doesn’t differentiate between dream and recollection; and how little she perceives absence. The poem concludes:

Yet when I’m gone
Perhaps the slightest lack is felt, she’ll start
At one more cold place in the house.
And so I’ve left, within her scattered mind,
A memory of warmth

An Empty Nester is a syndicated journalist whose advice column, “Ask an Empty Nester,” appears in over 0 blogs worldwide.

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How to Talk to Your Cat About COVID-19

Vlog

This post is available as a vlog. Watch on your phone, tablet, or laptop, or plug your device into the TV or (ideally) a Jumbotron.

Introduction

First it was climate change. Then it was gun violence. Now it’s an honest-to-God pandemic that has wormed its way into our communities and our psyches— leaving us stuttering, babbling, and mumbling, yet again, trying for the right words to explain this terrible thing to our cats.

Whether you consider yourself a “pet owner,” a “human guardian,” or a “cat custodian,” you may feel unsure of how much to say about COVID-19 to your furry, feckless friend. This post gives you guidance all the way through the process.

Remain calm

Though cats often seem to ignore humans entirely, they are actually quite sensitive and perceptive. They can detect our anxiety, and this affects them more than you might realize. For example, if you suddenly shout, “I CAN’T TAKE ANOTHER MINUTE IN THIS COFFIN-LIKE BAY AREA DOLLHOUSE!” you shouldn’t be surprised if little Snowflake runs under the couch to hide.

It’s also important not to let your mood become your kitty’s problem. As annoying as it is to see your darling (but shedding) little friend napping  for six hours straight on your cream-colored sofa, it’s never appropriate to yell, “How can you lounge around like this when the WHOLE WORLD IS MELTING THE FUCK DOWN?!”

Here’s an analogy. Say you’re on an airplane and, after severe turbulence, it pitches nose-down and begins falling to earth. The last thing you’d want in this situation is for your flight attendant to forget your ginger ale. Your cat is the same way. She doesn’t care how anxious you may feel about complete respiratory failure. She wants her dinner. On time. Actually, right now.

Be patient

These are difficult times for all of us, even pets. Well, most pets. Goldfish are probably oblivious, frankly. But your cat surely realizes something is up, and may act out in frustrating ways. She might sharpen her claws on your beautiful cream-colored sofa. Or maybe she is suddenly missing the litter box by six feet or more. Or she’s walking on your face at 4:00 a.m., or shooting heroin. Yes, it may be she has always done these things, but her behavior might also be a cry for help. What are you to do?

First of all, forgive her. That cream-colored sofa probably wasn’t the wisest choice to begin with, and it’s not like your children haven’t spilled tea on it anyway. Drape a colorful tapestry over the back, and your guests will think you were just going for a splash of color. And when Fluffy disrupts your hard-won sleep—waking you up fifteen minutes after you spent three hours tossing and turning and trying not to think—well, you just have to chuckle and grind your teeth some more. It’s not appropriate to berate your pet in these situations. She won’t understand.

Second, try to alleviate her anxiety. Remind her that cats can’t get COVID-19, so far as we know, and that the worst thing that could happen to her is that her entire family could die and nobody would be around to feed her. Point out that eventually somebody would come around and bust the door in, and until then, she can feast on the corpses.

Share with your cat how you deal with your own stress so that he can learn from you how to cope. You might ground yourself by connecting more with family members. Maybe you take advantage of the “new, shitty normal” by wearing pajamas 24x7. Perhaps you split two bottles of wine with your husband, even if he only has a glass or two. Or you might stare at a TV or laptop screen continuously while twirling your hair or chewing your nails and occasionally sharing the latest bad news with anyone in earshot. You may even hurl profanities at the answering machine when a Robocaller leaves a seemingly endless message. All these behaviors are signs of an impending mental breakdown, and they’re perfectly normal. Your cat will watch, and wait, and wonder when it’s mealtime.

Sometimes we count on our cats to help us feel better. Isn’t this what pets are for, after all? After a stressful workday, when your employer is in the throes of a downturn, and your stressed-out boss takes it out on you, it could be that closing the lid on your laptop and taking to the La-Z-Boy armchair with a magazine and your furry friend is the perfect way to unwind—if only Stripe would actually stay put, tuck in his paws, and purr. You know, do his fucking job. But instead he forsakes you and bails from your lap. Don’t be mad! Your cat is social-distancing!

Be honest and forthright

Provide information that is honest and tailored to your cat’s age and developmental level. While cats are quite smart, they probably won’t understand the finer points of lengthy editorials, like “How is this a novel coronavirus? It’s getting so fucking old already!” You need to keep the message simple, but don’t sugarcoat it by pretending COVID-19 isn’t a big deal. Just about any cat, and even some Republicans, naturally recognize that this virus is real and that it could infect any of us.

It’s useful to find out what your cat already knows. It’s okay to ask. You might inquire, “What are you hearing? Did you ever eat a bat? Does my skin feel oddly warm to you? Did it seem like mama had an awfully dry cough last night? Who are you working for?” Granted, you may not get many answers. Your cat may just stare at you. But if she does that thing where she closes her eyes very slowly, seeming to regard you contemptuously through slitted eyelids, she knows something. You can tell.

You can be reassuring and candid at the same time. There really are lots of reasons to be hopeful. For example, when the current trend—denial—gives way to the next one—abject panic—people will finally start wearing masks and staying away from each other. And one day there will be a vaccine, so we can turn our rage away from this invisible virus and turn it on the medical industry bureaucrats who can’t or won’t deliver the vaccine at scale. You know … the devil we know.

Help your cat feel “in control”

Give your cat specific things she can do to feel “in control.” Getting lots of sleep and washing are both great ways to stay healthy, and your cat is already doing them! Praise your cat whenever you see these behaviors. “Oh, you’re such a fooly-foo!” you might tell him. “Who’s a little fur-face? Who’s a little fluffernutter? What a galoo-foo!” All of this will reinforce your cat’s good behavior.

Speaking of behavior, actions speak louder than words. So telling your cat how to stay safe, or even encouraging him verbally when he assiduously scrubs his butthole with his tongue, is well and good, but sometimes it’s even better to just go over and bury your face in his fur and make murmuring sounds. Just don’t let him lick you.

Another way to empower your cat and give her a sense of control is to actually relent and feed her at 3 a.m. when she walks on your face, instead of banishing her to the garage. And when she walks across your desk, knocking your coffee over on your keyboard causing you to forget yourself and cuss up a blue streak during a videoconference with your boss, just let her. In times like these, your family needs to come before your career.

Be sensitive

It’s natural to forget your cat altogether when you’re focused on trying to figure out how you could possibly survive this pandemic when your teenagers wear their masks around their necks and seem congenitally incapable of washing their hands, and when their version of “six feet away” doesn’t preclude actual physical contact. In the context of your darling children suddenly being recast as oblivious, unstoppable killing machines, a pet can seem pretty insignificant. But cats are people too, and need to be reassured during these dangerous times, even if they seem like asocial predators with no ambition other than to kill, eat, and sleep.

In light of this, keep an eye out for “reassurance seeking.” This may look like a cat saying the same thing, such as “meow,” over and over again while staring up at you or threading his way around your feet, practically tripping you, as you carry a giant platter of food. This ceaseless repetition of “meow, meow, meow, meow, meow” ad infinitum might actually annoy you, but remember, little Whiskers could be suffering severe anxiety. If this continues or is pronounced, you might consider asking your cat’s veterinarian about Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, otherwise known as CBT (not to be confused with CBD—a mistake many humans make to their own great detriment).

You should also watch for signs of declining mental health. If your cat sleeps more than 18 hours a day, she might be depressed (though this can also be a symptom of being a cat). Or, if she’s listless, refusing to play with her cat toys, a ball of yarn, or even a roll of toilet paper, she might be having some kind of emotional crisis (though it may be a sign that she’s no longer a kitten).

Take care of yourself!

It’s hard to model calm behavior and “be there” for your cat if you let yourself fall apart. Ironically, one way around this is to invert the natural order and look to your cat as a role model. Does she get enough sleep? Check. Does she know when to turn off the news and put away the smartphone? Clearly. Does she practice mindfulness? Probably—it’s not clear what else could be happening inside that tiny skull. And does she do yoga? Well, yeah! Hell, cats practically invented yoga!

But don’t take it too far … remember, you’re not a cat. You may have your own way of coping. You might distract yourself with books or videos. You might stockpile toilet paper. Maybe you gorge yourself on animal flesh while you still can, while the stockyards and meatpacking plants are still operational. Maybe you binge shop online for clothes that probably won’t fit and that you may never have the opportunity to wear. Or you might relax your body and mind with a miracle elixir like Drake’s Denogginizer Double IPA. All of these are perfectly valid ways of coping, so long as you remember to also clean out the litter box from time to time.

More reading on the pandemic

• Shelter-in-Place FAQ
• E-Book Options During COVID-19 Lockdown
• Is Cycling Safe During the COVID-19 Pandemic?
• The Toilet Paper Hoarding Conundrum
• More COVID Chronicles – Baking in Place
• When Will the Pandemic End?
• What Are Hospitals Like During the Pandemic?
• Teleworking During the COVID-19 Pandemic
• Why Don’t The Dutch Wear COVID Masks?
• Travel Tips During the COVID-19 Pandemic
• COVID Wristbands

Other reading on cats

• Adopting a Kitten in the Modern Era
• Ode to Cat

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Life Hacks

Introduction

In this essay I examine the most modern meaning of “hack” (essentially, short for “life hack”) and provide a half dozen useful life hacks that I’ve stumbled upon myself. 

First, some etymological rambling

I most recently came across hack-as-a-noun in The New Yorker, which had four essays from various writers under the heading “Life Hacks.”  These essays—which needless to say inspired this one—included a software recommendation, a critique of A.I. cooking, an essay about gaming Twitter, and an examination of whether screen time is bad for kids.

As recently as 2004, The New Yorker itself defined “hack” very differently.  The term was only described in the sense of computer meddling, though the article allowed that “hacker” could mean—in geek parlance—“a righteous dude.”  In modern parlance, “hack” can be a noun—not in the original noun sense of “a rough cut, blow, or stroke,” “a writer or journalist producing dull, unoriginal work,” or “a horse for ordinary riding”—but as a reverse formation from the verb “to hack,” meaning to do something in an unconventional way.  Urbandictionary.com’s top definition of “lifehack” is (as of the moment), “A tool or technique that makes some aspect of one's life easier or more efficient.”  (“Hack” in the sense of computer hacking—or “cracking,” as pedants now describe the illegal stuff—is gradually being displaced.)

The first time I heard of “hack” as life hack was around a year ago when a mom on my kid’s high school mountain bike team asked, “What do you think of this hack:  after a muddy ride, I take my daughter’s bike to the self-service car wash and spray it off with the high pressure nozzle.”  (In case you’re wondering, this is a bad idea:  such a powerful spray can get past the seals on the bike’s bearings and destroy them.)  I answered, “Fine hack, but you better watch out for the NSA.”  No I didn’t.  (I warned her about the bearings.)

And now, on to the life hacks I recommend.

Life hack #1:  switch from cotton to wool

It might seem strange for a Californian to recommend wool over cotton.  It’s warm and sunny year-round here like in Baywatch, right?  Well, not exactly … it does get cool and damp here, which bothers us because we’re all wusses.  Plus, Californians still sometimes get rained on, which is the sweet spot for wool because wool keeps you warm even when it’s wet.  If you live in a place with real winters, you’ll get even more benefit.

But warmth isn’t all wool has going for it.  It also feels less clammy on the skin (very important when you’re hot and sweaty) and, in the case of socks, is more comfortable and durable than cotton.  Wool socks provide better cushion, don’t slide down your leg, and don’t become threadbare at the heel.  Don’t tell anybody this, but I like to wear wool cycling socks with my business suit.  They’re tall enough that nobody would ever know!

Synopsis:  Wool is like cotton on steroids.

Life hack #2:  stop trying to get your cat to love you

(Note:  if you don’t have a cat, run right out and get one, preferably from the pound, and then come back and finish this essay.)

Pet ownership (or, as they say in Berkeley, “human guardianship of companion animals”) can be hard, especially with cats.  We love them so much, but they don’t love us back!  They turn their noses up, or more to the point turn away so their butts are in our faces.  In short, cats are disloyal, snooty, and antisocial.  It’s heartbreaking.

But if you stop dreaming of a love that can never be, and accept the truth about cats, you’ll realize it has its benefits.  Their attitude takes all the pressure off, frankly.  It’s impossible to disappoint a cat, and almost impossible to sell a cat short.  All a cat wants is regular feeding, a roof over his or her head, and a clean cat box.  So you never feel guilty!  What dog owner hasn’t regretted his or her inability—or, let’s admit it, unwillingness—to give poor Waldo the attention, walkies, and love that he deserves? 

Then there’s the matter of energy levels.  Most of us humans are tired all the time.  The way a cat naps 24x7, she does a pretty good job of seeming to relate.  Contrast this with the burden of a dog’s crazy energy:  the frenzied greeting at the door, the bounding around, the almost pathetic hope he musters up when you go anywhere near his leash.  I don’t think I could handle it.  Much better to pick up a cat when you feel like it, pet her a little, notice her complete apathy, and walk away convinced that there’s no need to try any harder. 

Once you acknowledge these benefits and stop craving the attention this beast will never give you, it’s easy to love her all the more, even if most of your human/cat interaction is you watching her sleep.

Synopsis:  a cat is like your pet dog on Quaaludes.

Life hack #3:  go back to traditional books

Embracing the very latest meaning of “hack,” here’s an ironic one:  “Stop futzing with technology in your spare time.”  That is, set aside your phone, your tablet, and your laptop and spend some more time with traditional books.  Since most of our leisure time is in the evening, the main benefit of books is that they don’t interfere with sleep.  There are so many studies out now about screen time causing insomnia, I won’t bother to cite any (but here is a listing to get you started).  The idea is that the bright screen confuses your brain and inhibits melatonin production. 

Beyond any issues around sleep, old-school books, unlike various screen-based sources of text, can be bought used, borrowed, or checked out from the library.  Thus, you don’t have to pay for them—whether with your money or your privacy.

Plus, reading a traditional book also increases the odds that you’re reading something worthwhile; after all, a publisher wouldn’t spend good money printing most of the folderol on the Internet—all the blogs, online magazines, tweets, and mindless comments from haters.

Perhaps best of all, you can read a paper-bound book in bed without bothering your spouse/other.  Sure, there are some who wouldn’t mind the intrusion of a Kindle, tablet, or phone, but there are plenty more—like mine—who mind very much.  In fact, my wife put her foot down and won’t allow my smartphone in the bedroom at all.  On the flip side, I really doubt there’s a spouse/other on the planet who insists on a screen instead of a book.

Besides, isn’t there just something so cozy about a good old-fashioned book?

Synopsis:  a paper book is like an e-book on selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors.

Life hack #4:  drink your coffee black

I won’t elaborate a lot on this because I wrote a whole essay about it:  click here.

Synopsis:  coffee, neat.

Life hack #5:  get thee to a library

I am so sick of people telling me, “I can’t believe you don’t have Netflix!”  You know what?  Netflix—just like the cable TV companies—can go straight to Hell (where they’ll surely join bike thieves, telemarketers, and tobacco industry executives).  Since you’re forking out good money for these subscription-based services, you have a built-in lizard-brain impulse to get your money’s worth, which leads to all kinds of wasted time.  And you know what else?  I happen to know—because I surf Netflix when I donate platelets—that their movie selection is bad and getting worse.  Twice I’ve started a movie—and not my first choice, mind you, because they didn’t have it—hoping to finish it next time, only to discover on my next visit that the movie I’d been watching is no longer available. 

My library, on the other hand, has all kinds of movies.  I can reserve them online, pick them up from my local branch when they’ve been brought over, and keep them for 3 or 6 or 9 weeks, so I can watch them when I get around to it.  Often, when I happen to be at the library, I’ll grab a few movies practically at random and give them a try.  If, after 10 minutes, I’m not enjoying the movie, I’ll just eject it and try another.  Costs me nothing.

This works the same with books, of course, with the added benefit that you don’t have to struggle with the great debate of whether it’s harmful to authors and publishers to order from Amazon.  An added bonus is that the library is a great place to hang out, enjoy some peace and quiet (and free WiFi), and get some work done, without having to order coffee or food to pay your rent.  Meanwhile, you’re supporting a public institution which, as recently lamented by a fine author, is under threat (at least in the UK, and probably in this country as well).

Synopsis:  a library is like getting Netflix, Amazon, and a coffee shop on the house.

Life hack #6:  only drink with friends

A famous Harvard study on happiness, which tracked 268 men from all walks of life over a 75-year span, proposes two central ways to prolong and enjoy your life:  value your relationships and don’t abuse alcohol.  As described here, the study found that alcoholism among those studied “was the main cause of divorce” and “was strongly correlated with neurosis and depression.”  And as quoted here, the main author of the study, Dr. George Vaillant, declared, based on the evidence, “Our relationships with other people matter, and matter more than anything else in the world.”

After losing a good friend of mine this summer to a tragic accident, I decided to try to get out and see friends more.  Simultaneously, I noted my 10-pound weight gain since the previous summer, and (as I cannot bring myself to eat less food) decided that my (albeit moderate) alcohol consumption had to come down a bit.  So now I don’t stock my fridge with beer anymore.  If I want a drink, I have to go out.  From the Harvard study perspective, I’m killing two birds with one stone.  Is it working?  Yeah, I think so.  I’m seeing more of my friends, and have lost half that extra weight.

Synopsis:  imagine this initially breezy essay bogged down with bulgur wheat, flax seed, and other dietary fiber.  Yeah, sorry about that.

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For a complete index of albertnet posts, click here.

I Don’t Smell a Rat

Introduction

What is this expression “I smell a rat”? It’s weak on two levels. In the strictly olfactory sense, it makes no sense: I’ve never smelled a rat, even when in close proximity to one. (“I smell a skunk” makes perfect sense, but not rat.) Two, in the figurative sense, why does a rat connote something unsavory? Why is it, when someone commits a treacherous act, we call him a rat? I can find no zoological basis for this. Why not pick on the cuckoo? It parasitically lays its eggs in another bird’s nest, and then the cuckoo chick, soon after hatching, pushes the host’s eggs out of the nest. Now that’s treachery.

I’ve been thinking about rats lately because I have one. Not a pet, but an interloper, hanging out in my backyard eating seeds and/or their shells which fall from the bird feeder. I am deeply conflicted about what I should do, if anything, about this rat, and how I ought to feel about it. This post explores those feelings in an effort to make you (and me) laugh, think, and feel uncomfortable.

Why we hate rats

If you look closely at a rat, you’ll see that—wait, probably you won’t see much because you’ll have this automatic gross-out response and won’t really look that carefully. But if you look closely at a photo of a rat, or at a rat that’s securely confined, you may conclude that it’s almost cute. It’s just that long, thick tail that is so unpleasant. On top of this we equate rats with the bubonic plague. (Rat lovers point out that the disease wasn’t the fault of the rats, exactly, but of the fleas that bit them; I’m reminded of the NRA slogan, “Guns don’t kill people—people do,” and Eddie Izzard’s rejoinder, “Yeah, but I think the gun helps, you know?”)

I’ve done a cursory Google search on why people hate rats, and the only unexpected thing I turned up was this conspiracy theory: the scientific community teaches us to hate rats so we won’t mind when cruel experiments are done on them. I’m not sure I buy this; I don’t think that the Animal Testing Industrial Complex has influenced me much at all. I’m aware that a) this research saves human lives, and b) lab rats really are cute. So, it’s a toss-up whether or not it’s okay with me. Given world enough and time, I might think harder about the ethical implications, but I instead I just lump animal testing into the same category as “ugly, hairy people having sex.” That is, I’m aware that it goes on, but it’s not happening right in front of me, and I don’t have anything to do with it, so I’m fine shoving the fact of it into a dark corner of my brain and forgetting about it.

Lots of amateur Internet pundits decry the poor treatment rats have in movies, TV, and other media, and I think that’s a fair criticism. Even E.B. White’s Charlotte’s Web, while making the death of a pig and even a spider seem unthinkably tragic, reinforces the image of a rat as gross, greedy, and opportunistic. There are limits to how persuasive such media are, though, because I really do think the typical human response to a rat is more visceral than rational. We’re not taught to hate rats … it’s instinctive.

Being a homeowner, of course, gives me particular sensitivities. As a renter I thought earthquakes were kind of fun; now I find them horrifying. Similarly, when I see a rat in my backyard, I’m not just responding to the rat itself. I’m responding to the idea of an infestation—after all, rats breed like, well, rats. Whereas one rat might be aesthetically tolerable, a dozen or two would bring on abject terror, like something out of Hitchcock.

People keep rats as pets, and I’ll bet I could find somebody’s pet rat cute. Rats are known to groom themselves, just like cats. But the big difference, I think, is domestic versus feral. A rat in your backyard is not the equivalent of the neighbor kid; it’s the equivalent of a finding a filthy homeless dude sprawling in your deck chair.

Is it okay to kill rats?

I’d be lying if I said it never crossed my mind to knock off this rat.  The first time I saw it, I threw a shoe at it.  There was no moral dilemma here, because I knew full well I had no chance of actually hitting it—my arm isn’t that good.  I just hoped to scare it off.  Well, it scurried out of the way, but didn’t even leave the yard.  I fetched the shoe and tried again, and this time it left, but only for awhile.  This technique may work on housecats, but only because they have very little to gain from being in your yard.  A rat is of course totally unfazed, which is just one more reason we don’t like them.  We humans are accustomed to striking terror into the hearts of lesser beasts, and when we don’t, it’s natural to feel offended.

I’m disinclined to make sweeping moral statements about man’s right to kill animals, because I eat meat and wear leather shoes.  (Though a vegan can claim higher ground, he may be a bit of a hypocrite if he puts flea medicine on his cat, allows countless insects to splat on his windshield, or subsists on an agriculture that surely disrupts habitats, displacing all manner of wildlife.)  Obviously I have no problem with killing animals, but I also don’t believe it’s okay to be cruel.  (This means, of course, that I have to eat organic eggs,  organic chicken, and grass-fed beef.  The package of some beef I bought recently said not only that it was organic, local, and grass-fed, but that the cows were encouraged to socialize.  Hell, I was never encouraged to socialize.  Those cows may have had a better life than I have!)

I have killed one rodent in my life.  This was back in the ‘90s.  I was sharing a tiny apartment in San Francisco with my wife.  Upon discovering a mouse, she jumped up on a chair, shrieking and flapping her arms.  After I recovered from my laughing fit, I went to the hardware store and bought a trap.  I think it was marketed as a non-cruel trap, as it had no spring.  But it worked by trapping the mouse’s feet in goo.  This ended up being cruel because the mouse would have worked itself to death trying to escape.  Its piteous squeaking got to me, and I put it out of its misery via swift, blunt force.

Cruelty, ethics, and affectation

I took a trip to Boulder, my hometown, recently and while I was there I fell into conversation with a very interesting blue-collar guy.  (I’ll call him G—.)  G— has a friend who runs a coffee shop.  This friend (I’ll call her F—) is dog-friendly—she even has a water dish on the premises for dogs—but she freaked out when a rat showed up.  So she poisoned it.  Per the directions on the poison, she removed the doggie dish, because if a poisoned rat can find water, it’ll drink enough to dilute the poison and will live.  This rat staggered out into an alley, where some college kids found it. 

For the sake of the story, let’s assume—because it’s how this was described to me—that these were silly trust fund kids taking a break from their drum circle.  They gathered around trying to rescue the rat, but weren’t sure what to do, other than blow the smoke from their medicinal marijuana in its face.  (Okay, I made that part up.)  F— was afraid they’d bring the rat into her shop and ask for water, which would put her in an awkward position.  So she called G—.  He showed up and wasn’t sure what to do either.  Fortunately for him, the rat soon entered its death throes, at which point G— went into the shop and fetched a broom and dustpan.  When he returned to the alley the rat was dead, and the trustafarians were standing over it looking grief-stricken.  G— asked, “Are you guys done with that rat?” and then, getting no response, swept it into the dustpan and chucked it in the dumpster.  Whether or not G— was callous enough to poison a rat himself, he evidently couldn’t resist the temptation to tweak the do-gooders.

It’s the kind of story I laughed hard at, but then felt sheepish about enjoying so much. After all, the concerned citizens were just trying to be good, just like I do. But they were getting all worked up about an individual member of the species, whereas it’s not at all clear they care much about rodent welfare in general. They have to know that in countless urban environments rats are killed by spring traps and poisoned as a matter of course. How much of their concern in this case was ideological, vs. a cozy, brief indulgence in a warm bath of virtue and magnanimity?

I try to be good, but I also try not to be sanctimonious.  For example, I quietly forego pâté de foie gras, because I’ve heard horror stories of how its producers force-feed geese to enlarge their livers—but I acknowledge inwardly that, pâté being expensive and not that tasty anyway, it’s an easy enough thing to boycott.  And I haven’t joined any campaign against pâté, because a) I’m a busy guy and can’t chase down every societal ill I come across, and b) given the widespread knowledge of the hellish conditions facing factory-farmed cows, pigs, and chickens—which everybody eats—doesn’t it seem odd that there’s such an outcry against a food so expensive that practically nobody eats it?

Rationalizing rat-icide

Getting back to whether or not to kill this rat:  if I decided to let it be, might I not feel pretty stupid if it bit one of my kids and gave her a terrible disease?  Perhaps.  But before using my kids as an excuse to rid my home of vermin, I should really do some research.  After all, many a Marin County parent would look pretty stupid applying such rationale, because so many of them are creating a much larger risk by refusing to vaccinate their kids against terrible diseases that—far more recently than the bubonic plague—have been epidemics.

I could argue that, my own kids having been vaccinated, killing this rat is just taking the next step to prevent the spread of disease.  But then I’d have to admit that I know nothing about the rate of disease in rats versus squirrels, and can’t be bothered to research it.  A squirrel has been raiding our bird feeder for months, but he’s a cute fellow with a big bushy tail, and it’s fun to watch him climb straight down the string toward the feeder, and we wouldn’t dream of killing him.  The fact is, squirrel and rat behaviors are roughly the same, whereas the rat alone is icky—and that’s highly questionable justification for rubbing him out.

The elegant solution

Of course there’s a very simple solution to this problem:  the cat.  Except in the case of toxoplasmosis, a rat will generally avoid a cat’s hunting ground, and our cat is probably why our backyard has been rat-free for so long.  But perhaps this rat is smart enough to realize, having had hundreds of opportunities to witness our cat’s laziness, that she doesn’t pose the slightest threat.

So the last time I saw the rat, I ran inside and grabbed Misha.  I brought her outside, hoping the rat would still be there.  It was.  I set Misha down about four feet away and she’s either totally blind and unable to smell, or simply has zero interest in hunting.  She didn’t make a single move toward that rat, which trotted away with what seemed like an annoying air of joie-de-vivre.  Misha then plopped herself down on the warm flagstones to relax.  I snapped this photo moments later.

So, as far as removing pests, Misha is worthless.  Many argue that all cats are useless.  Of course I disagree; a cat is very elegant, and nice to have on your lap or in your bed.  But as easy as cats are to keep, their companionship has a price.  As I sit here typing, Misha is meowing her head off for her dinner.  Plus, I have the ongoing ritual of fishing her turds and clumped-up urine balls out of the cat box.  At night she sometimes scratches at the door.  When we go  on vacation we have to get somebody to look after her.

The rat, meanwhile, is utterly self-sufficient and quiet.  If I can get past that tail, and its classification as filthy vermin, and start to look upon it as a pet, maybe my problem will be solved.

Conclusion

Do you smell a rat?  Because I don’t.  All I smell is the cat box.

Epilogue:  Our hero!

Well, less than a day after I originally posted this, the rat ordeal is over.  It seems I have greatly underestimated Misha, our 14-year-old cat, and I owe her an apology.  Her finest hour came this afternoon:

She was so proud.  She paraded the rat around, bringing it to every door hoping to be let in so she could take a victory lap around the house.  Honestly, I didn't think she had it in her!  I guess that rat didn’t either....