Bud Herron
Scooby, a red-blooded American shorthair, stands at attention as the flag passes.
My cat, Scooby, claims to be a true American shorthair. Particularly around the Fourth of July, he emphasizes the “American” part of his lineage as proof of his patriotism. And he looks down his whiskers at the more common domestic shorthairs whose families cannot trace their clowders back to Europe and colonial times.
He points out that his clowder line came to this country as “working cats” — killing off the mice, rats and other vermin intent on destroying the stored grain that fed the patriots of the American Revolution. And he flexes his front claws and kneads my couch at the very thought of the ever-increasing number of those common domestic shorthairs flooding into this country from all over the world.
He sees these immigrant cats as threats to his position in the patriot pride — as well as his supper dish and the spot on the floor where the morning sun heats up the tile.
I have tried unsuccessfully to talk some sense into him, but his prejudice and fear of displacement are solidly ingrained. (He has even started a chapter of the “Felines of the American Revolution” but membership requirements are so strict he is the only felis silvestris catus that qualifies.)
While there is no use arguing with him about his elitist, nativist and overly nationalistic views, I do challenge him from time to time about his definition of patriotism.
In his view, a patriot is a person or a cat (he disqualifies all feline immigrants, dogs, squirrels and birds) that stands at attention when the flag passes, reverently meows the National Anthem before ball games and cat fights, and has an American flag hanging on his litter box.
“Scooby, these are all just symbolic acts, don’t you have to do something to be a patriot?” I challenge.
He points out that one of the things he does is not complain when neighbors fire off aerial bombs and he has to hide under the bed. He also says he honors military veterans and goes to the annual SALUTE! concert at the courthouse, even though he has not been able to pass the physical exam necessary to enlist himself.
“Well, those things may be good symbols of your love for America, but what do you do that qualifies you to call yourself patriotic?” I press.
“Do you volunteer and work with organizations trying to improve your community?
“Do you keep informed by reading a variety reliable news sources rather than falling for every conspiracy theory passed on to you by cats in the alley and internet howlers?
“Do you attend debates of local candidates for office and then cast informed votes rather than just paw a party button?
“Do you work with organizations and individuals who fight to keep ‘America the Beautiful’ environmentally sound, or do you just sing the song?
“Do you write or call your elected representatives urging them to support legislation that promotes justice for all, equality, human rights and domestic tranquility?”
At this point, Scooby usually yawns widely, stretches, climbs up on the window sill and looks for some creature that needs correcting.
I wish I could tell you he is working on ways to become truly patriotic, but I fear taking part in the symbols honoring the real patriots is all he will ever require of himself.
That’s the way a lot of cats are, I guess, whether they are domestic or American Shorthairs. They all just enjoy a good parade and a full supper dish.
Bud Herron is the retired former publisher of The Republic and the former editor and publisher of the Daily Journal in Franklin. Contact him at [email protected].
