I’m back. It’s been a rough week. The furry beasts [Eggnog, Walter, and Sherman] locked me out of the computer, took over my blog, and are demanding one blog post a week. This is MY blog! But for the sake of peace, I’m letting them have their way. And they say that I create drama. Ha!
It’s warmed up outside and LOUD Mom enjoys opening the windows to let fresh air into the house. That’s great for me because it gives me the opportunity to chat with my neighbor friend, Baby Girl. Baby Girl is always a good sounding board for me [much to Eggnog’s chagrin]. Baby Girl gives great advice. I guess that’s why she became a certified Life Coach.
So I was chatting through the window with Baby Girl, telling her what the furry beasts did to me. Baby Girl said we live in a culture where boys have all of the power. She told me that it’s not uncommon for boys to assert their dominance when their power is threatened. If I want to take back my power, Baby Girl said that I need to do what she says and stand up to them.
I reminded Baby Girl that Eggnog, a girl, was the one that changed the password on the computer. Baby Girl said Eggnog was simply identifying with the male power structure to gain a false sense of power and control. In reality, Eggnog is a tool the boys use to maintain their dominance.
While Baby Girl and I were talking, a few of the neighborhood female outside cats – Marmalade, Cinnamon, and Trixie – joined us in the window. Marmalade told me to stop complaining, that girls who live outside have far more challenges when it comes to dealing with harassment and discrimination. “Cat calls” are just the tip of the iceberg.
That seemed awfully unfair to me, though. They’re not in my paws, they don’t know what I have to deal with on a daily basis. Besides, when my brother Steve’s ex-boyfriend, Basil Worthington, visited, he told us all about the lavish life some purebred cats live. They get fed canned food daily [sometimes even fresh meat and tuna], drink filtered water, and have heated beds [and not because they’re sleeping on vents]. So don’t tell me about how easy I have it!
Baby Girl interjected that we’re confusing the plight of female cats in a patriarchal society with issues of breed and class. She called where these issues cross the “intersection of inequality.” And that’s where she lost me. All I want is my blog back!
Ethel, my irritable old lady feline sister, saw us in the window and came over because she’s so nosy. She said all the boys, especially Steve, should be put on an island. Ethel started quoting someone named Andrea Dworkat, saying that living with the likes of Steve leaves us “inside a system of humiliation from which there is no escape.” I don’t know who Andrea Dworkat was, but I think she had a flare for the dramatic. No wonder Ethel likes her.
Next thing I know my other old lady sister, Violet, had joined the party. Violet started talking about the “old days” and how it was her generation that fought to win the freedoms my generation enjoys now. What freedoms?! We can’t even get our moms to give us treats! But Violet said I was being self-centered, that my forebears like Susan B. Cathony and Louisa May Alcatt didn’t risk their lives for us to get Greenies.
That’s when I’d had my fill. My bid to get a little sympathy and advice had turned into a three-ring circus. Thankfully, Steve came over not wanting to miss out on what he thought was a party. [I can’t believe I’m thankful for something Steve did!]
Ethel, Steve being her mortal enemy, hissed and darted back to her room, her saggy gut sweeping the floor. As Ethel ran off, she said that by cavorting with Steve we were submitting to our own female negation and annihilation. What?! Violet, with her AT-AT walk, quietly followed Ethel. And the neighborhood girls started purring and flirting with Steve. So much for girl power. Little did they know they were barking up the wrong tree [please pardon the canine-centric expression].
So there I was surrounded yet feeling so alone. That is, until LOUD Mom saw all the cats out front and ran outside in her robe and slippers clapping her hands and shouting for them to get out of our yard and away from the bird feeders. Then I really was alone.
I don’t know what I think about patriarchy or issues of breed and class. I’m a cat. What I do know is that I want my blog to be MY blog.