CAVEAT: This diary talks about belief in God or, more precisely, about a particular way of believing in God. It's not particularly complimentary to Himself, so if you are a big God fan, please be forewarned.
My cat is a priest.
So this cat, man. . . .
He invents these elaborate rituals, timed precisely, to insure that I do all sorts of things that he wants me to do -- things like delivering food and affection and a clean litter box. Goals, incidentally, not that far from my own requirements. What more do you need?
The day begins with Matins. This, the first -- and most important -- ritual of the day occurs at 5:00 a.m. and is known as the "Awakening of God." The ritual takes the form of a Solemn Processional about the bed. He frequently cries to the Lord in Propitiation. Then comes the Tossing of Objects, followed by the Patting of Cheeks. All this is done with greatest caution, for the Lord's wrath is terrible and delays breakfast horribly.
At first, I regarded his ritual as as a simple manifestation of practical magic. If he conducted his ritual correctly, at the exact same time every day . . . CANNED FOOD would appear. (I understand magical thinking, you see, because I work at a University, where they have this thing called "tenure . . . ")
I later grew to understand ( when I switched bedrooms three times in less than a month ) that it wasn't magic. It was religion. The deep and abiding faith of the domestic cat. Just as men cling to belief in God -- finding evidence all around them (cf. your wealth is a sign of God's favor) -- so did my cat cling to belief in Me.
So I got to thinking . . . (this is not easy for me and it hurts) . . .
My cat believes in Me like people believe in God. Okay, it's a metaphor.
And I realize . . .
We've gotten the relationship between Man and God completely backwards.
My cat does not Worship me. He screams at me.
He does not humbly submit to My divine whim. Inbstead, He imposes his will on Me, demanding breakfast and other services. He'll adjust his behavior if I act up . . . but he never shifts his goals.
Religion, then, is properly understood to be a mechanism for forcing God to get out of bed and do His damn job. He has a responsibility. God owes us . . .
I tell God what the cat tells me:
You're not worthy of respect and You has a lot to answer for and you better get me my damn breakfast Right Now.
Do I get my Breakfast from God?
Your call. But . . .
The religion of cats, that's what I believe.
