Theory: One "Meow" Does Not a Menace Make?

This is the first installation in what will be a continuing series on my many theories. To make order from the chaos which surrounds us, Men of Reason and Valor must assemble raw data into manageable tools for living in the world. The following is a tool of essential importance.

It was first observed in Disney's One Hundred and One Dalmatians (1961) that often pets resemble their owners in appearance. Explanations for this phenomenon vary: people may choose a pet that resembles them, owners may gradually acquire characteristics of their pet, or perhaps phenotypical incompatibility (lack of resemblance) results in death of either the pet or owner.

I contend that in addition to physical resemblance, pet owners bear a psychological resemblance to their pets as well. Consider the case of the boyfriend of one of my ex-girlfriends, who keeps two turtles in an aquarium. Let's call him Chet. Physically we may describe the turtle as short, built for power and not speed, and able to travel at a moderate pace on land or water. We may say the same of its owner, Chet. However, the turtle's primary psychological characteristic is its tendency to retreat inward, to seal itself safely out of the reach of predators behind its steely shell. Hence it should come as no surprise that Chet employs a similar tactic. He isn't one to lash out with claws. Instead, Chet is in the habit of withdrawing completely, poking his head out only once he is fairly sure potential threats have gone off along their way.

We need not look far for our second case: housecats. Housecats are everywhere, thanks to their apartment-appropriate size and breeding capabilities. Felines, to whom all decent men and women are allergic, have but one endearing quality: they induce kinesthetic sympathy by their stretching and arching behaviors. This is replicated in some so-called "cuddly" cat owners, though not universally. (The aberrations may relate to their cats as complementary partners and not as embodiments of the self. Theory forthcoming.) More importantly, cats are widely acknowledged to be impetuous, moody, selfish, hateful, self-destructive, narcissistic, given to sexual deviance, atheistic, controlling, promoting runny noses and itchy eyes, territorial, overly dependent, cruel towards infants, overly independent, smelly, murderous, and morally decadent. As for their owners, I need offer no further explanation.

We may think of this psychological resemblance as part of a tradition of humanity's identification with animals. Witches had their familiars. The Egyptians, for all their supposed sophistication, saw cats as emblematic of their nobility. And American Indians honored personal characteristics through the totem. It may be that each of us has a totem animal, whether or not we have one in our care. The jittery opera singer across the hall may want to consider taking in a Macaw. The beefy unkempt man at the bar may provide apt companionship for a wolverine. And the pony-tailed blonde playing frisbee at the park has golden retriever written all over her.

Only one question remains: what can be made of the author's ownership and care for tropical fish? Only time will tell.