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AN EYE FOR AN EYE MAKES THE WHOLE WORLD BLIND
Yes, it’s happened. I’ve had my right eye removed. My keepers were more worried than I was. But I had to laugh when Sarah our wonderful vet said keep me quiet and don’t feed me for 10 hours after the operation. I was flopped on the bed after I got home, so I went downstairs immediately and got stuck into my dish. Having one eye slows me down, and I can’t get up or down things as quick as I would like. My cat radar has been compromised. Because I’m slower and have a ‘disability’, if I were human, you would probably treat me as if I were stupid. Regular readers of this column know I’m wise beyond words. What we cats see is what is there, we see the essence of things. What humans see is what you perceive; you see what you are programmed to see. I notice the evil press baron, Blurdoch [his name rhymes with something else, but this is a family publication], has been found out. You forget his racism, homophobia, sexism and contempt for humanity has infected not only his organisations, but the whole of any society in which he has operated. I notice some poor souls have been poisoned in one of your northern hospitals in the UK, and suspicion has fallen on the staff. Naturally it is vital to catch the killer. However, I recall a period [in my lifetime] when someone would be arrested and questioned, and only be named if they were charged and went to trial. Now, the ‘suspect’ is named, her photo shown on TV, the location of her flat has been revealed, and she has had details of her Facebook page read out on the ‘news.’ If she is guilty, then why do we need to know this now? What happens if she goes to trial and found innocent? What happens if she is innocent - period? And if she isn’t the killer, the real killer must be rubbing their hands with glee. And what of the victim’s families? They will only feel justice has been done when the real killer is convicted. It may be her, but she hasn’t been sentenced yet. This is just one aspect of the legacy of Blurdoch.
‘Leopards never change their spots’ is another media mantra. Why should they? They couldn’t if they wanted to! But you lot can. You can ‘change your spots’ if your name is Jeffrey Archer. So perhaps I’ll call myself old one eye and become a TV celebrity, and my vanquished enemies can go to hell. That last bit was a bit tongue in cheek, because in my dotage, I wouldn’t want anyone to go to hell. Hell isn’t a place anyway, but a state of mind. Indeed good old Blurdoch has helped millions adopt a particular state of mind, and need I remind you what that is? As I said in a previous piece, the energies here at our new house are wonderful. All four of us sit out on the patio within a few feet of each other without a care in the world. Non-feline people often ask what we cats do. We just are. Yes we do cute tricks, and make noises when we chew our nether regions [at least I do, it’s therapeutic, and far quieter than tennis grunters] but most all we are role models for the opposite of what society’s manipulators want you all to do. One of my favourite humans is Gandhi. I love that man. The quote for this piece is his. And you know what’s coming next. I exhort you to do something. As I’ve said, you like doing anyway. An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. So, how about forgiveness, blessing and love? I’ve lost one eye. I would rather I hadn’t. So, many of you are functioning with the equivalent of having both eyes closed. Open them now. Metaphorically. We are all one. The alternative? Blurdoch’s dystopia, a nightmarish vision. But it is being halted in its tracks. Two open eyes make the whole world kind… But eating only requires one. The Great Cat always delivers. Old One Eye, alias Jimmy. AUGUST 2011 P.S. We’re off Sky TV until September. How ironic given the focus of this article. Jimmy’s keepers Anne and Jack Stewart are currently touring the UK running Healing Codes workshops. ”The defining healing technology of our age.” Visit their site, www.thehealingcodes.co.uk for more.
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Blurdoch’s
nickname was ‘Dirty Digger.’ One of my siblings, Daisy, is frequently called
‘Dirty D’ by my male keeper. It came about at our old house when she ‘had an
accident’ on the carpet. That was over 18 months ago, and there has been no
repeat. Isn’t it funny how names stick? Or may be not.