THE CRISIS OF CONFORMITY

“Killer” 2005–2020 

Note from owner, in chalk, on the plant pedestal that Killer often relaxed on: “Miss my Killer. He had an old soul. He was a friend who made friends.” 

Killer had a unique personality, like no other creature. He made the rounds along the street of shops each day, checking in with each owner and store. When the stores closed because of the “pandemic,” it must have taken away a lot of his joy in life. He spent most of each day sitting on the wooden pedestal, just outside Noori. Cats like music, and Noori had live music several days a week. Live music in the open air was something special that brought me back to Baltimore. Take it away, deprive us of one of life’s joys, and we wither. 

I have learned more about Love from animals than humans. Being free of words and logic, they are unencumbered by concepts and enjoy the immediacy of expression (even if that involves peeing on the couch). There is Phila, Agape, and others but English suffers from a poverty of cliché surrounding the varieties of Love. 

Instead of the world of love which animals inhabit, we live in a harsh and inflexible world of rules. The nature of those who like to rule over others knows only a twisted form of joy, which the Germans call “schadenfreude.” 

Most people are just trying to be okay. They desire nothing more than to dissolve into the herd and become indistinguishable from the mass—wouldn’t be caught dead in any other color of yoga pants besides black. The Average American today takes comfort in conformity, wearing face masks to assume greater and greater anonymity—the exact opposite of Killer the Cat. 

“It’s the new model for the new concentration camp, where the camp has been built by the inmates themselves, and the inmates are the guards.” —My Dinner with André by Wallace Shawn