Dog vs. Cat = Binary Nonsense
I also adored both of our weirdo rescue cats, Squidda and Hidey, and I was gutted when they died. Hidey was a runt tabby who hid (thus the name - not Heidi) underneath a dresser in our basement for her first three days in our house. She stayed indoors for pretty much her entire life, with the exception of three days early on when she scampered out the door and ran off, apparently with my heart. I found her shivering and stuck inside the wall under our neighbor's porch foundation after 2.5 days during which I accomplished little beyond worrying about her. Once she warmed up to you, Hidey loved to be rubbed under her chin and along her back, until she bit you because she'd had enough.
Squidda seemed to be as dumb as he was long, and I base that on the fact that if one of our kids tried to pick him up under his front legs his hind legs touched the ground. He drew chuckles for a bunch of his antics, including his growly and chirp-like meow as he looked out through a window, drooling over a squirrel hopping across our yard. We think he meant well by delivering parts of animals as gifts, although he really, really shouldn't have that one time he opted for the entire chipmunk who was still very much alive. Another crowd-pleasing behavior of Squidda was his habit of sitting for extended periods only a few inches from the oven door staring, in a way that was somehow simultaneously intense and blank, at - we assume - his own reflection in the glass.
I loved these felines enough to say that I'm a cat person. Sort of.
What I actually am is inclined much less toward binary, either-or thinking. It's preposterous to believe that one must choose between dogs and cats, loving the one while hating the other. There will of course always be people who cannot stand cats as well as another crowd with mostly bad things to say about dogs. But it is a mistake to assert that any one person cannot possibly love two things assumed to be at odds or even drastically different.
Holding a strictly binary worldview is often dangerous.
Consider what we lose when we embrace the notion that all Americans who support Israel are hawkish and heartless about the fate of Gaza. Conversely, how absurdly simplistic is it to claim that everyone who cares about Palestinians is antisemitic. Isn't it likely that most of us are weary of this conflict, sickened and infuriated by the news of the death of any child caught in this mess? I recently came across the Instagram profile of a two year-old chef in Gaza, @leenfromgaza, who has gained fame by "whipping up smiles and tiny treats." Those of us who hope for the safety of Leen and others like her are surely not therefore blind to the horrors perpetrated by Hamas against Israel.
This black-and-white, us-versus-them mindset too easily creeps in to keep us from seeing the nuanced, beautiful intricacies of our fellow humans. How shocked might we be to learn that a Democrat favors sweeping immigration reform, just as their Republican neighbor believes in reproductive freedom?
I've been as quick as anyone to jump to conclusions based on what seems evident, particularly if doing so makes my tribe seem more righteous (more patriotic, more intelligent, more...) than another. My plan is to give in to this temptation less often, to remain open to the prospect that someone with whom I disagree is a lovely human being.
If we can allow for the likelihood that a self-professed "dog person" can also love cats, can't we make room for the idea that most of us are a bit more subtle and complex than we appear to be on the outside? At the very least, can't we try to embrace the possibility that every one of us is so much more than any label thrust upon us, worthy of respect and even love? I surely hope so.
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