Thinking about thinking mystically: the cat with at least nine Dads

Misty and Sammy, two kitties, and their parents live in a duplex. Sammy has one Dad and one Mom. Misty, “ee-ee” (term of endearment), in contrast, has several Dads, at least nine. They fall into two groups: the downstairs Dads and the upstairs Dads.

Sammy

Downstairs, there’re the standing-up-downstairs Dad, the sitting-down-downstairs Dad, the lying-down-downstairs-Dad and the lying-down-very quietly-downstairs-reading Dad.

Misty on "her" memory foam mattress

Upstairs there’s the leaning-over-the-bed-to-kootchie-me Dad, the lying-down-very still-with-no-ipad-on-lap Dad, and a few more Dads in different stages of position and transition. I forgot, there’s also the Not-upstairs-not-downstairs Dad, namely, the going-up-the-stairs Dad. The latter Dad is Misty’s worst. Why worst, what’s so bad about Dad going up the stairs? Well, he’s not just the going-up-the-stairs Dad but the going-up-the-stairs-only-in-his-underpants IN-THE-DARK Dad.

What made me think of Misty is the book I am reading at this very mo called “The cradle of thought by Peter Hobson, Professor of Developmental Psychopathology at University College London. On page 1, he writes:

“Just think … and you will realize how remarkable thinking is. In thinking about thinking , or even (on simpler level) in thinking about whether to read on, you are doing something that no other species but ours can do.”

{The lying-down-very quietly-downstairs-reading Dad is thinking: “They call ‘thinking about thinking’metacognition.’ So when I’m thinking about Hobson thinking about thinking about thinking, then, I’m meta-meta-meta-meta-thinking.”}

What on earth does Hobson mean by “No other species but ours can [think]!” True, Misty can’t read signs like words but she can sure read other signs. How else would she know whether to stay put downstairs safe in the crook of Mommy’s soft arm resting on the even softer and spongy arm of the comfiest Lazyboy in the world OR to go upstairs for her tenth rest for the day on “her” memory-foam mattress?

Misty on arm of Lazyboy with Marmee

“I’m comfortable in Mommy’s crook but I think I might need to go upstairs where I can stretch better. But look meeeeeeeeeeuuuuuuuu! What’s that on the stairs? It’s it’s my going-up-in-his-underpants IN-THE-DARK Dad! Marmeeeee!!

Misty with her Kootchie-upstairs Dad: "Genuine communication could not take place without a background of sharing" (Hobson, p. 259).

Here is Hobson’s final  thought (p. 274, Pan books Paper Back Edition):

“The infant has been lifted out of the cradle of thought. Engagement with others has taught this soul to fly.”‘

The infant has been lifted out of the cradle of thought. Engagement with Misty has taught this soul to fly.

8 thoughts on “Thinking about thinking mystically: the cat with at least nine Dads

  1. I don’t know if it is only because it is late and I had a long day…a pleasant day too thank God 🙂 But I really don’t understand what is the story about all these cats and the proliferation of fathers….Are you becoming a cat lady for too much involvement in religion mister? 🙂

  2. Are you being ironical in your personal way? 🙂 To be or not to be perceptive is a personal state of mind even thought to be part of a certain credo helps to be more responsive or less responsive to certain inputs

    • I think I see what you mean, but am not sure. Do you mean that I use my darling darling Misty to make the point that there are far deeper things going on than meta-meta-meta-metalinguistics.

      • I mean what you mean…This is why I asked a question and if I dont’ reply it is because I understood more. .I asked you also if you were ironical about my being a perceptive person because I was catholic since I had assumed then being lutheran didnt’ help in understanding the dinamics of relationship

  3. Pingback: Thinking about thinking mystically: the cat with at least nine Dads: Water Colour version « OneDaringJew
  4. Good article. My take is that instinct is God’s direction sewn into each and every one of us, right down to the tiniest insect. By the way, Sammy looks identical to my parent’s cat, and his name is Sammy too! LOL

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