Published by the Students of Johns Hopkins since 1896
August 2, 2025
August 2, 2025 | Published by the Students of Johns Hopkins since 1896

On Deck with WJHU: WJHU shares thoughts on cats, humans

By NICK GERSH | February 28, 2013

Ostensibly, this weekly WJHU article is supposed to reflect music, or least music culture in some way.

However, I can’t bring myself to write about music without coming off as a pretentious blowhard, and I honestly don’t have much to say about my favorite music of the past month beyond the opinion that Scottish accents make sad music sound great.

So, in the interest of producing something, I’m turning my attention toward one of the station’s two mascots: cats. (In case anyone is wondering, the other mascot are bees, but that’s a whole separate article.)

In the interest of full journalistic disclosure, I am a definite cat person, and what I’m about to say shouldn’t be taken as a repudiation of only cats. In fact, it can really be applied to any pet.

That fact that we, as a species, own cats is mind-bogglingly insane.

Now, if you only own a cat for the purpose of hunting mice and other crop consuming pests, you are exempt from this little rant. I understand the utilitarian purpose that led to the original domestication of cats.

But if you currently have a cat gently purring away on your lap while you read this, I want you to indulge my psychosis for just one moment.

Removed from all cultural context, what you are currently petting is a small, likely blue-skinned, fanged animal, completely covered in hair, with slit pupils, a sandpaper tongue and a call that sounds remarkably like crying.

In its spare time, this creature will hunt small animals, bury its waste in sand, clean its entire body by tongue and sleep on your keyboard while you’re trying to write an article.

They honestly sound like Lovecraftian horrors, yet at any given moment, we rarely consider a single aspect for more than a moment, and we never dwell on the aggregate preposterous nature of a cat.

However, I find myself consumed by the implications.

House cats will spend the majority of their time in an environment where every object has a specific purpose, a purpose the cat will never come close to understanding, because it is a cat and thus incapable of comprehending “table” or “bed” or “television.”

These cats are then hoisted into the air by larger, hairless animals producing bizarre sounds, who carry them about and benevolently dole out portions of a substance that looks and smells almost nothing like anything produced in nature.

Obviously, there are explanations for this whole relationship, which probably include a whole bunch of well-researched psychological studies, cultural exploration and scientific analysis.

But I can’t help myself from dissecting the situation until it dwells in the back of my mind like a gibbering whole, bringing me closer to feline-induced insanity.

So please, the next time you see a cat, gently pick it up under its front two legs, hold it close to your face, stare into its eyes and whisper, “Why?” while gently shaking it.

Just make sure it doesn’t attack you with the sharp claws hidden in its paws.


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