Trusting in fear or boldness
WORDS were spoken. Not tinkly, soft words pitterpattering to the ground like autumn leaves.
There was no sense of anything dropping as ‘‘the gentle rain from heaven’’ either.
They were sharp guttural sounds splattering him with hailstorm ferocity.
I may have even cranked out ‘‘I’m surrounded by idiots’’ — my favourite angry expression when all four sons were at home.
Earlier, he had announced he was going to take our housebound kitten outside, to give him some idea of his surroundings.
‘‘Make sure you hold him. Do not put him down anywhere. He’ll run away.’’
The runt of a wild litter, captured by my companion (aka North Otago’s Crazy Cat Gentleman), the kitten had been confined to barracks for more than a month, apart from a resented vaccination visit to the vet.
After I had picked him up from his temporary home at the Oamaru SPCA, the kitten was frequently fearful, running away from us and hiding in any available space. If he couldn’t avoid us, he was cringing and wary whenever we came near.
Lured by food and play, however, he was happy to be cuddled and quickly became affectionate. Concerned about the state of my personal hygiene, he insisted on early morning washing of my face and hands.
Despite his own unreliable toileting behaviour (even in a two dirtbox household), we were besotted. I had even borrowed a book from the library on knitted cat toys (who knew they were a thing?) and whipped up a thistle to acquaint him with the Scottish side of the family. He ungratefully removed part of its stuffing soon after meeting it.
When he was carried to his first experience of the Dunedin great outdoors, he was wideeyed, sniffing the air, no doubt sussing out the options for things to kill.
After a stroll about the property, my companion thought it would be OK to pop him on the deck while he loaded something into his car.
Seconds later, the kitten was under the car. Attempts to coax him out sent him to cower under our boundary
hedge. There he stayed. Well, we thought he did. We couldn’t actually see him, and he was cleverly silent.
It was then I unleashed my fearfuelled tirade. We both had engagements which required us to be away from home so we could not stay around trying to tempt him back inside.
There was nothing for it but to leave the door open and hope he would return.
Would the call of the feral trump food, warmth and affection?
There was no answer to that.
I told myself the only thing I had to fear was fear itself, though I wasn’t sure what that meant.
When Franklin D. Roosevelt made those words famous in his 1933 inaugural presidential address, he described fear as ‘‘nameless, unreasoning unjustified terror which paralyses needed efforts to convert retreat into advance’’.
Of course, he was speaking at the time of the Great Depression, but the essence of his speech could apply to many things today, including the way we are failing to address pressing environmental health challenges here and overseas.
He talked of the falsity of material wealth as the standard of success; that the measure of restoration lay in the ‘‘extent to which we apply social values more noble than mere monetary profit’’.
FDR reckoned his people realised as never before their interdependence on each other — ‘‘that we can not merely take but we must give as well; that if we are to go forward, we must move as a trained and loyal army willing to sacrifice for the good of common discipline, because without such discipline no progress is made, no leadership becomes effective’’.
He said it was the time to speak the truth, the whole truth, frankly and boldly.
‘‘Only a foolish optimist can deny the dark realities of the moment.’’
He made the call that ethical changes alone would not be enough. He wanted immediate action.
Halfway through reading the depressing Environment Aotearoa 2019 report, I fear anew New Zealand’s action on the environment is far from being bold, truthful or immediate enough, despite much highfalutin speechmaking from our leaders.
Fear of alienating those with vested interests or getting offside with the New Zealand First Party must not dictate our environmental future.
But is my conscience clear? Have I inadvertently enabled the release of another feral cat (albeit a neutered one) into our burdened landscape?
When my companion arrived home before me, the kitten, happily asleep inside on a sunny chair, was rudely awoken and smothered with kisses and cuddles and praise.
There’d been nothing for me to worry about. He knew the kitten would be OK. Apparently, it was a simple matter of trust, not fear.