In Which I'm Crazy, But Not As Crazy As That Guy

I recently read an article in the New York Times about trapped cats. The article explained that New Yorkers have a history of going to great lengths in order to remove cats who have become stuck in various places, in cases spending thousands of dollars to knock down walls to get out the animals. The article also quoted some urban specialist, who analyzed the situation by explaining that while people in cities are fairly used to seeing human suffering, they are not used to seeing animals suffer. Thus, we ignore homeless people, walk nonchalantly past crime scenes where bodies are being removed, and freak out completely when we hear a few meows.
This is true. Absolutely one hundred percent true. I know because my cat was neutered on Tuesday and I have spent the past forty-eight hours panicking over her. I am panicked when she runs around because I am afraid she will hurt herself or infect her stitches. When she is asleep, I check periodically to make sure she is still breathing. When I noticed some drops of blood coming from her stitches, I called the vet in tears.
This is not the beginning of my cat insanity. I talk to her a whole lot more than I speak to some people who are actually capable of speech. That's the beauty of it, actually; she never disagrees with me. She does meow a lot, but I can interpret that in any way I want; it could mean 'Yes, feed me!" or "I completely agree, the Bush administration seriously needs to go," or "I agree, you should go back to bed."
However, my craziness was put into serious perspective last week when I saw the film Grizzly Man, a recent documentary about Timothy Treadwell, a man who spent thirteen summers of his life living among wild bears in remote parts of Alaska. Not only did he live with them, he also videotaped them, photographed them, and videotaped himself talking about them. All of this footage came in handy two years ago, when he and his female companion were eaten by a particularly nasty Grizzly, right at the end of their expedition.
My first thought upon hearing Treadwell talk to a Grizzly Bear was "oh my god, that sounds just like me talking to my cat." It did, too. He turned to the giant hulking beast and murmured things like "I love you, you cutie, I love you sooo much! Now, be a good girl and go catch that fish! Yes, that's a good girl!" The bear, sadly, did not give nearly as good as response as Calypso does. She didn't even growl in return, just sort of sauntered along on feet wider than my waist.
I should clarify that Treadwell wasn't doing any sort of scientific research out there on the tundra, just kind of chilling and communing with the bears while making sure there weren't any poachers around. He did some educational work with schoolkids during the winters, for which he deserves credit. However, for the most part, the bears were more of a really, really esoteric life-consuming hobby than an actual study. Whether he should have been out there, well, that's the central question of the whole film, and I'll let you investigate that one by yourself. But I would not have been out there, that's for sure.
I assumed Treadwell was, at least, a person raised in the wilderness, a person who had cultivated his love for nature and wildlife during birth, who felt so at home among animals that he felt the need to risk and lose life and limb to protect his home. That's what I thought. And then I found out he was from Long Island. Most of the native Alaskans interviewed in the film appear to regard the Bears with affection, but also trepidation and distance, just as I would regard a fellow passenger on the subway. You coexist, but you don't interact. It takes a wacked out Long Islander to go jump in the river with them and console a bear who has been scratched-up in a mating fight with his own dating woes. And it takes a small town native to approach an urbanite on the nine train and try to make conversation about the weather.
And those are my thoughts on the subject. They have nothing to do with Greece, whatsoever, but then again, I never said I would only write about Greece, did I? Nope, I just said that I'm Emily IN Greece, which I am. In Greece, watching my cat recuperate and thanking myself for choosing a country that does not have Grizzly Bears. Besides, based on that fact that I generally get about 500% more comments on my cat-related updates than my Greece-related ones, I think I am not the only crazy one in the blog world.