When Midnight (my beloved cat) was a kitten, she chased everything that moved—shoelaces, newspapers, shopping bags, and even pencils if she saw me writing with one. And she loved to chase bugs. She used to hang out a lot in one of my windowsills to soak up some sun and for whatever reason, flys were attracted to that particular window. She’d stand up on her back legs, and swat them with her front paws. Judging from the way she favored her left paw when she swatted them, I think she truly is a southpaw.
In recent years, things have changed. She’s 16 now. According to the chart on her veterinarian’s wall, that makes her around 64 in cat years. She’s still frisky. She still gets the midnight crazies. She still likes to fight with me before I go somewhere. And she still likes to impersonate Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka by jumping off my headboard at night and landing either on me or right next to me. But for some reason, she has stopped chasing bugs. I have no idea why. She can still see them—she’ll often watch them buzz by, but she doesn’t make a move toward them.
If I had to guess, I’d say she’s finally figured out that spending all that energy to catch bugs isn’t really worth it. It proves that she’s “still got it,” but beyond that, why would she want to eat bugs when she has her daily pick between canned wet cat food, dry cat food, and people food which she often mooches off me during supper?
In some ways, I think all of us chase bugs, and in the process we miss out on a proverbial feast. Our instincts tell us to chase bugs—most of which aren’t inherently bad, but they just aren’t as good as what we miss out on while pursuing them. Maybe Midnight is on to something. Sitting in the sun and ignoring her urge to chase bugs seems to suit her well.
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