The Theory of Relativity: Toy Tantrums and Cat Food

A while back, Jason and I discussed the fact that suffering is relative.

"Think about a four year old throwing a tantrum because they didn't get the toy they wanted," Jason said.

For an adult that has endured a large spectrum of life's disappointments, Jason pointed out, not getting some small wanted item usually causes just a minor pang. But, for that four year old, the experience of being denied a desired toy might genuinely be the most bitter, anguish-inducing and traumatic event they've yet known.

I have noticed that the same principle seems to apply to animals.

My cats get fed a very reasonable amount of food twice a day. Yet, when mealtime draws near, they sometimes begin to meow in a way that is a so pitiful an onlooker might suspect that I like to starve my cats for fun.

Here is a typical conversation:

MINA: Meow.
ME: Shush.
MINA: Meeeow. Meow.
ME: I'll feed you in a minute.
MINA: Meow.
ME: Hey! Shush.
MINA: Meow.
ME: Mina, shut it!
MINA: Meow. Meeeeeeow.

Now, that same conversation, with the cat-ish translated to English:

MINA: WHY?!
ME: Shush.
MINA: WHY DO YOU LAUGH AT MY AGONY?!
ME: I'll feed you in a minute.
MINA: THE HUNGER!
ME: Hey! Shush.
MINA: IT HURTS!
ME: Mina, shut it!
MINA: IT HURTS! SWEET MERCIFUL GOD, IT HUUUUUURTS!

In situations like this, I sometimes need to step away and consider what life is like for our two cats: They spend the entirety of their day in a small apartment. Pretty much the only pastimes they ever get to enjoy are sleeping, cuddling and gorging on their twice-daily meals. I suppose it makes sense that they would attach a very intense amount of importance to these few rituals.

Unfortunately, none of this explains my own occasionally hysterical, all-consuming cravings for tuna melts.

I'm working on that, though. If you have any insights, please let me know.