Last night I picked up my kitty as I got ready for bed and started talking to him. Saying silly little things while I cuddled him like, “I love you too! My kitty loves me. He loves me as much as a kitty can.” At which my husband was like, “uh-huh.” And then failed to hear me ask him if he loved me since he thought I was still talking to the cat. Once I got his attention he of course answered yes. Then answered yes again when I asked him if he loved me as much as a person can. He at least loves me more than the kitty does, right? Or does he loves me as much as the kitty loves me because they both love me as much as they possibly can? Can you compare kitty and human love?
Of course, by that point I’d lost him and my husband was just nodding looking confused.
But I do think I brought up an interesting philosophical point, though. How does a person measure love? How can we say that someone or somecreature does or doesn’t love? Love is such a strange, complicated bundle of emotions that you can’t put your finger on.
Love is complicated for people, but not so much for animals, I think. They don’t have the same level of cognition and worries, so they don’t have as much to complicate their emotions. They either enjoy your presence, or they don’t. They fear you, or love you, or are neutral about you, or some gradation in between. We people tie knots in everything and wrap up so much of our identity in what we perceive from others. Wouldn’t it be nice to simplify our emotions down and enjoy them without thinking too hard about them? Like my kitty. It might be nice to have a kitty-cat heart.