When I arrived home this afternoon, Henry came down the stairs to greet me. I couldn't believe what I saw in his face -- simplicity, humanity, warmth. As I looked directly into his face and tried to shudder off the day I was thunderstruck by the fact that my cat is saner than many people I know, and I mean this sincerely. I don't have to hide any weakness from him that he will pounce on, I don't have to hold a boundary firmly in place with him. He is a self-contained peaceful being. As I met his gaze I felt really awkward, knowing at that moment he was more clear-headed than me.
Henry has faults and weaknesses. He wants to attack Princess. He wants to eat the canary. He knows these impulses are wrong, and he works on them. We have seen him (and laughed at him) warring with himself. But this puts him miles above most human beings I have met right there. I know very few humans right now who are visibly working on themselves. Most folks let it all hang out, and that's the truth.
In literary terms there is something called the human condition. Some believe that a great work must embody the human condition. Henry has the human condition. Many people are only animals.