How the Tail Saved My Life

Without voting, without army service, without being Jewish, without being Arab, without being married, without being single. I came to return my ID card and I want them to inject me with a chip. Like any other cat in the State of Israel. No more and no less. Equal treatment. And she says: Are you willing for us to neuter you?

A house cat and not a state cat. And all thanks to the tail (Source)

I dreamed that I wanted the state to recognize me as a cat. And I go to the Ministry of Interior, and the amused clerk actually says: We have a department for people like you. And I correct him: Cats! And he loses patience: Go to the room in the corner. And the compassionate social worker for treating trans people tries to look professional: So you claim that just as the state recognizes sex and gender identity by choice, it should also recognize your identity as a species, and therefore you want us to recognize your identity as a cat? That your ID card should say: "Sex: Cat"? And I say: I find the mockery in your words offensive to my feline identity. And she immediately understands: I'm sorry! And I lower my eyes: I don't want the state to recognize my identity. I want to be treated like a cat. I want them to take away my ID card and for the state to stop recognizing me as a human. I'm a cat. And she doesn't understand: What do you want from the state? And I say: What does a cat want from the state? Nothing! No obligations, no rights, except maybe animal rights. No bank account, no taxes, without voting, without army service, without being Jewish, without being Arab, without being married, without being single. I came to return the ID card and I want them to inject me with a chip. Like any other cat in the State of Israel. No more and no less. Equal treatment. And she says: Are you willing for us to neuter you? And I burst out and unsheathe my claws: Do you really ask this to the trans people who come to you too? This is catphobic humor. And the security guard arrives and asks: Do you want me to escort you into the nearest trash can or are you leaving on your own? And I say: Enough with this stigma. I'm a house cat.

And I go to a legal clinic for animal rights and want them to represent me in a petition to the Supreme Court to recognize me as a cat. And they send me to a human rights clinic but I don't see the relevance. And in the end I appeal to the Supreme Court myself, and the bored duty judge calls me just to see what this thing is, and His Honor asks: What makes you a cat? And I say: Meow! And His Honor says: Even my dog makes a more convincing meow than you. And then - all the discrimination I've been through suddenly bursts out of me (because I see that the typist is recording the protocol): Yes, I'm a kind of homo-cattus. And all I want is to stop being considered a human being. I'm fine with belonging to someone, having an owner. To have a collar. I'm fine with not worrying about my own food. I don't want to function anymore. Enough. For years I haven't been functioning and only now I realized it's not because I'm a failed human, it's because I'm a successful cat. That deep inside I always suppressed, or rather society suppressed within me, my feline identity. I would cry at night when the meow was choked inside me. Every time someone addressed me I wanted to answer meow, but I knew society wouldn't accept it. Years of repressed meows. Meow to the teacher at school. Meow to the commander in the army. Meow to the boss at work. Meow at the Torah reading at my bar mitzvah. All the meows I held back are now bursting out in a wail. Let me be a cat! This is who I am. So Your Honor laughs at me, but within that small meow I answered you are folded the sufferings of an entire life, which I have no way to express except in a meow. And I break into a long, long wail until the end of all generations, and the judge loses patience and gets angry: The petition is rejected. And I'm writing you, Mr. Cat, symbolic court expenses. And I say: No no, even if they put me in detention, even if now all my life I'll roll from prison to prison because of a hundred shekels, I won't pay because I'm a cat and a cat can't have money. A cat is not part of capitalism. Let me out of the system! And the judge says: Sounds like you've really gone out of the system. Then he concludes (apparently also for the protocol): The court is the last station in change, not the first. You need to start with recognition from society. First of all, you need the first person who will recognize you as a cat and accept you as you are. Only in the end will recognition come from the state. You sir, like a typical cat, are starting from the tail.

And I walk down the street sad and miserable, and realize that this is not my place at all. I'm a house cat. And every time I go to a different girl and meow at her and she runs away. There's no mercy even from righteous women for a cat like me. Maybe it's my nakedness that scares them? But I'm a clean cat. And I start licking myself. After all, I'm also a strong cat, flexible, agile, a very beautiful cat. Very very beautiful! And finally I see one fat woman crying alone at the end of the street at night. And I have nowhere to go and nothing to eat, so I go to her, sit next to her, and meow. And she's not scared at all. She examines me from head to toe, including tail, and it seems I even appeal to her. Immediately I make faces of a self-satisfied cat, and approach her slowly and with feline gentleness, and rub against her legs, and this actually appeals to her very much, although she's a bit hesitant. And she asks: What happened to you? And I say: Meow! And she laughs: Is this some kind of show, is it fringe [Translator's note: referring to fringe theater]? And I say: Meow. And she says: Are you a cat? And I say: Yes, and I have nowhere to be. And she becomes curious: What do you do for a living? And I say: I'm a full-time cat. And she chuckles: Where did you learn that? Can you make a living from it? And I say: Depends if you find an owner. Meow... And she looks at me and softens: Why are you so sad? Where do you live? And I say: That's my tragedy, I'm a house cat, but I'm here on the street. And she examines me with concern: Aren't you cold, honestly? Like this without clothes? And I lower my neck: Very cold. Brrr... And suddenly a look of courage and exciting adventure flashes in her: Do you want to come up to my place for a bit, my kitty, to drink a bowl of milk? And I jump: With pleasure, my mistress. And she bursts out laughing. And as we go up the stairs she winks and promises: If you know how to cuddle, pamper and lick, you might even be able to stay. And maybe maybe I'll even allow you to sleep in the bed in the end. Since then I haven't left her doorstep - and so began my new life with my spinster.