but all the cats were busy dying or being interrogated by the Inquisition. Rats had free rein, the fleas infected humans, and humans died horrible stench-filled deaths. Call it Freya's revenge.
Cats clearly could not have stopped the plague from coming, but they probably could have limited its impact by eliminating a main vector of infection. In fact, that's what they did: in all the zaniness and hub-bub surrounding the Black Death, people were too busy counting their buboes and their days to worry about slaughtering cats. The cat population went up and went after the rats (who, as you might imagine, were doing very well in those days); the rat population went down and with it the main avenue of plague transmission. Did the humans thank the cats afterwards? Hell, no. As soon as they were feeling better, they went back to their cat-burning ways. Stupid humans.
People eventually stopped their wholesale cat extermination policy, although felines were still never entirely trusted. Start with the black cat superstitions and move to the one about cats sucking the life out of babies and you've got yourself an animal who is even now on humanity's "double secret probation" list -- one false move and it's back to the stake with them. And don't think they don't know it. Cats are famously standoffish, but maybe that's just because they've learned the value of a running start when it comes to dealing with humans.
Admittedly, cats often don't help their case. They're not pack animals like dogs, designed down to the genetic code to follow the leader. Your dog would follow you off a cliff, because if it's good enough for you, it's good enough for him. As opposed to your cat, who would watch you all the way down, staring at you like you're the dumbass you so obviously are. Your cat likes you and may even love you (depending on how well it's fed). That doesn't mean it's going to back you up on every damn fool move you make. Cats have their own agenda, and while it's generally simple (eat, sleep, kill something its own size or smaller), it doesn't mean it's any less important than yours.
It's this element of cat nature (combined with the fact people have pretty much stopped believing cats are the Devil's own furry telephone into this world) that have finally given cats an edge in this last half of the 20th Century. We're all somewhat more independent these days, less inclined to follow the leader. The cat has the attitude of the age, and that's why this beleaguered animal has managed, finally, to make it to the top of the heap. Don't think your cat's not enjoying it. Don't think your cat is under the illusion it will last, either. More than any other animal, the cat knows the danger of human nature.
Best Buddy Team of the Millennium.
Samuel Johnson and James Boswell. Sorry to disappoint all of you who were rooting for Shields and Yarnell.
What does it take to be a successful buddy team? Well, as years of violently formulaic motion pictures tells us, you need at least a couple of the following elements:
a) One "buddy" has to be older and established, the other young and brash. At least one of the two has to be a loose cannon; usually the younger one, but the older one will do in a pinch. Sometimes the two buddies can be the same age, but one has to act older.
b) The "buddies" have to hate each other in the beginning but eventually develop a grudging respect for each other and their abilities, which usually involve guns or martial arts.
c) The buddies undertake a long and arduous quest (or police investigation) together.
d) The two "buddies" bicker like an old married couple, leading to the inevitable intimations of homoerotic undertones, even when the buddies are in fact of the opposite sex. Hey, I'm not making up the rules. I'm just telling you what they are.
Thus, we are provided with any number of famous buddy teams: Riggs and Murtaugh. Mulder and Scully. Spock and Bones. C-3PO and R2D2. Bert and Ernie. Any two members of the