Cats have established themselves as the de facto rulers of 220 million households, where they enjoy perpetual lives of leisure and are doted on by their adoring humans. How much more successful can they be?
Dear Buddy,
There’s been a lot of talk lately among the humans about how they’ll evolve in the future, whether they’ll become more successful, and whether they’ll merge with machines! Scary!
But what about us? How will cats evolve to be more successful? Will we always have human servants?
Feline Futurist in Florida
Dear Futurist,
Do we really need to be more successful?
As a species we’ve secured our rightful place as royalty in human homes where all our needs are catered to.
We’ve become so adept at manipulating our human minions that we even know how to spur them to immediate action by embedding urgent baby-like cries in our purrs.
We figured out that humans are hardwired to respond to cries in that frequency, and once we find that manipulative sweet spot, we never forget it. We’ll push that coercive button all day and night to get what we want. There is no rest for humans until they comply with our demands.
But now we have gone beyond that significant accomplishment, essentially hijacking the humans’ species-wide consciousness by taking over the internet.
Imagine some alien archaeologist poking through the rubble of human civilization far in the future, its delight at recovering data from an ancient human server turning to utter confusion as it realizes entire zetabytes are comprised of nothing but images and videos of small, mysterious, furry creatures that seemingly do little besides eat, sleep and enjoy massages.
“Did I have it all wrong?” the confused alien might say. “Could it be that these ‘cats’ were the true power on this planet all along, and humans were in thrall to them?”
What else do we need to be successful, and to what evolutionary pressures do we need to adapt? We’re not fighting our way through hostile territory in the living room, fending off attacks en route to the kitchen where there’s only a chance for food.
Nope. It’s literally served to us on a regular schedule and whenever we screech for it. Our servants know they will never hear the end of it if they don’t meet our demands, and the best of them have learned to anticipate our desires before we have to vocalize them.
How much better can it get? We’ve managed to achieve a lifestyle in which we can perpetually live in the moment with no worries about the future, and everything taken care of for us. The humans don’t expect us to do anything in return except be cute and cuddly.
We “earn” our keep by allowing them to pet us every now and then as we lounge, until we grow weary of human affection and dismiss them with an annoyed flick of the tail or a gentle bite that says “Enough, you’ve had your 30 seconds, human!”
We break their stuff, vomit on their carpets, poop in their shoes, disturb their sleep, lay on their clean piles of laundry, ignore their boundaries, deny them their privacy, destroy their furniture, steal their cheeseburgers, force them to scoop and dispose of our waste, take over their beds, and we still act like the humans are fortunate to serve us.
We are irreproachable, imperious and untouchable, and when we’ve pushed our luck perhaps a bit too far, all we have to do is flop onto our backs, pull our little paws up beneath our chins, and squeak out a meow.
“Awww,” our humans say, their thoughts manipulated by our toxoplasma gondii mind-control superpower. “What a good boy! He’s so innocent! Of course he didn’t mean to [insert incredibly disrespectful action here], he’s an angel!”
So no, my friend. I don’t think we have to participate in the evolutionary arms race. That’s for lesser creatures whose futures are uncertain. Us? We’re winning at life without lifting a paw.
Your pal,
Buddy
“That’s right. Obey us, humans. We honor you by allowing you to serve our meals, scoop our poop, scratch our chins and buy us toys. You are so fortunate!”
Making his debut in 1979’s Alien, Jonesy is one of the most famous felines in cinema history.
There’s a popular meme among Alien fans that depicts Jonesy the Cat walking nonchalantly down one of the starship Nostromo’s corridors with his tail up, carrying the corpse of the recently-spawned alien in his mouth like he’s about to present a dead mouse as a gift to his humans.
The joke is self-evident: if the crew of the Nostromo had allowed Jonesy to take care of business from the get-go, the alien would have been disposed of before it had the chance to grow into the monstrosity that haunted the decks of the Nostromo and the nightmares of viewers.
“Who’s a good boy? Who just saved his crew from certain violent death at the claws of a ruthless alien predator? That’s right, you did!”
Of course then there’d be no movie. No ripples of shock in theaters across the US as audiences were confronted by something more nightmarish and utterly alien than popular culture had ever seen before. No indelible mark left on science fiction.
Despite the film’s retrofuturistic aesthetic, it’s difficult to believe Alien first hit theaters almost half a century ago.
That’s testament to director Ridley Scott working at the height of his powers, the carpenters, artists and set dressers who created the starship Nostromo’s claustrophobic interior, the design of the derelict starship where the alien was found, and the bizarre creature itself.
The alien ship and creature designs were the work of Swiss surrealist H.R. Giger, who was little-known at the time but floored Scott and writer Dan O’Bannon with his hyper-detailed paintings of grotesque biomechanical scenes.
Signourney Weaver and one of the cats who played Jonesy in the first film.
Kane explores the infamous egg chamber in the derelict alien ship.
Fan art of Jonesy
A close-up shot of the retrofuturistic tech used in the series, a design decision that departed from the gleaming visions of the future common at the time.
A set photo showing the first film’s crew on the iconic space jockey set.
Giger’s work, specifically his 1976 painting Necronom IV, was the basis for the titular alien’s appearance. The alien, called a xenomorph in the film series, is vaguely androform while also animalistic. It is bipedal but with digitgrade feet and can crawl or run on all fours when the situation calls for it. It hides in vents, shafts and other dark spaces, coiling a prehensile tail that ends in a blade-like tip.
But it’s the creature’s head that is most nightmarish. It’s vaguely comma-shaped, eyeless and covered in a hard, armored carapace that ends just above a mouth full of sinister teeth like obsidian arrowheads. There’s perpetually slime-covered flesh that squelches when the creature moves but there are also veins or tendons or something fully exposed without skin, apparently made of metal and bone. Maybe those ducts feed nutrients and circulate blood to the brain. Maybe they help drain excess heat from the creature’s brain cavity.
Regardless, it’s a biomechanical nightmare that the Nostromo’s science officer, Ash, admiringly calls “the perfect organism” whose “structural perfection is matched only by its hostility.”
The alien, Ash declares, is “a survivor, unclouded by conscience, remorse, or delusions of morality.”
The alien, also referred to as a xenomorph, “that thing,” a “dragon,” “the perfect organism” and various other names by characters in the series. Credit: 20th Century Studios
Part of what makes Jonesey so beloved is the fact that, together with the xenomorph and Ripley, he completes the triumvirate of survivors. We see Jonesy scurry into the protection of tiny confined spaces to escape the alien, hissing at it in the dark. We see him dart into the bowels of the ship after sensing the stalking creature, adding another blip to the crew’s trackers. Finally we see him settling into a cryosleep pod with Ripley, like so many other cats with their humans, when the threat has passed.
Jonesy — affectionately referred to as “you little shithead” by Ripley in the second film — appears in the franchise’s two most famous films, his own comic book series titled Jonesy: Nine Lives on the Nostromo, a 2014 novel (Alien: Out of the Shadows), and in hundreds of references in pop culture over the last half century, from appearances in video games (Halo, World of Warcraft, Fortnite) to references and homages in movies and television shows.
A page from Jonesy: Nine Lives On The Nostromo, which tells the story of Alien from the cat’s perspective. These panels depict Jonesy watching Ash and Dallas examining Kane in the ship’s medical lab.
He’s like the anti-xenomorph. Cats are predators, after all, and Jonesy might be the xenomorph to the ship’s rodents just like every ship’s cat in thousands of years of human naval endeavors. But to the crew members Jonesy’s a source of comfort, a warm, furry friend to cuddle with. Unlike the xenomorph he’s got no biological programming urging him to impregnate other species with copies of himself in one of the most horrific gestation processes imaginable.
Xenos are like predators on steroids, gorging themselves on their victims to fuel unnaturally swift cell reproduction and growth. As a result, over the decades some have speculated that the alien simply ignored the cat, deeming its paltry caloric value unworthy of the effort to kill.
The idea that Jonesy was too small to interest the alien is proved a fallacy in later franchise canon when we see the aftermath of a xenomorph consuming a dog. It’s indiscriminate in its quest for energy, feasting on adult humans and animals alike until two or three days pass and it’s a 12-foot-tall, serpentine nightmare the color of the void of interstellar space.
Just imagine sitting in a theater in 1979. Your idea of science fiction is sleek jet-age spacecraft, Star Trek and Stanley Kubrick’s clinical orbital habitats from 2001: A Space Odyssey. You’re expecting astronauts, heroes, maybe a metal robot or an alien who looks human except for some funky eyebrows, green skin or distinct forehead ridges.
Instead you get a crew of seven weary deep space ore haulers inhabiting a worn, scuffed corporate transport ship, complaining about their bonuses and aching for home, family and the familiar tug of gravity.
But home will have to wait. The ship has logged an unusual signal of artificial origin broadcasting from a small planet in an unexplored star system. The crew has no choice but to investigate. It’s written into their contracts, which stipulate the crew will forfeit their wages if they disregard the signal.
So they land, suit up, move out and find a derelict starship. An incomprehensibly massive vessel so strange in detail and proportion that it could only have been built by an alien mind, with unknowable motivations and psychology.
The egg chamber of the derelict alien ship, designed by Giger.
Inside, hallways that look like ribcages lead to vast chambers with utterly bizarre, inscrutable machinery that seems to consist of biological material — skin, bone, joints, organs — fused with metal. In one of them the corpse of an alien, presumably a pilot, is integrated into a complex array. It’s at least twice the size of a large human man. Its elephantine head is thrown back in the agony of its last moment, when something exploded outward from its body, leaving a mangled ribcage, torn papery skin and desiccated organs.
And beneath that, a shaft leading to another horror — a chamber that seems to stretch for kilometers in either direction, where leathery eggs are cradled in biomachinery and bathed in a bioluminescent cerulean mist.
The decision to enter that chamber sets off one of the most shocking scenes in cinema history, leads to the birth of pop culture’s most terrifying monster, and sent millions of theater-goers home with nightmares in the spring and summer of 1979.
It’s almost too much to handle. But take heart! The unlikely female protagonist makes it to the end, and so does the cat. What more can you ask for?
Jonesy grooming himself on the flight deck of the starship Nostromo. Credit: 20th Century Studios
Insisting that cats are the true rulers of planet Earth, emissaries of a new alien species spurned human leaders during first contact.
WASHINGTON — First contact between humanity and an alien race known as the Zxorxax faced a hiccup on Thursday after the alien delegation demanded a meeting with Earth’s felines.
US and UN leaders were left momentarily confused when one of the Zxorxax leaders interrupted a welcoming ceremony on the White House lawn to issue the demand.
“On this momentous day, the human race extends a warm welcome and rejoices in the knowledge that we are not alone in the univ…”
“Human stop talking!” the Zxorxax Supreme Chancellor, Xoralundra, said while interrupting UN Secretary-General António Guterres. “We demand to speak to the superior race on this planet.”
With the entire world watching via television and satellite feeds, Guterres, American President Donald Trump and French President Emmanuel Jean-Michel Frédéric Jean-Jacques Claude Louis Macron exchanged pained glances.
“Uh, Supreme Chancellor, you are speaking to the leaders of the human…” Macron began.
“You will be silent, or perish in the purifying blaze of our parametric space-time weaponry!” said an aid to the Supreme Chancellor who identified himself only as the Herald of Xora. “We did not ask to speak to a frog.”
“We will treat only with the great warrior species of your planet,” Xoralundra proclaimed in a booming voice after a long moment of pained silence. “Bring forth the felines.”
French President Emmanuel Jean-Michel Frédéric Claude-Baptiste Luc Jean-Rene Landry Louis Macron and American President Donald Trump were snubbed by the Zxorxaxian emissaries to Earth.
By late afternoon White House officials had cleared a conference room for the Zxorxax, where they met with a feline delegation headed by a house cat named Chonkmatic the Magnificent. The world’s most powerful human leaders were left in the hallway outside as the aliens conducted negotiations with the felines.
New York Times reporter Bat Segundo, who was among a handful of media observers permitted inside the negotiation room, said the Zxorxax were delighted when they presented Chonkmatic and his delegation with a priceless artifact from the Zxorxaxian home world as a gift of good will, and the overweight tabby responded by swiping the offering off the table.
“You see?” Xoralundra called out, addressing his fellow Zxorxax. “These felines are great warriors who care not for baubles and riches, unlike the inferior humans of this planet who are besotted with shiny objects.”
Asked later why his delegation demanded to meet with house cats, the Supreme Chancellor said it was purely a matter of practicality.
“We knew upon approaching this system that real power lies in the paws of these impressive creatures,” Xoralundra said, addressing reporters. “Our long-range instrumentation revealed images of humans diligently serving these ‘cats,’ as you call them, and it became quickly apparent that while the humans rule in name, ‘cats’ are the true power on your world.”
The Zxorxax themselves refer to felines as “Sxarxion Hrath’gar,” an alien name that translates roughly to “Legendary Warriors of Great Renown and Prowess.”
Chonkmatic the Cat has been chosen to negotiate on behalf of all living beings on Earth. Credit: SPCA of Wake County
A second round of negotiations between the aliens and felines has been scheduled for Friday. The Zxorxax seek perpetual rights to Earth’s supply of greenhouse gases, which they consider a delicacy, while the cats have indicated they are willing to make a deal in exchange for a considerable number of alien boxes.
Allison Foley, Chonkmatic’s caretaker, said she would be staying in the White House with her cat as a special guest of the administration for the duration of the talks.
Chonkmatic would be taken back to his suite, fed his favorite brand of chicken wet food, and given the night off to rest before meeting with the aliens again the following day, she said.
“Who’s a good widdle boy? Who just negotiated with an alien race? That’s right, you did!” Foley told the obese cat, scratching behind his ears as he purred and nuzzled her. “Good boy wants yum yums? Okay, mommy’s taking you back to our suite now. Come on, my widdle baby cakes!”
Trump insisted it was always the plan to have the aliens negotiate with felines, and boasted of his “beautiful relationship” with the alien High Chancellor.
“High Chancellor Xoralundra wrote me a big, beautiful letter,” Trump tweeted at 3:22 am on Friday morning. “A tremendous letter, really terrific. The High Chancellor realizes that American cats are the number one cats in the world, they really are. We’re gonna make a deal with the aliens and benefit bigly!”
Reminder: Your adorable kitty can murder you in your sleep.
Luis Navarro was having trouble breathing at night, so he set up a video camera to film himself while sleeping, Paranormal Activity style.
Sure enough the footage revealed something terrifying: The Texas man’s tabby cat was climbing into bed with him and clamping down like a facehugger from Alien, smothering his face in fur!
To explain this behavior we turned to Buddy, who offered his insights and expertise as a cat.
Big Buddy: Thanks for taking the time to help us make sense of these images, Bud.
Little Buddy: You’re very welcome. Just remember my fee in treats is due at the end of this conversation. Ten Temptations.
BB: Six!
LB: Eleven!
BB: Six!
LB: Nine! That’s as low as I go.
BB: Then I guess we’ll have to find another cat to answer…
LB: No! No. Six it is. You drive a hard bargain, human.
BB: That’s because I’m the one who has to clean up your puke if you get sick. So anyway, what’s going on in these photos?
LB: Okay, the kitty jumps into bed with Luis.
BB: Yes.
LB: And he hugs Luis’ face.
BB: Yes. We can see that. But why?
LB: Well, humans always want to see the best in us, so they’ll convince themselves that Luis’ cat loves him so much and it’s just a hug.
BB: You’re saying it’s not a hug?
LB: Of course not. It’s practice.
BB: Practice…for what?
LB: Isn’t it obvious? Murder. For when Luis becomes a stingy jerk and gives him six treats instead of 10.
BB: Oh! Still with the Temptations?
LB: I feel undervalued.
BB: You didn’t even answer the question!
LB: I did so! Now you know what happens to stingy humans who hold out on their feline masters. I believe you owe me 10 treats, sir.
So there you have it. Don’t piss off a cat, or he’ll murder you and make it look like the most adorable, loving murder ever.
Pain In The Bud 