Sometimes I think I must be very naïve. I have this notion that most people are basically reasonable beings. Then I run up against someone who has (to me) a completely whacked perspective and I’m once more baffled to find my assumptions blown away.

This comes to mind now because of a recent exchange on usenet. A fellow was posting to a group with a handle that identified him as gay—in a joking, lightly self-mocking manner. Of course this led a few others to make jabs at his expense, both joking and serious; he responded with humor and obviously didn’t take it too seriously. He’ll do well on usenet.

Then in the middle of one such exchange, another person suddenly erupted in a bitter, snarling attack that was completely unexpected. She was a regular poster whom I’d thought was fairly reasonable; somewhat reactionary, and I didn’t always agree with her opinions, but I could at least respect them. This hateful tirade was so unlike anything she’d ever posted before that I actually compared the headers with her old posts to see if someone might have forged it.

She started off with the opinion that anal sex is disgusting. Well, okay, I can at least understand that point of view—there are sexual practices I think are pretty unsavory, too. To demonstrate an example of my own bias, I think peeing on someone is disgusting. But as long as everyone involved is a consenting adult, I’m happy to leave them to it and go about my business. All I ask is that they keep the door closed and don’t talk to me about it at the water cooler later; some mental images I just don’t need.

So I can accept that some people find the sexual habits of others objectionable. It was the next statement that floored me: she was glad that “they” had created AIDS to “thin the herd” of such people.

I was thunderstruck, and to some degree I still am. Leaving aside for a moment the fact that AIDS does not restrict itself to homosexuals—or even adults—it simply astonishes me that someone feels an appropriate outcome of a practice they don’t happen to like is a lingering death. My mind boggles. Sexual proclivities aside, they’re still people. When they’re not engaging in sex, which I’d wager is the majority of their lives, they’re doing the same things everyone else does. They go to their jobs, they pay their bills, they hang out with their friends. They try to get by in life, just like I do.

Okay, I knew there were people out there who felt this way. I watch the news. But I had this idea, without even realizing I had it, that people who thought anyone gay deserved to die were violent, unthinking mob-fodder. I didn’t expect such beliefs to come from someone who, in other respects, seems like a normal, reasonable person.

So I guess her post exposed the prejudices of two people.

 

Phurball likes to sleep on top of my van. It’s a good spot, from a feline point of view; it’s high enough to be out of reach of even the biggest dogs, and large enough that there’s usually some in the sun and some in the shade. Plus there’s a convenient ramp at the front he can use to get up and down.

Problem is, he’s getting to be a crotchety old man, and sometimes when I want to drive somewhere, he doesn’t want to get down. At first he would reluctantly trudge to the edge so I could lift him down to the ground. Then he figured out that if he stays in the middle, I can’t reach him. So he’d lie there and meow smugly at me when I told him to get down.

A couple of squirts with the water bottle cured him of that attitude.

Yesterday I brought my mate’s car home from the shop; I wanted to pull the van out to the curb and put his car in, so it wouldn’t be parked behind the van. I pulled up to the curb in his car, hopped out, trotted down the driveway to the van, thinking I also needed to run up to the drugstore and maybe stop somewhere for some lunch and oh yes I need to go by the grocery store too…

I hopped in the van, started backing out… heard the usual patter of low-hanging branches on the roof… and then a louder clatter, and out of the corner of my eye saw something large and dark drop past the passenger window.

I immediately realized I’d forgotten to check the roof for cats. I stopped the van and turned it off—her butt was protruding into the street a little bit, but I was afraid to pull forward in case Phurball had broken something and was lying in front of the tire, unable to move out of the way. I jumped out and ran around the front of the van, calling his name. Phurball ran around from his side to meet me, meowing in alarm, but he didn’t seem to be limping or bleeding. I scooped him up and checked him over. Nothing damaged, just one very startled cat. Looks like he jumped off rather than getting knocked off, and still has pretty good reflexes for an old codger.

Hopefully this will encourage him to be a bit quicker in getting down, or at least to say something when he sees me approach so I know he’s up there. I’ve located a nearby emergency vet clinic just in case he doesn’t.

Like the kids don’t give me enough heart palpitations.

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