I
have two particu-
larly
incessant
roommates. They
destroy my study spaces,
knocking my notebook to
the floor while I’m pre-
occupied on Zoom. They
perform perilous park-
our atop kitchen cabi-
nets, bed frames and any
other obstacle around the
apartment they manage
to summit. They scream
for hours until I prepare
their meals and, when it’s
finally time, they devour
them without thanks. It
doesn’t seem that curi-
osity can kill my beloved
cats, Socks and Salem,
but their curiosity may
just kill me.
All
jokes
aside,
I
wouldn’t trade my cats
for the world. I’ve had
them for about a year and
a half. When they were
adopted in July 2019, I
couldn’t
have
guessed
what was in store for
our future. I couldn’t
have
known
the
sol-
ace that their curiosity
would bring these past
few months. No mat-
ter how monotonous the
days would become, me
waking each morning to
a world unchanged and
unexciting,
Socks
and
Salem never saw it that
way. They instead greet
each day as a new adven-
ture, always able to find
some aspect of life still
ripe for exploration.
Most
interestingly,
though,
is
that
amid
these
perpetual
esca-
pades, Socks and Salem
have also mastered the
art of serenity. Whether
atop my lap or tucked
into some fleece-lined
crevice, those two are ex-
perts at R&R. And so they
spend their days cycling
through phases of inves-
tigation and relaxation,
defying the old adage
which claims that curios-
ity will be their downfall.
Instead, curiosity is what
sustains them.
Take This
As Your
Warning
W
atching my two
favorite boys go
about life as usual over
these past few months
made me wonder why we
as a society ever decided
that curiosity would kill
the cat. When I looked it
up, it turned out that the
idiom has a curious his-
tory of its own. In fact,
centuries before “curi-
osity killed the cat” was
popularized as an Irish
proverb in the late 1800s,
its wisdom took on a dif-
ferent meaning.
The phrase’s first writ-
ten account dates back
to Ben Johnson’s 1598
play, “Every Man and His
Humor,” in which “cu-
riosity” is swapped for
“care.”
Johnson’s
play
was written as a satire.
Each of the main char-
acters
suffered
some
form of obsession, which
drove the entire story’s
conflict. Care, otherwise
conceived of as worry or
obsession, was theorized
to push a person — or cat
— to insanity.
This
message
rang
true with other cultural
contributors of the era,
including William Shake-
speare. Just a year after
performing in the troupe
of Johnson’s play, Shake-
speare injected the wis-
dom into his own works
as a line in “Much Ado
About Nothing.” “What,
courage man!” he wrote.
“What though care killed
a cat, thou hast mettle
enough in thee to kill
care.”
Both
Johnson
and
Shakespeare
described
this overzealous “care”
as a grave transgression
which hurts not only
yourself, but the people
around you as well. But
despite the rephrasing,
my
original
grievance
still holds. “Care killed
the cat” just doesn’t align
with the behavior I see
in Socks and Salem. Cats
are by nature aloof and
nonchalant.
It’s
clear
that the saying is not
meant to be advice for
them; instead, it reflects
a piece of advice meant
to be heard by us.
It’s difficult to dis-
tinguish the exact point
where language breaks
from culture. We weave
our histories, our pas-
sions and our insecurities
into the way we speak —
both as individuals and
communities.
For
this
reason, each idiom can
be used as a case study
that cues into a deeper
look of culture. Often re-
peated shards of wisdom
provide insight into the
evolving values of our so-
ciety.
This begs the ques-
tion: Why did colloquial
culpability for the cat’s
demise shift from care to
curiosity over the years?
Linguistic historians are
unsure of exactly how
the phrase evolved from
a warning against obses-
sion to one against ex-
ploration, but in both
instances, the message is
clear: Stay in your lane,
and don’t take on others’
problems as your own.
You could make the ar-
gument that curiosity is
just a more specific form
of worry. That is, to be
curious is to worry about
what you do not yet know.
Nevertheless, I feel I
must push back against
the notion that compas-
sion and inquisition are
inherently negative acts.
In this moment where
there’s little more to do
than to bide your time,
a rejection of care and
curiosity would itself be
lethal. Without my rela-
tionships or my ability to
learn new things, I would
have slipped into a cata-
tonic state months ago.
Just like with my cats,
it
seems
these
“fatal
flaws” of empathy and
inquiry are actually our
lifeblood. And I’m defi-
nitely not the only one to
notice, because the evo-
lution of the phrase re-
flects a change of heart.
Eventually, a refrain was
tacked onto the idiom
which fundamentally al-
tered its meaning — “cu-
riosity killed the cat, but
satisfaction brought it
back.”
Save The
Cat
T
he
Greek
word
paraprosdokian,
literally
translating
to
“beyond expectation,” is
used to describe a phrase
in which the final por-
tion reveals a bit of infor-
mation which reframes
the phrase at large. Oth-
erwise known as a gar-
den path sentence, para-
prosdokians are popular
forms of humor and in-
trigue.
The
rejoinder
regarding
satisfaction
turned “curiosity killed
the cat” into one of the
best
known
parapros-
dokians of our age.
Now, instead of it be-
ing a warning against
“care” or “curiosity,” the
sentiment
urges
these
pursuits, predicting that
one day any damage done
will be healed through
“satisfaction.”
Sure,
there may be rifts in rela-
tionships or dead ends in
research, but there will
also be fulfilling anniver-
saries and inspiring bits
of knowledge that make
the tribulations worth-
while. Still, based on my
own observation of Socks
and Salem, I really don’t
think they’re all that
pragmatic in their curi-
ous antics. They don’t
seek out “satisfaction.”
That’s a human desire.
Like I said before, this
wisdom wasn’t meant for
them. It’s meant for us.
So why choose cats as the
metaphorical vehicle?
My hypothesis is that
it has to do with cats’
rumored
reservoir
of
extra lives at their dis-
posal.
Particularly
in
light of the “satisfaction”
supplement,
it’s
clear
that the saying plays on
the notion of redemp-
tion which requires that
lives be easily lost and
revived. That’s not really
something that happens
to humans, besides in re-
ligious or supernatural
theories.
Conveniently,
though, there is an an-
cient tradition suggest-
ing it may happen to cats.
In Egyptian mythol-
ogy, the sun god Atum-
Ra was said to have
journeyed often to the
underworld disguised as
a cat. Atum-Ra gave life
to eight other gods, and
the theology took this to
mean that she was re-
sponsible for nine lives —
her own included. Over
time, the mythology was
passed through a number
of other cultures, com-
bined with other lived
experiences
and
con-
densed into a simple leg-
end: Cats have nine lives.
Certainly,
they
could
spare just one to teach us
a valuable lesson.
Personally,
I
don’t
think that lesson should
be “suffer until you’re
satisfied.”
That’s
not
what my cats have taught
me. As they frolic about
the 800 square feet at
their disposal, they aren’t
denying themselves sat-
isfaction. They are satis-
fied through their curi-
osity. They manifest their
own happiness, enjoying
life as they live it.
Sometimes I find my-
self on the periphery of
their
mischief.
Salem
will beckon me over with
yearning meows, begging
me to bear witness as
he repeatedly headbutts
the doorpost. Socks will
scurry hastily around the
room, sprinting across
my chest with such fe-
rocity that for a moment,
I lose my breath. It’s an-
noying, but I’ve lately
been trying to appreciate
it more.
It’s easy to find your
own satisfaction, if only
you know where to look.
And I’m incredibly lucky
to have two curious cats
who are always willing
to share their adventures
with me.
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Wednesday, February 3, 2021 — 13
statement
Curiosity won’t kill you
just ask my cats
BY MELANIE TAYLOR, STATEMENT CORRESPONDENT
Illustration by Katherine Lee