Pussycat yawn-off

Freedom / risk

Went to the Bronx Zoo last week and tried to believe all the conservation messages justifying the “caged” animals’ limited lives.

Remember when Flaco, the Eurasian eagle-owl with his magnificent 6-foot wingspan, escaped from Central Park Zoo and surprised his keepers by learning fly and survive in the big city—feasting on rats and enthralling fans? A year later he, like thousands of other birds, fatally crashed into a window. His death sparked much discussion about what was better: that year of soaring freedom or a longer life safe in an enclosure the size of a department store window.

It was hard not to look at the big cats in the zoo—bored and downwind of prey scent that ignored the moats and fences—and weigh those oprions.

As for his little kitty cousin, in NY he is a indoor cat, prone to climbing walls. In Vermont, he takes his chances with the coyotes and fishers by day—and I try to keep him in at night to up his odds.

The lucky among us also get to juggle that freedom/risk balance for ourselves. My travel motto used to be “maximum adventure, minimal danger.” Now it’s more like “moderate adventure, minimal aches and pains.”