Cats. Dogs. Natural Justice

Every now and then, our pets gather on our stairs. They sit there and observe the comings and goings below. But I'm sure they also discuss matters of significance: after all, these meetings look like nothing so much as the kind of philosophical discussion groups that would have graced Athens. 

Very Platonic.

Staircase meeting
between (left to right) Luci, Toffee and Misty

Now, I believe we can learn a lot from animals. And all the more so if they're tackling some of the great questions of philosophy and ethics. Like, say, natural justice.

We all believe in natural justice, right? Somewhere out there, there are principles that exist independent of us, but which we all recognise and generally try to follow - and when we don't, most of us feel guilty about it.

Why, one of the finest writers of English today, Tom Stoppard, had a character in Professional Foul point out that even in children there is a sense of fairness which they protest about when it's infringed:

A small child who cries 'That's not fair' when punished for something done by his brother or sister is apparently appealing to an idea of justice which is, for want of a better word, natural. And we must see that natural justice, however illusory, does inspire many people's behaviour much of the time.

Sadly, I may be rather too much of a cynic for this kind of thinking. My problem is that while I've seen children cry out 'that's not fair' when another child receives a gift that they missed out on; I've yet to see a child make the same complaint when he or she receives a gift another child was denied.

That makes me feel that the claim 'that's not fair' isn't actually an appeal to natural justice. It's an assertion of self-interest. It's what lies behind the attitude of a business executive who takes a bonus even though the company's going down the pan and workers are being laid off.

Now, what's true of children and executives is true of animals too.

In the mornings, Misty, our cat, likes to wait for the dogs to move away from their bowls of breakfast kibble. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't normally enjoy dog's biscuits. But there's something irresistible about taking someone else's food.

Toffee takes a different view.

When she saw him going for her food, she was off into the kitchen like a flash. She weighs just half as much as Misty but when she decided to drive him away, he went. She knew it wasn't fair that he was eating her food. Helped, I suspect, by the fact that his own conscience was telling him that what he was doing was wrong.

Misty retreats. Driven away by the featherweight Toffee

But things weren't over. Toffee moved back on her bowl when Misty left. But the cat didn't give up. He just moved over to the other bowl - Luci's.

It was Toffee's reaction to that move that interested me. She moved over as though she was trying to drive Misty away from that bowl too. But then she just took a look. She clearly decided 'that's Luci's dish. It doesn't matter.' Then she returned her attention to her own bowl and left Misty in peace to empty Luci's.

'Hey, what are you doing, Misty? Oh, I see. Eating Luci's food. Carry on.'

See? 'It's not fair to eat my food' but 'eating someone else's? No problem.'

An invaluable lesson in the essence of natural justice. Delivered by my animals.