Intelligent debate according to Ernie
UP until recently I thought “intelligent design” had something to do with the arrangement of parking spaces in the basement of large buildings. It took Ernie the Spot to straighten me out.
The theory of ID, as it is known, has it that someone better at design than even Frank Gehry or I.M. Pei created the Earth and all the things in it, including you, me, Donald Trump, Paris Hilton and Howard Stern, although his inclusion is open to debate.
This contradicts the contention that the planet upon which we live came about through the accidental occurrence of a big bang and rebuts the Darwinian notion that the human race formed from goo splashing about in pools of primeval slime.
Growing up, I was taught something of both. I got a lot of God, the intelligent designer of fundamentalist thought, at St. Bernard’s Catholic Church, and a dose of Darwin at the various public schools I attended throughout East Oakland.
We always referred to God as just plain old God. Intelligent design hadn’t been invented yet. So when I first heard the term, I thought it was, well, see “parking spaces” above, until I heard from Ernie.
He’s our new cat, which we obtained from our daughter Cindy, the famous Cat Lady of Sacramento, who, were she forced to choose between me and a cat as we teetered on the brink of hell, would say “bye-bye, Daddy” and down I’d fall into the fiery abyss.
We call him Ernie the Spot because he is jet black but for a white dot right under his chin. Ernie talks. I suspect it is actually the intelligent designer speaking through the animal since ID can appear in any form he pleases.
“Intelligent design has nothing to do with parking garages, you boob,” Ernie said, sitting at my feet and watching me write.
Cats have an intimidating manner. Given a twist of imagination, I could easily project Ernie into a lion at a watering hole and me a fat little dik-dik.
Put off a bit by his superior attitude, I said, “Then tell me, cat, just what is intelligent design?”
It was more than a little strange listening to his dissertation on the creation of life on Earth while he periodically purred and rubbed against my leg. When he isn’t in his ID mode, Ernie is a very sly and innovative cat. Look the other way at dinner and he will silently walk off with your pork chop.
Creationists, Ernie informed me, are simple, well-meaning people from places like Kansas who need something to cling to in times of stress, such as war or death.
“They crave someone who can light fire with a snap of his fingers and stop rain with a glare,” Ernie said, then added, “if you get my meaning.”
“What about the others? The noncreationists?”
Cinelli entered the room. “You’re talking to the cat?” she said.
“You’d be surprised how erudite he is,” I said cheerfully. “Say something, Ernie.”
Ernie said, “meow.”
“That’s really wise,” Cinelli said. “I’d write that down if I were you,” and left.
I was about to admonish Ernie but thought better of it. You don’t mess with someone who can create a woman out of a spare rib.
“Time is the secret component,” he said. “Unless you can understand tiny changes taking place individually over billions of years, you can’t understand evolution. Too complicated. They simply cannot comprehend in Aberdeen that man sprang from a monkey. Easier to say the cat did it.”
“But you’re here. You’re not just a cat. You’re some kind of super entity!”
“I’m their faith,” Ernie the Spot said wisely, licking his paws. “And I’m your column gimmick.”
“I could have done without that,” I said, tightly. “We’re discussing an emotional subject, and there is no need for sarcasm here.”
“OK, OK. Don’t start acting like a petulant beagle.” He licked my hand. “I’m just saying that everybody needs something to get them through the night. For you, it’s a martini. For a lot of others, it’s me, the cat. Ernie.”
“You’re saying that the two can coexist? Faith and evolution?”
“If the English can coexist with the French, why not?”
“I’m not sure there’s enough faith to make me believe.”
“You believe you’re talking to a cat. That’s a start.”
“I’m still wondering who you are. If you’re not God, then how come you can assume any form?”
“Faith takes many shapes,” he replied. “Throughout time, humanity has worshipped the sun, the moon, stars, wind, clouds, cats, snakes, birds and each other.”
I was about to respond when Cinelli came back with a bowl of cat food. Ernie went right at it. Then she turned to me.
“Would you like your martini in a bowl, dear? Then you and your new friend can party together.”
I left Ernie to his Whiskas, but I’d learned from him. From now on, when anything goes wrong in the world I can just say the cat did it.
*
Al Martinez’s column appears Mondays and Fridays. He can be reached at al.martinez@latimes.com.
