Cloning my cat

"... if your wife wants to clone your mother-in-law ..."


     One of the newest members of Sausalito's business mosaic is Genetic Savings and Clone, dedicated to producing replicas of people's pets. The timing couldn't be better; I'm considering cloning Ashes, my cat.

     Some people save their pet's DNA and order a clone after the beloved animal has passed on to his or her "reward". An odd expression, as I consider Ashes's current life a more than generous reward. But that's not why I'm considering cloning my cat. I want to start all over again and see if, this time, I can raise a cat who respects me. Or, if she doesn't respect me, is at least willing to accept me as an equal partner.  

     In fairness to me, I'm one-down to my cat because I have other things to do besides animal training: earn a living, mow the lawn, and remove unsightly hair. Ashes needs 45 minutes a day to eat; the rest of the time she spends sleeping or plotting, originally to gain, now to maintain, control of the house. When she's on her back with her feet in the air she's sleeping; otherwise she's plotting.

     Some days I think Ashes really likes me, but most days I'm pretty sure she just tolerates me. I purchase special cat food, open the cans, make sure her water is fresh, and comb out her fur. I even open the kitchen door when she positions herself in front of it (ignoring a specially designed, perfectly functional cat exit) and stares me down with her "yours is not to reason why" look. I get that a lot.

     When Ashes is in the mood, she'll curl up in my lap or put her head on my shoulder in bed and start purring. That's a signal for me to talk softly to her, tell her what a good, brave, smart cat she is, or she will leave, perhaps for good.

     But when I'm in the mood for comfort and consideration, her ears often as not flatten and a half-sheathed paw jabs my way. And then, oh, I feel so used.

     I'm not privy to what she says about me to the neighborhood cats. I don't think she puts me down; that would reflect poorly on her. But I don't see her bragging about me either.

     How would I raise her differently as a newly cloned kitten? First of all I wouldn't set bad precedents that will come back to haunt me. I'd make her always exit through the cat door. To do this, I can't use the regular door when she's in the room, so she won't know it's there. Petting will be mutual and restricted to defined times and places of my choosing.

     The next thing I'll teach her is to share, as in share the bed. Currently, I go to sleep with her on my shoulder, purring softly. I wake up around 2 a.m. lying diagonally across the mattress with herself plumped right in the middle of my pillow. I've learned it's not a good idea to attempt to regain my rightful pillow-place in the middle of the night, and have the scars to prove it.

     Most people fear cloning. I don't understand why. In most science fiction stories cloning is not a scary science unless it's used to create an army of Arnolds or copies of people to be used as a personal body parts farm. Okay, maybe there are some moral risks associated with re-reproduction but, hey, it's gun owners who kill, not guns, and it's scientists who'll be responsible for cloning abuse, not the technology.

    Consider the upsides of cloning: you could have 10 identical children. When they turn eight, adopt the best. "Mr. Philipp, this is the Federated Savings and Clone. Looks like #4 son is turning out to be a real winner. We'll cryo-freeze the others for body parts." Whoops, that moral part is trickier than I thought. (Please hold off on the letters. This is meant as an amusing mind game not a proposal.)

    According to the scientists, a clone will be physically identical to the person or pet from whom they were cloned, but their personalities will be totally different. That means, if your wife wants to clone your mother-in-law, the resulting person mightn't be a nag. But would you take the chance, however small?

     The more I think about this, the more pet cloning sounds like "Groundhog Day:" doing it over and over again until, little tiny piece by little tiny piece, new behavior by new behavior, I create the cat of my dreams.

     At $50,000 a pop, I'm inclined to clone myself and keep Ashes as she is.
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