Posted on 08/01/2007 12:49:52 PM PDT by rightwingintelligentsia
A dose of sentimental claptrap from the New England Journal of Medicine
It's been quite a week for the New England Journal of Medicine. In the current issue, we learn that fat is contagious and that cats can sense when people are about to die. Or at least one particular cat can tell. He's 2 years old, with patches of gray and white fur, and he lives in a nursing home in Providence, R.I. "Oscar the Cat awakens from his nap, opening a single eye to survey his kingdom," begins the article, by Dr. David M. Dosa of Brown University. "From atop the desk in the doctor's charting area, the cat peers down the two wings of the nursing home's advanced dementia unit. All quiet on the western and eastern fronts."
Don't be surprised if that sounds a little florid for the nation's leading medical research journal. The story of Oscar the Cat—a feline who cuddles up with patients in the moments just before they meet their makers—isn't a peer-reviewed scientific inquiry, nor is it a clinical report, a case study, or even an editorial. It's a work of creative nonfiction—an uncorroborated anecdote that makes vaguely mystical claims about the cognitive abilities of animals. And it's tucked into a section of the journal that's more often reserved for wonky reviews. "A young grandson asks his mother, 'What is the cat doing here?' " writes Dr. Dosa. "The mother, fighting back tears, tells him, "He is here to help Grandma get to heaven." Let me pose a more modest question: What is the cat doing in the New England Journal of Medicine?
(Excerpt) Read more at slate.com ...
Before I go, I wanna cat scan.............
And I want to know what an article from Slate is doing in a nice place like this!
I don’t know—I guess I thought it was sometimes useful to get the crabby, elitist pseudo-intellectual point of view on things.
You're going to need a lot of expensive lab work too.
Freepers, always ready with the sense of humor, the cat scan is good, the lab work is hilarious.
A guy brings his sick friend to a doctor. He asks the doctor if anything can be done to help the friend. The doctor says “Just a minute.” He opens the door and lets a Labrador Retriever in. The dog looks at the patient, looks at the doctor, and solemnly shakes his head. The doctor nods and the dog leaves. The doctor then lets a cat into the room. The cat looks at the patient, looks at the doctor, and solemnly shakes his head. The doctor nods and the cat leaves. “I’m sorry,” the doctor says. “Nothing can be done. That’ll be 300 dollars.” The guy is incredulous. “300 dollars!” he says. “For what?” The doctor replies “That’s for the lab work and the cat scan.”
The fact is, cats are the Communists of the animal kingdom, for example if you own a dog, and somebody breaks into your house, that dog will bare it’s fangs, snarl, bark and attack the intruder with every bit of viciousness it can muster in order to defend you, and defend your home.
But if you perchance own a cat?
The cat will be found lazing around on or near the sofa, half asleep, toying with various objects NOT intended for cats, perhaps nibbling on some catnip, discarded cans of Tender Vittles in the corner of the room, and as the intruder sneaks into the house, the cat will pipe up ‘hey, I’m tryin’ to catch some z’s here, ok? the wall safe is behind the big painting over there to my right, a cache of cash is in the freezer in the kitchen in a package marked ‘brussel sprouts’, all the jewelry is hidden in the upstairs bathroom with the shampoo and conditioner bottles, and if you’re hungry, don’t eat the leftover Chinese food, its been in there a week, just help yourself to the pizza, it was delivered last night, and there’s cold beer behind the milk, got it? have a nice evening, I’m hittin’ the hay’.
That’s a good one. I’ve seen it before, only it was a guy taking his dear old faithful dog to the vet for the last time..........
“What is the cat doing in the New England Journal of Medicine?”
I have noticed for some time that there is an insidious form of journalism sneaking into all sorts of writing, from the greatly serious to the barely humorous; for want of a better word, I called it exemplar journalism, making a point by taking an ordinary person in the position of the subject about which you intend to write, introduce him sympathetically to the reader, share a few secrets and then go on at some length to plead his case while hopefully allowing to the reader to come away more aware and perhaps a better person.
I think now that I shall refer to this sort of writing in the future as Talismanic Journalism whereby the writer introduces a literary tangible, a word picture so well-drawn as to feel grainy under your mind’s fingers so that you are compelled to agree with whatever it is the author intends when you have navigated his tortured but beautifully painted path to salvation.
I find it more than a bit ironic that the twit who wrote the original piece that appeared in the New England Journal of Medicine was so heartless as to allow us to see how the staff likely feels about the patients being so observed and judged by this feline fortune-teller as to off-handedly refer to the ward over which he has purview (the) “advanced dementia unit.”
My guess is that he now wears this achievement (publishing in the NEJM) about his spindly neck, rubbing it from time to time when what he really needs is a big hug or a swift kick.
Mother make it stop.
GET THAT @$##$^%$#^^&&@# CAT OUT OF MY ROOM!!!!!!!!!!
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