A Clowder of Community
The power of the paw
I kind of miss Pandora. Sure, it’s still around, but several years and countless budgets ago I had to decide whether to pay for a subscription to Pandora or Spotify. At the time, Pandora only let you listen to an artist’s “station,” akin to a radio station that featured that artist but threw in similar artists, too. I wanted more control — for example, the ability to listen to an entire album — so Spotify won out.
But the beauty of Pandora is in the mix; like any well-behaved algorithm, Pandora’s digital curation pays attention to what you listen to and then gently expands your musical horizons. It also lets you hone your channels to suit your particular quirks. Take my “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows” channel, which, through weeks and months of diligent liking and disliking of its offerings, I fine-tuned into the perfect mix of instrumental Harry Potter, Twilight, and Downton Abbey vibes.
Here on Substack, a similar potpurri of postings pops up in my feed, I’m guessing based on writers and content I’ve interacted with over time. And the main ingredient in that potpurri?
Cats. PotPURRi indeed.
Scrolling through, I’m greeted by pictures of cats. Videos of cats. Everyday thoughts from cat-loving writers who often post about their cats. I’ve gotten to know their cats, and they’ve gotten to know mine.
They’re following along as Bird makes rainbows in her new home and navigates stairs for the first time. They celebrate with me as I get to know Anderson, the outdoor cat who came with said new home and is gradually opening up to me. They cheered the first day he sat on my lap. They praised his beautiful voice the day he started talking to me.
My feed also gifts me with moving quotes, glorious natural beauty, playful ponderings, midlife musings, and powerful prose.
Here’s the thing: I’m fully aware that this is what the algorithm is feeding me, based on what it knows I like. Others’ feeds are full of politics, climate change, world events, or — God help me — dogs.
It’s tempting to envelop myself in the algorithmic blindness and assume that the kindhearted, openminded, compassionate people I talk to here every day are all that’s in the world; but the sensible side of me knows that isn’t the case. Someone else’s algorithm is fueling hate and bigotry and division — do they know better, or do they think that’s all there is?
That’s a sobering thought; the unignorable truth that for every light, there is a dark. But that very knowledge is what encourages my gratitude for the little clowder of community here. Knowing that those things are outside of my little bubble makes it all the more precious — and important — to build this faction of hope and love.
I want a world that, no matter what else is going on, is covered in cat hair and scented by tuna. I want a world of dirty street paws and heart-pouring purr sessions.
And here, that world exists. Amongst all the other worlds coexisting on top of this big little world.
✨ If you’re here, reading this footnote, I’m ever so grateful. ✨
A free subscription means the world. Truly. Just knowing you’re out there, choosing to read my words, is enough to make me hummingbird-dance across my living room (Bird is used to it).
A paid subscription? That’s next-level kindness. I’ll be so honored I might cry a little and definitely send you something sparkly in the mail if you want. Just say the word. (Seriously—glitter is standing by.)
Not a fan of subscriptions? That’s okay too! You can always buy Bird a treat instead. She accepts tips in the form of snacks and chin scritchies, and I’ll use your support to fuel more writing with a side of crunchies.
Or help for free by tapping the magic buttons! A like, a comment, or a restack tells the Substack algorithm nerd-gods that this little piece deserves some daylight. Every click helps me find more kindred spirits.