Bismarck Makes a Bet

My eyes are like slits into the soul. Your soul, not mine. You can’t see my soul through my eyes, that’s not what I meant. I don’t care if that’s the way it sounds. Shut up and listen.

Bismarck’s human insisted he was a good poker player. “It’s all about defense thresholds, bet sizing, combinatorics,” he claimed. “I use computer software to assess possibilities ensure that my bets are balanced and unexploitable.”

So your computer software tells you to blink effusively whenever you are bluffing, Bismarck wondered. He challenged the human to a game.

“You shuffle.”

Bismarck stared at his human blankly.

“Alright I’ll shuffle.”

The human proceeded to deal out the cards. He asked if Bismarck wanted his put face up. And Bismarck asked the human if he wanted his face scratched off. The cards remained down.

Bismarck remarked that he had held or rather sort of used his paw to prop up the image of an older man with a crown on his head carrying a sword surrounded by a clover. The other card depicted a younger man also wearing a crown and holding a staff surrounded by clovers. He also remarked that the human’s hands were trembling as he put out two blue chips.

Bismarck didn’t wholly understand the sequence. He did understand, though, that it seemed to have holes in it. Why all the different types of cards, the different colored chips, the need to go back and forth. When Bismarck heard that poker was war across a table he assumed something different.

What I do gather is that in order to proceed in this particular hand I will need to gather the same number of the same type of chips.

Bismarck threw two blue chips into the pot. The human proceeded to lie out three cards face up: a four surrounded by hearts, a six surrounded by spades, and a woman clinging desperately to diamonds.

Bismarck reassessed his own cards, then looked back towards the three on the table. They appeared not to conform in shape or character. He thought they might also be different colors but he couldn’t say for sure.

The human put in a blue chip shakily. He looked from his cards and back to Bismarck. He offered a nervous smile. Bismarck accepted the offer and also threw in a blue chip.

The next card the human put up was a nine with clovers on it. The human repeated the procedure of looking from his cards to the table and back again. He was acting the part of an anxious gazelle taking a drink of stream water, checking for predators. Bismarck meanwhile was acting the part of a jaguar.

As far as I can tell there is absolutely no association between my two cards and the ones on the table. They couldn’t be more different than cats and dogs. Screw dogs.

The human rapped the table. Bismarck pawed in two black chips. The human stared Bismarck down.

Now is when the soul read really comes into play. Within yours I see disappointment, lack of self-confidence, a fear of the unknown. Try as you might within mine you will only find no hesitation. Look into my eyes and you will see the heart of the warrior, fed and sustained by tuna and chicken.

For several minutes the human stared. Finally, he lowered his head and folded. Bismarck asked if he wanted to play another hand. The human said he better go consult some more books before trying his luck again.

In that case let me call my friend Blackie, Bismarck said. I’m sure he’ll give you what you’re looking for.

Bismarck's Books

1001 Ways to Defeat Austria-Hungry; The Idiot’s Guide to Squashing Liberals; A Prussian’s Guide to Mustache Care; These and many other books would have littered Otto von Bismarck’s desk had he been particularly interested in reading. Since he wasn't, he had plenty of free time to repress Catholics.

Bismarck the cat didn’t know anything about Catholics. Had he, he might have liked them. His affinity for incense was strong; strangely for a cat he liked being dabbed by water; he was one of God’s creatures…and so on.

One thing was for sure, though. Bismarck liked books. Long books, black books, wrong books, stacked books. For Bismarck the title of the book was less important than it’s substance; literally, how much it weighed. Bismarck’s number one criterion for a book was its perchability-how easy it was to sit on. His number two criterion was whether it had an interesting picture on the front.

One day Bismarck spotted a table with books on it. He noticed that nobody was sitting on them. Don’t mind if I do, he thought as he leapt atop. Turns out he had made his way onto a book with a multi-colored lion on the cover. Bismarck eyed the beast curiously.

Last time I checked, I had whiskers and fur too.

The similarities didn’t end there either. Bismarck, now unusually self-aware, caught himself sitting in a similar sphinxlike manner to the lion. He imagined himself with the same imperial grin. He remembered back to other cats he had known.

I recall Gizmo (those humans and their monikers really are quite absurd). Gizmo, in addition to all the similarities I have, even shared this beast’s coloring. Perhaps there is something there. Oh yeah, there is, grass, underneath the lion.

The last time Bismarck had experienced grass it had been through a window on a perfectly lovely day in July no less.

My incarceration continues…

Bismarck scanned the books in search of titles that might be helpful. Among them were a biography Team of Rivals, the Gulag Archipelago, and a biography of Malcolm X. He bypassed all these in search of something that might deal with setting the subjugated free. He landed on a chemistry text.

Weighty, he thought, feeling the hefty book underneath his feat. Odd given the fire on its cover. As far as Bismarck knew fire was weightless. It did seem to go through things, however. He had once seen the human accidentally light a paper on fire. The human had then thrown the paper aside, freeing it from his grasp, before stomping on it. Bismarck, too, had a desire to be free from the human’s grasp but he had no wish to be stomped on. I must although the fire to win, he thought.

Bismarck waited. It took several nights but eventually, as expected, the human forgot to blow out one of his many candles. When the human was asleep Bismarck got off the bed, hopped up towards the table where the candle was set and oh so casually knocked it onto a book. The book caught on fire. The human woke in terror. He threw a blanket over the book. The fire department was called. The house was saved. But in the process Bismarck was taken outside. It was the middle of winter, so no grass. Just have to wait for next time, Bismarck thought.

Bismarck's Bath

It started with a splash; or rather it ended that way. In between a bunch of stuff happened.

Unlike most cats, Bismarck never showed an aversion to water.

Germany might be on the Continent stifled and suffocated by the British Empire, but I’m not about to let that deter me, Bismarck thought, inspired by his namesake.

It’s all about achieving an appropriate balance of power, i.e. me getting whatever the hell I want.

So with a graceful pounce, Bismarck first made his way to the counter.

Let’s see what’s in these glasses. He stuck his head in and took a ginger sip of water.

Not bad, he thought, although I would prefer ginger ale.

Bismarck proceeded to do the same the next day.

The human, who as all humans do alternated between sloth and bustle, began removing the glasses, trying to train Bismarck off the practice. His attempts, though, were rather equivocal and uninspired. He would only occasionally take away the glass, other times fooling himself into thinking that he was being indulgent by leaving it.

Even a normal cat would not be dissuaded. Bismarck was no normal cat. Among a sea of seals, he was the walrus or, more appropriately, sea lion. “Bismarck” was an apt sobriquet. When it came to consolidating his Empire there was no cat feline. And so the human letting Bismarck drink out of glasses gradually became accepted practice. Then it became etiquette and eventually it became de rigueur or better Pflicht.  

The next week, Bismarck moved into the bathroom. He remarked at how the human would fill up a giant porcelain bowl and get into it. He would wait patiently and expectantly for the moment the human would finally begin drinking.

You foolish gorilla, what are you wasting my time for?

Eventually simply sitting on the mat in front of the porcelain bowl was no longer enough for Bismarck. He ventured atop the bowl’s ledge.

I think I’ll show him how it’s done.

Casually, as if it were just another day in the park (where sadly Bismarck never gets to go) Bismarck began lapping up drops from the bowl’s edge. He would look up occasionally.

You see you put your face down and your tongue out, he tried to say in a way the human could understand. It’s important to me that you don’t die of dehydration. Who else am I going to scratch on?

The human did not take the advice. He continued day by day to simply sit in the bowl, oblivious to its life-sustaining contents.

Pure lunacy, Bismarck contended. I guess I have to do everything myself.

Bismarck lowered his head down towards the water inside. The tip of his tongue pierced the water. It shot back up towards his face.

You fool, this is hot. Not only was the human not drinking the water, he was warming it to such a point that no one might. There are children in African who could use this water, Bismarck thought indignantly. Not that I, Bismarck, have any particular interest in Africa, ahem.

Bismarck teetered, then he righted himself. He decided to swat the water back to a decent temperature. He plunged a paw downwards. He repeated this process. When the water had cooled slightly, he ventured his face down again. He slipped on the side of the bowl and plunged in. The human pulled Bismarck off, offering him a towel. You absurd creature, Bismarck scoffed. I can take care of myself.

With that, Bismarck proceeded to lick his wounds, prepared to fight another day.

Bismarck the Dive Bomber

His opening gambit failed. He had sacrificed the white queen hoping that her fall would bring a renewal of his human’s attention. Regrettably, the human had taken the fallen chess piece in his monkey hand, raised it, and continued to play the game, thereby diverting his gaze once again away from the only being on the table worthy of true eminence, a gray tabby cat named Bismarck.

Bismarck curled his whiskers. Being a feline, he was smarter than the mostly hairless ape who ‘owned’ him. And he had seen the solution to the human’s chess problem long in advance. Having no means by which to communicate verbally with the human he had tried other clues. A wistful glance here, a soft purr there. Alas, the human had gleaned nothing from Bismarck’s sharp, cunning green eyes; not even the fact that Bismarck was hungry and that the bipedal slightly evolved gorilla should quit his chess silliness and feed the beast.

This is no justice in the world, Bismarck thought and blinked his eyes tragically.  Were it not for his lack of opposable thumbs and ability to open doors Bismarck might procure his own food. Out in the world Bismarck tracked prey with the precision and determination of a stealth pilot. He located mice and delivered his paw as guillotine might deliver the King of France. In the house, however, he was captive; prisoner to the machinations of humans who traded in amorphous pieces of paper and plastic and who simply pulled food indolently from brown sacks rather than hunting their own. It made Bismarck rightfully indignant.

What if you were to have a massive coronary, human? What if you were to lay withering on the floor, unheeded and unloved? Who would open the big cold box then?

These and many other questions confronted Bismarck like so many hairballs as he stared down the chessboard, willing that the buffoon see the solution to his chess conundrum lay in moving the formerly fallen queen three spaces to her left. Bismarck took his paw and nudged her majesty to the appropriate square. The human prepared to scold Bismarck before seeing within the move the solution to his quandary. He paused then smiled. He stroked the cat satisfied with his own supposed ingenuity, not paying Bismarck the heed that was his do. So it goes. Genius is often unappreciated. At least now would come the food.

Except it didn’t. Emboldened by his own supposed sense of tactical process the human proceeded to set up yet another position, an even more difficult problem, one Bismarck feared might take the human the entire afternoon. The situation required more than a simple gambit; it necessitated a sacrifice.

Bismarck eyed the counter, noticing a cat sized space just in between the Oreos and the cutting board. He leapt deftly, pirouetting to face the refrigerator. The human looked up worried. He rushed over towards Bismarck. This time, though, the cat jumped atop the refrigerator and from there above a cabinet, avoiding the roof by an inch. The human gasped. Not knowing Bismarck’s proprioceptive prowess he wheeled around the kitchen desperately. “I’ll save you,” he said, not quite realizing the breath of his naiveté. Bismarck scoffed, then plunged to the chessboard, knocking the entire thing to the ground. The human careened, then rushed towards Bismarck, taking the perennially safe feline in his arm and expressing his deep concern and worry, stroking Bismarck to solace only himself.

This is it, Bismarck knew, meowing glancing suggestively towards his food bowl. The hapless and harried human rushed to the cold box took out the cold tuna and salmon, placing them before Bismarck. He ate with relish (Not literally but he could have had he so chosen). I’m the true Grandmaster, he thought before yawning and going to sleep on the couch.