Donald Clarke: Hey Francis, leave our pets alone

I have never been a fan of popes (or any other sort of religious potentate), but, as holders of the office go, Francis seems sound. He was good in that film with Hannibal Lecter. He makes respectable noises on social issues. Rather him than those medieval fellows who were forever invading Lombardy or appointing horses as cardinals.

But what is his problem with pets? We are already two weeks into Francis’s Second Crusade against Squeaky the canary and Bowie the one-eyed goldfish. The first came in 2014, when he suggested having pets instead of children was “another phenomenon of cultural degradation”. Hey, Frank. If you want to see “cultural degradation” then get yourself round to mine at 3am on a Saturday. Ha, ha! (As we shall soon learn, this is the most idle of boasts.)

He returned to the theme at a general audience earlier this month. “Today ... we see a form of selfishness,” he told the audience. “We see that some people do not want to have a child. Sometimes they have one, and that’s it, but they have dogs and cats that take the place of children.”

Yeah, well, he’s obviously not talking about me. True, I do not have any children. Yes, I have a cat. But I am not going to insult that fine animal by suggesting he is taking the place of some money-grabbing parasite with an insatiable desire for gobstoppers and Dinky cars. Yes, that’s right. I learned all I know about children from watching Ealing comedies. What you gonna do about it, guv? Knock me block off?

How about a little break from Harry Potter controversies?

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Over the past week, a few friendly commentators have suggested that Francis is being misrepresented. His point was, apparently, somewhat more nuanced than subsequent headlines have suggested. But he has clearly some sort of bee in his mitre about how folk fill child-shaped gaps with Fido-shaped blocks.

The argument about “selfishness” has always been a peculiar one. I am an enormously selfish person. I manifest this by taking all the sausage rolls, hogging the remote control and tutting furiously at anybody who takes longer than 30 seconds to get their laptop into the plastic tray at airport security. My decision not to magic another resource-sucker onto an increasingly strapped planet is not part of that conversation.

Complete monster

If it is selfish not to have children then it is, presumably, generous – or at least noble – to bring such creatures into the world. How does that work? If you already have the beggars about the house then, yes, we can learn something about your ethics from how you treat them. People who adopt children that would otherwise remain parentless are, of course, making a morally commendable decision. (Look, I’m not a complete monster.) But having your own children is an ethically neutral act. When standing behind a family spread statically across an airport security queue – just put it in the bloody tray! – I am rarely tempted to shake the parents by the hand and thank them for their selfless commitment to procreation.

We may eventually wipe ourselves out. But we are not going to do that by buying a tortoise when we could be conceiving a baby. There is always a possibility that your child could grow into a philanthropist. It’s just as likely he could become a polluter on an industrial scale. We do know that the more we procreate, the more society infantalises itself. Such is the unstoppable need for childish entertainment that juvenile pabulum has eaten mainstream movies and TV alive. It has made children of adults and made kindergartens of cinemas.

Is this what you wanted? I hope you’re proud of yourselves. Of course you are. “You think differently about these things when you have children,” you say as you weep theatrically over some tragic story in the newspaper. Yeah, because we cat owners and pigeon fanciers positively relish cyclone, plague and meteor strike.

Cool cats

Pet owners know themselves to be inherently no more or less morally upstanding than the person who does not keep an animal in his home. We are renowned for our rational attitudes. We do not carry out lengthy discussions with the cat about the snooker. “I don’t think Judd Trump wanted to be so straight on the blue. Do you?” we don’t say. We don’t sing the Top Cat theme to our animal companions while half-believing the beast is understanding every word. Okay, we may do that. But that’s because we are super-cool.

Let us be fair. One can hardly blame parents for getting a bit superior when religious leaders make these sorts of moral distinctions. This gets to the most irritating aspect of the pope’s ongoing crusade. Don’t tell such folk they are less selfish than the chap who discusses darts with his terrapin or the lady who shares bridge tips with her guinea pig. Parents are quite able to come to those conclusions without any ecclesiastical assistance.

We are all getting along as best we can in a mucked-up world. Make the best of whatever companion comes your way.

Are we friends again?