Flatbush Dichotomy: A Before and After Account With Respect to the Dragonfly The dull, prop-like blade came down on the creature's fragile cranium. It inflicted a blow on a stupidity that beseeched reciprocity. Feline platelets sprinkled the nylon casement of the radiator shroud, and a pitiful whimper that pledged passive dependence exited the useless beast. He was the kind of cat who would behave stupidly for a good reason; it was his nature. This time, however, his stupidity reached new and immeasurable heights. Flatbush, my cat, had climbed into the comfortable 'security' of the car's radiator shroud. He had intended to escape the harsh rejection of my Nikes and decided to camp out for the night. Two hundred and fifty dollars and thirty-six stitches later, my creditors have become "concerned." Flatbush had always been the kind of animal that takes things for granted. His first introduction to the family came when, taking a walk, my son and I saw the "poor little kitty" coldly nestled among some debris in the bushes. He had clearly been abandoned. He had no collar. He was underweight. We took him in. From the start I began to realize that in life there was a reason for everything. Why does everyone pick on the little wimpy kid at the playground? Why do people who don't plan, fall into troubles? Why had this beautiful little kitty been cast aside to die on the side of the road? Flatbush wasn't lost; he had been dumped off. He was a loser of a cat. He'd been abandoned because of his incredibly high level of feline cognitive dysfunction (FCD). That all changed one recent evening when, having left the front door open, a very, very large dragonfly penetrated our defenses and violated the quiet of our home. He buzzed through the open door, swooped down upon my wife who is deathly afraid of any flying thing, and attempted to exit through the back door screen. The window was invitingly open, but the screen prevented his escape. Flatbush flew as swiftly as a bird through the air. His claw-extended paw, snatching with the precision of David's sling, reached out and brought the offending creature to the floor. A brief struggle ensued, and the cat uncharacteristically rendered the threat inert. In one fell swoop the insect was brought down and consumed. Flatbush began to eat the menace with a ravenous disgust that indicated his contempt for the intrusive beast. He attacked the dragonfly as if he were a warrior executing retribution for some dishonored kin. Our cat had changed. He was trying to show us how much he appreciated our care for him. Suddenly it all became clear. Flatbush was a hero. The children began to sing songs about him: "Flatbush is our cat, how we love him so. Kitty from the gods, come to protect us now." He was transformed. His true nature began to shine. We all began to say to ourselves, "What a piece of work is Flatbush! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel! In apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world, the paragon of animals!" This cat that I once viewed as a useless pain was in fact a monument of courage, strength, and leadership. I realized how wrong I had been all along. I repented, and for the first time in my life, my eyes were open. I learned that not only can a cat change; he can change the world.