During a recent burst of playing, my cat Roo, now one-and-half years old, threw his Hello Kitty toy into the air, after which it unceremoniously landed in his water bowl. Hello Kitty playtime abruptly ended.
Now, was this cat-throw a mistake?
No, at least from Roo’s perspective. It was simply an odd, unusual outcome—one which he quickly moved on from, continuing the day’s adventures. There was no judgment and no self-recrimination. I don’t think he did anything wrong, and I certainly doubt he did either. It was just one of those things—the cost of play.
And it’s here I can learn a lot from my cat. When I play with new ideas, or play with writing, or play with a new camera, I should expect untoward outcomes. It’s the cost of play. But these costs are not necessarily mistakes, and, just like Roo, I need to quickly move on, to proceed with the rest of the day’s adventures.
(As an aside, I do think cats can make mistakes. For example, when they are kittens, they can often be seen analyzing the height of a jump from a table or a chair, and if they judge wrongly, they will note their mistake for future reference).