I hope we don't get to the point where we have to have the cat

“I hope we don’t get to the point where we have to have the cat stop chasing the mouse to teach him glassblowing and basket weaving.” Thus spoke Joseph Barbera, the legendary animator and storyteller who, alongside William Hanna, gave the world Tom and Jerry, The Flintstones, and The Jetsons. His words, though light in tone, are laced with deep wisdom about the spirit of creativity, the nature of storytelling, and the soul of art. Beneath the humor lies a warning: that in our hunger to civilize, sanitize, and overthink, we risk losing the raw vitality that makes stories—and indeed, life itself—so alive. Barbera’s cat and mouse are not merely cartoon characters, but symbols of eternal struggle and energy, of the primal dance between pursuit and survival. To force them into gentleness, to strip away the conflict that defines them, is to rob the tale of its truth.

In the ancient way of speaking, one might say that Barbera’s words echo the wisdom of balance—the understanding that nature thrives through tension. The cat must chase, for it is in its nature to hunt; the mouse must flee, for it is in its nature to survive. To deny them this is to deny their essence. Likewise, in the realm of art and culture, conflict and imperfection are the heartbeat of creativity. The ancients told tales of gods at war, of heroes facing beasts and storms, because they knew that life’s beauty is born not in comfort, but in struggle. Barbera, through his jest, speaks the same truth: if we sterilize our stories—if we make them so safe, so polished, that even the chase must stop—we lose the spark that makes them human.

Joseph Barbera came from a time when animation was bold, mischievous, and unafraid. His creations were filled with chaos and laughter, yet beneath the comedy was rhythm and wisdom. The cat chasing the mouse was not just a gag; it was a parable of persistence, cleverness, and the eternal back-and-forth of life’s game. Every fall, every smash, every failed trap was a lesson in resilience. In that endless chase, there was joy, rivalry, and an unspoken understanding between hunter and hunted—a relationship that defined them both. To replace this wild play with sterile lessons, as Barbera jokes, would be to replace the soul of art with dull perfection.

Consider how many times in history this pattern has repeated: societies rise and flourish when they embrace struggle, and decline when they seek only ease. The Romans, once fierce and disciplined, grew decadent when their hunger for greatness faded. Their warriors became spectators, their stories softened, their games turned from trial to entertainment. The result was not peace, but decay. So too, Barbera’s warning is for all generations of artists, thinkers, and dreamers: do not let comfort, censorship, or excessive politeness extinguish the spark of truth. For art without risk is art without life.

In a deeper sense, Barbera’s words are not only about animation or entertainment—they are about the human condition. The cat and the mouse live in each of us: the part that strives and the part that endures, the dreamer and the realist, the pursuer and the pursued. To stop the chase is to silence the engine of progress itself. It is our struggles, our rivalries, and our passions that shape us into more than what we were. When humanity ceases to chase—to reach, to risk, to wrestle with the impossible—it loses its vitality. Teaching the cat to weave baskets may bring peace, but it will also bring emptiness.

Barbera, through humor, gives voice to a profound artistic creed: let life be vivid, let stories be wild, let creation breathe freely. In every great tale, from Homer’s Odyssey to Shakespeare’s Tempest, there is always a chase—a yearning, a pursuit of something just beyond reach. It is this restless energy that fuels imagination. The modern world, in its haste to correct and polish, must beware of dulling this ancient fire. The purpose of art is not to make us safe, but to make us feel—to awaken the child who laughs when the cat falls, but also learns that even failure can be funny, even struggle can be beautiful.

So, my child, remember this: do not tame the chase. In your work, in your love, in your life, let the cat pursue the mouse. Let your instincts drive you toward creation and discovery, even when the world urges restraint. Embrace the conflict that sharpens your spirit and the imperfections that make your art real. For when the chase ends, so too does the story. As Barbera reminds us, the vitality of life itself depends on movement, on risk, on play. May you never reach the day when your cat lays down his claws to learn glassblowing—for it is in the chase, not the craft, that the heart of creation truly lives.