Education Quote by Garrison Keillor

Cats, in Keillor's hands, become a furry rebuttal to the American habit of turning everything into a self-improvement seminar. The line lands because it weaponizes a familiar domestic creature against our craving for meaning. We want nature to behave like a well-managed spreadsheet: every trait optimized, every behavior justified, every life form a “lesson.” The cat just blinks, knocks a glass off the table, and strolls away. That refusal is the point.

Keillor’s intent isn’t to demean cats or glorify them; it’s to puncture the utilitarian worldview that treats existence as a series of functions. In that worldview, even animals must audition for relevance: dogs “serve,” bees “pollinate,” horses “work.” Cats, culturally speaking, freeload. They don’t reliably protect the home, fetch the paper, or display gratitude on schedule. Their charisma lies in their indifference, and Keillor twists that into a philosophical correction: maybe purpose is something humans impose, not something the universe owes us.

The subtext is quietly anti-Productivity Culture before that phrase hardened into a meme. It’s also a jab at moralizing nature, the habit of reading “design” as evidence of a plan. Keillor, a writer steeped in wry Midwestern observation, picks the most ordinary animal to make an un-ordinary claim: the world contains surplus, whim, and decorative strangeness. Cats are not a proof of meaning. They’re a reminder that meaning is our side project, not nature’s job.