「する
"It wasn't a conscious act. It all just sort of happened. Is there not some way to avoid being expelled?" Buemon entreats the master, his voice unsteady and on the verge of tears. On the other side of the fusuma, throughout all this, the wife and Yukie are exchanging grins. The master, caught up in the gravity of Buemon's torment, responds again with, "We'll have to see ..." It's all quite intriguing.
When I say it's all quite intriguing, some may ask how so. It's no surprise they should ask. Whether man or beast, the hardest endeavor over the course of any lifetime is learning to know oneself. I'll grant, in fact, that any human being who succeeds in knowing himself can rightly claim supremecy over us cats. At such point, I would immediately cease and desist, out of sympathy for Buemon and his like, the reporting of the occasional misdeed. However, just as a man can't see the height of his own nose, he also struggles to discern his own nature, and thus he questions how a cat, whom he regards with perpetual disdain, could view his travails as intriguing. Man, while brash and boastful, is also flawed and deficient. He parades what he calls the "triumph of the human spirit," proclaiming it far and wide, yet fails to perceive his own shortcomings. And he does so in all sincerity, betraying no hint of self-doubt, which makes it all the more farcical. He walks through this world convinced that his spirit must triumph, yet soon devolves to fretting and fussing. "Where's my nose? I can't see it. Help me find it," he implores. Is he thus impelled to abandon his ruse? Not in the least. He'd sooner die than relinquish his self-proclaimed "triumph." There's a certain charm in any creature so overtly indifferent to his own inconsistencies. The price of this charm, though, is never-ending folly.