Animal Farm

UNDER SUBMISSION

Do we truly see ourselves as others see us? Do judges, for example, mistake a lawyer's sneer of contempt for a crooked smile? Do scathing Daily Journal profiles of judges force them to see themselves as they truly are? How should I know? I am as guilty of self-deception as any other person or judge. But whatever they may say about me, one thing I can say about myself with unshakable certitude: I am not a tyrant.

How do I support this bold assertion? By a simple proclivity: I like cats. Biographers tell us that Hitler and Napoleon despised cats. Psychologists opine that tyrants hate cats because they cannot control them. I'm sure Saddam Hussein hates cats. The three villains I have just mentioned would have been terrible judges. People who like cats make good judges because they do not need to lord it over people ... or cats, which no one can do.

I cannot say the same thing about people who love dogs, unless the dog is a Basenji. Basenji dogs are much like cats. They do not bark, they lick themselves, and they are fiercely independent. They do whatever they damn please. Basenji owners make good judges. I'm not so sure about dog lovers of other breeds. The "roll over," "play dead," "get me the paper" mentality does not lend itself to forbearance when passing judgment on some sorry defendant.

Yet domestic animals have a soothing effect on us irascible humans. That is why I support cats in the court. Dogs, too. Unfortunately, judges who bring their animals to court get in trouble. See Cannon v. Commission on Judicial Qualifications, 14 Cal.3d 678, 684 n.3(h) (1975). The mechanical canary chirping away in Judge Cannon's chambers during court hours was disruptive. But that should not count against a real canary who I'm sure would have been much quieter.

The judge also brought a real dog to court, which, among other things, got her into big trouble with the then-Commission on Judicial Qualifications. But what is so wrong with having a tiny Chihuahua sit on a judge's lap while she or he tries a jury case? (This is a serious subject, so I eschew lame jokes about a dog of a case; see Phillips v. San Luis Obispo County Dept. of Animal Regulation, 183 Cal.App.3d 372 (1986).) Xavier Cugat, the Latin band leader famous to anyone over 60, led his band with a Chihuahua cradled in his arm. The dog was not all that distracting, not with Cugat's vivacious wife, Charo, gyrating to an infectious samba beat.

As for Cannon, an attorney bearing an animus against either the judge, her Chihuahua, or both, created havoc with a diabolical prank one morning during a jury trial. The dog was resting comfortably on the judge's lap during an agonizingly protracted cross-examination of an expert witness. Unnoticed, the miscreant attorney standing in the hallway opened the courtroom door just a crack. Taking a deep breath, he placed a dog whistle between his malevolent lips and blew with all his might. The effect of the joke was anything but practical. It is best to use current argot to describe the disorder that followed. The Chihuahua freaked out.

From one end of the dog came hysterical yapping the sound of which resembled a chicken with laryngitis. What came out of the other end produced a similar but louder response from the judge. At the judge's hearing before the commission, the Chihuahua, who was reputed to be a heavy sentencer, marked not a drop of contrition. His damaging testimony helped bury her career as though it were a mere soup bone. The judge was ultimately removed from the bench, after which she disappeared into obscurity. The dog went on to make a fortune in television commercials.

I submit that this unfortunate incident was the fault of neither the judge nor the dog. Nevertheless, the Cannon case stands as a precedent to ban pets from chambers and the courtroom. How foolish. Pets have a calming influence. Pets that visit patients in convalescent hospitals promote fast recovery and good health. At one time, cats lived with prisoners in San Quentin. Their presence helped reduce violence.

Animals in the courthouse would make domineering judges more amicable. It would help reduce hypocrisy. Of the many judges who retire to graze in the green pastures of private judging, there are a few who have disagreeable temperaments. In the private sector, they have to live down their dreadful reputations. How often do we see them at bar functions unctuously glad handing, working the tables with smarmy demeanor while trying to effect warm personalities? This shameful ruse would be unnecessary had they been allowed to have a cat on the bench. A cat would have softened their oppressive natures. They would have been mellow and genial, obviating the need for the six f's: false friendly face for finding fortune.

If I brought my cat to court, the Judicial Performance Commission would be on me like a vexatious litigant. But because I cannot bring my cat to court, I bring the court to my cat, that is, I used to. When I worked at home (on weekends and nights, of course), my cat Oge assisted me. Oge was his nickname. His real name was O.G. (Other Guy) to distinguish him from Boz, the cat who was the first to establish residence with me. Oge is recently deceased. The circumstances of his demise are a painful story that I will reserve for another column. Oge would sit on my desk and help me decide cases. Please do not report this to the Judicial Performance Commission.

While I was drafting at the computer, Oge would, at times, simply walk on the keys and delete material. Seldom would I strike the undo button, but instead, I would take his sage advice and start anew.

Unlike Oge, Boz is not an intellectual. He preferred watching TV while Oge and I worked. Oge, on the other hand, disliked TV except for the Sopranos. Boz and Oge had little use for each other but were compelled by circumstances to arrive at an uneasy truce. They were much like two justices of widely differing judicial philosophies and temperaments in the same division. They learned the value of tolerance and coexistence.

Incidentally, for you skeptics, cats do watch TV and even have favorite shows. On National Public Radio, Ira Glass, host of "This American Life," interviewed a producer of video programs for cats. Not surprisingly, the videos featured the sounds and movement of birds, squirrels and lizards. I did not buy the video for Boz, because he was content with animal shows on Public Television and the Discovery Channel.

Even dogs like television. In the 1950s, my friend Lewis Barth, who is now dean of Hebrew Union College, had a dog named Peaceful. Lewis was extremely popular. After all, he was one of the first kids on his block to have a television set. During the first few weeks that this miracle with the 10-inch screen appeared in Lewis' living room, Peaceful kept running to the back of the set. Lewis said that Peaceful was looking for the people on TV, and this was in the days of black and white grainy television. Lewis ascribed too much intelligence to his dog. People are simply not that short.

Since Oge is gone, some people have hinted that my work has suffered. I was hoping that Boz would take his place. Unfortunately, he has little interest in the law. Because he likes TV, I tried to use that medium to provoke some curiosity, hoping it would not kill him. He found Judge Judy abrasive and rude and refused to wait for the outcome of a landlord-tenant dispute between two solipsists.

I finally induced Boz to watch "Animal Court" with me. We snuggled together on the couch as the redoubtable Judge Wapner presided over his kingdom. Boz and I hoped for heated disputes involving hamsters, parakeets and mice. All we heard were arguments about the value of a Schnauzer. We fell asleep.