A FEW UTOPIAN IMPRESSIONS
four hours. I cease absolutely to be interested in anything else, except so far as it leads towards intercourse with this being who is to be at once so strangely alien and so totally mine.
§ 4
Wrapped up in these preoccupations as I am, it will certainly be the botanist who will notice the comparative absence of animals about us.
He will put it in the form of a temperate objection to the Utopian planet.
He is a professed lover of dogs and there are none. We have seen no horses and only one or two mules on the day of our arrival, and there seems not a cat in the world. I bring my mind round to his suggestion. "This follows," I say.
It is only reluctantly that I allow myself to be drawn from my secret musings into a discussion of Utopian pets.
I try to explain that a phase in the world's development is inevitable when a systematic world-wide attempt will be made to destroy for ever a great number of contagious and infectious diseases, and that this will involve, for a time at any rate, a stringent suppression of the free movement of familiar animals. Utopian houses, streets and drains will be planned and built to make rats, mice, and suchlike house parasites impossible; the race of cats and dogs—providing, as it does, living fastnesses to which such diseases as plague, influenza, catarrhs and the like, can retreat to sally forth again—must pass for a time
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