## Time Is Relative!

Our General Physics Lab project that day was meant to help us lowly underclassman understand the coefficient of friction. It wasn’t very exciting; we had a ramp we could ratchet up and down, creating different angles, and a bunch of things to place on the ramp. We had already figured out there was no point setting anything on the ramp at a 45 degree angle; even the rubber-backed place mat wouldn’t stay put on a ramp that steep.

Then the door slammed open so hard it smacked into the wall, and a wild-eyed graduate student raced down the corridor between our lab tables. He vaulted onto the teacher’s desk at the front of the room, and grabbed the heavy clock that was set into the wall above.

This was the olden days, when electric clocks were wired to the wall through their backs; he had to yank several times before the clock came loose, trailing electrical wires and chunks of plaster. He held up the clock like Rafiki presenting baby Simba, and yelled at the top of his lungs, “TIME IS RELATIVE!” Then he leapt down from the desk, and ran out of the room, taking the clock with him.

Shocked, we couldn’t stop laughing; when the teacher came to check on us, (he knew the coefficient of friction wasn’t as funny as all that) we told him about the crazed grad student. He grinned and said, “That’s how I felt when I figured it out.”

Two years later, when I understood enough math to grasp the theory of relativity, the student’s crazy behavior finally made sense to me. The world I knew, the world I’d grown up in, wasn’t real. My senses were tracking time, but the time I experienced was an illusion, not an absolute at all. Time is dependent on our speed and acceleration. Time is profoundly affected by gravity. Time can be rotated. Time, in fact, is completely bizarre and weird and behaves in ways I’d never imagined. I found myself in awe of Einstein (but not for the first–or last–time!)

If you use your cell phone’s location feature, your phone is constantly receiving signals from at least four GPS satellites, and you rely on the theory of relativity daily. GPS satellites move over 8000 miles per hour faster than we do, so they experience a slower slow of time. The satellite clocks have to be calibrated to nullify the time difference, or GPS technology would be worthless. Siri (or Google Maps, depending on your preferred tech) couldn’t answer your questions about how to get to the nearest gas station, or tell you how far you were from your destination.

So the next time you ask your phone for directions, remember Albert Einstein deserves some of the credit for getting you where you want to go.

## The Physics of Light, Gravity Waves and Ripples in Spacetime

NASA scientists held a Q&A on Facebook today, giving the FB community a chance to ask questions of the first scientists to observe ripples in spacetime–light and gravity waves.

Many cats are frightened and aggressive toward the first mirror they see; some recognize their reflections aren’t enemies, and can be safely ignored. Our cat Tuesday’s aptitude for optics, the physics of light,  became obvious when we caught her using mirrors as a tool instead of ignoring them or fearing them.

Tuesday uses the mirror in the living room as a stalking aid. She positions herself  where the angle of reflection allows her to spot someone just before they round the corner and enter the room from one of two adjacent doors. She likes to time her ankle-pounces for maximum shock value.

She never ignores mirrors. She’s a beautiful cat, perhaps a touch vain. She will glance into mirrors as she passes, swish her tail, check her whisker alignment, admire the bright calico pattern of her fur, and walk on. When we are holding her and looking in the mirror, she looks into the eyes of our reflections when we speak, rather than turning around to face us.

Tuesday’s early life is a mystery; we do know she had an amazing owner who spent the first weeks of her life introducing her to a huge variety of situations; she is the least fearful cat we’ve ever met, and responds to new situations with curiosity rather than fear or aggression.  Perhaps that owner helped her understand that mirrors were safe, and Tuesday discovered how to use them to her advantage.

NASA scientists held a Q&A on Facebook today, giving the FB community a chance to ask questions of the first scientists to observe ripples in spacetime–light and gravity waves. (There were good questions at first, before the Tinfoil Hat Crowd arrived and started braying and bleating; to find the actual questions, check out NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center). One of the discoveries I find most intriguing is the fact that the gravity waves/ripples arrived BEFORE the light; photons were being caught up in the debris of the two neutron stars colliding and delayed! I didn’t even know that could happen! It’s as though the gravity waves were faster than light!

Tuesday is rolling her eyes at me; she obviously believes the gravity waves had a head start. It’s difficult for her, having to come up with tutorials for me; she did find a way to express her opinion by coming in a close second when I called her and Himeko into the kitchen for treats. She’s faster than the dog; she didn’t launch from her cozy bed until she heard the bag crinkle and knew the offer was genuine. Probably light was delayed for intelligent reasons as well.

## An Interview with Published Feline Physicist, F.D.C. Willard, F.R.S.C.

##### The lovely and accomplished F.D. Tuesday has volunteered to serve as an interpreter.

Tuesday: F.D.C., were you surprised when your companion human, Jack Hetherington, listed you as co-author of the prestigious paper,  “Two-, Three-, and Four-Atom Exchange Effects in bcc 3He”?

F.D.C. Willard: Pleased, but not surprised. He didn’t have much of a choice. My dear Jack was an honest man, and he couldn’t claim that paper was based on his own discoveries, not without bending the truth until it snapped.

Tuesday: So Hetherington didn’t discover the atom exchange effects on his own?

F.D.C. Willard: Not at all. Helium’s behavior at low temperatures  is quite complex; it’s a fascinating subject. Jack was interested in my theories about the behavior of solid Helium 3,  but I had to explain it to him on his level, to break it down in a way he could understand. Once he grasped the concept, he was up and running, but my contribution was significant. He agonized over it, of course, knowing how we cats prefer our contributions to the field of physics to remain anonymous.

Tuesday: What finally made up his mind?

F.D.C. Willard: Without realizing it, he’d typed the entire paper in first person plural. When his proofreader pointed that out, he thought about changing it, but decided to do the right thing and give credit where it was due. To protect my privacy, he created a formal name for me, using my scientific classifications as given names and my father’s name as my surname.

Tuesday: When the paper was published in Physical Review Letters, it was a big hit, and people all over the world tried to contact you. How did you handle that?

F.D.C. Willard: At first, I kept a low profile. I never answered their letters or phone calls. Eventually I did sign some papers for our friends, and then, as they say, the cat was out of the bag.

Tuesday: Your friend Hetherington received a rather unusual request; would you like to tell us about that?

F.D.C. Willard: Certainly. The Physics Department Chair at M.S.U. sent a charming letter to Jack in November of ’75, in which he conveyed his deep appreciation of my abilities and a humble request that I consider working for their institution, even if only as a Visiting Professor. Of course I was flattered by Truman O. Woodruff’s offer, but I had to turn him down.

Tuesday: Why was that?

F.D.C. Willard: I couldn’t bear to show Jack up in front of his colleagues. Our families had been best of friends since my father’s time. There was also my position as Head Supervisor in the ancestral abode to consider; it wouldn’t be fair for me to give a professorship anything less than my full attention.

Tuesday: Hetherington typed up a paper for a French physics journal as well, which listed you as the sole author. How did you feel about that?

F.D.C. Willard: For cats, dabbling in academia isn’t a publish-or-perish situation, but Hetherington felt I’d appreciate having my own work out there under my own name. It was kind, but unnecessary;  we physics-obsessed cats don’t need praise, physical rewards or publishing credits to motivate us to search for knowledge. The thrill of the chase is enough!

Tuesday: So what’s in store for your future? Are you planning to reveal any additional discoveries?

F.D.C. Willard: No, this is my seventh life; it’s time to settle down. I’m focusing on the three “f”s this go-around: Family, fun, and food. Helium will still be there if I get the urge to study it again.

Tuesday: Thank you for your time, F.D.C. If anyone in our audience would like to read F.D.C. Willard’s famous paper, I’m delighted to say that the American Physical Society  agreed in 2014 to make all cat-authored papers open-access on their website. Enjoy!

## Those Pesky Inter-dimensional Portals

Michio Kaku, my favorite theoretical physicist (besides Tuesday our cat, or course), has interesting ideas about parallel universes, and ways we might possibly escape from one to the other. I can’t help but wonder if he gleaned the inspiration for this theory from the behavior of a portal-guarding cat.

Cats may be the keepers of inter-dimensional portals that riddle our planet. Retired physicist Robert White recorded his own observations of the feline portal guardians who visited a dimensional gateway via a broken fence. The portal was destroyed by an improvident fence repair, but I know of at least one portal still in operation.

Our family has lived in the same home for almost 14 years now, and three different cats have shared it with us. Observing their behavior has led us to the conclusion that we have an inter-dimensional portal to two parallel universes in our basement.

The first cat guardian of this portal was our dear kitty Corky. Blessed with a giving heart and a strong sense of responsibility, he took over the maintenance and guardianship of the portal the first day we moved in.

He spent an inordinate amount of time sitting at the top of the staircase and staring down into the dark basement; on occasion, he would dash down the stairs and run in mad circles, yowling. I don’t pretend to understand all he was doing–if I did, I’d be a cat–but it was obvious it was vitally important, because when he would begin to yowl, his brother Spot would sprint down the stairs to help him. Sometimes my children and I followed as well, but with our limited perceptions, we were more hindrance than help, and the cats would usually stare at us as if wondering how creatures with such big brains could be so stupid.

Over time, we came to recognize the parallel-universe versions of Corky. Sometimes, to keep the portal in good working order, it was apparently necessary for the Corkys to shift position.

There was the double we called Murky; obviously from a universe with a a higher chaos quotient and a lower organizational structure, he was a wild-eyed creature with fur in disarray, given to uncontrolled spurts of of energy.

We also met a double we called Sys-Admin; his universe appeared to have a lower chaos quotient and a higher level of organization than ours.

His behavior was formal, controlled and patient; we believe he may have been a secondary teacher or an accountant in his universe.

Neither of these two doubles, of course, paid much attention to us, or seemed to recognize us when we spoke to them. (Of course, we weren’t really “their” humans.)

Their disappearances were always preceded by a mad dash down the stairs and, presumably, through the portal. With the impeccable timing of cats, they changed positions with Corky at exactly the same velocity, position and time, so we never were able to observe the actual transference. To us, it seemed our cat was merely running in circles, and then behaving like himself again.

Corky’s litter-mate, Spot, never sat at the top of the stairs and guarded the portal–not until Corky passed away. Then suddenly there he was, having taken over the job, and it was his yowling voice we heard in the basement, and him sprinting in circles.

When our daughter moved and took her cat Spot with her, Tuesday came to live with us from the shelter. She took over the stair-top post, and she spends a reasonable amount of time watching the portal. Tuesday, however, as a theoretical physicist, is better able to ration her time and interactions depending on the mathematical variables of portal flux.

Corky was a gifted amateur; Tuesday is a professional. She is much more careful to avoid suspicion, and can fix problems rapidly, so we have never had a chance to meet her doubles. She very, very seldom yowls for help; when she does, if we meet her in the basement, she turns her back on us and flips her tail about, as if saying, “Oh dear, you poor clueless things, I didn’t mean YOU.”

## A Cat’s-Eye View of Liminal Space

### Tuesday the cat loves to test my understanding of liminal space.

The word “liminal”comes from the Latin word “limen,” which means “threshhold.” Liminal space has evolved to describe a place, time, idea or event balanced on the fulcrum of imminent change.

The space can be physical or metaphysical; a tunnel between two buildings is a liminal space, but so is the space between the acceptance of a new belief and rejection of the original.

Tuesday is somewhat heavy-handed when it comes to liminal space demonstrations. Every door, be it full-size or cupboard-size, is an opportunity to instruct the humans in her family. She loves to pose half-in, half-out, and becomes frustrated when we insist she pick a side, because after all, that isn’t the POINT.

Historically, liminal space was a period within a ritual when an initiate is neither one thing or the other; an example of this is the rite of passage from childhood to adulthood, first described by Arnold van Gennep. He identified the following three stages: separation from parents, or ‘death of childhood;’ the passing of a test to prove the initiate is worthy of the prize of adulthood; and the ‘new birth’ as the initiate is welcomed back into society as a fully-fledged adult.

Terry Pratchett, one of my favorite authors and the developer of the Diskworld (a flat world that rests on the backs of four giant elephants, who balance on the shell of a giant, space-faring turtle), uses the “rite of passage” ritual in one of his rare non-Diskworld children’s books, NATION. Early on, the poor initiate discovers that although he has passed the test, and is worthy of full adult status, he will never experience the ‘new birth’ portion of the ritual. He is trapped in liminal space forever.

Not unlike Tuesday, or so she would have us believe.

## Space-Time for Springers

I’d like to divert your attention to “Spacetime For Springers,” a short story by Fritz Lieber. It is my favorite short story of all time.

I can’t pick a favorite book, or even narrow my selections down to a favorite hundred books, but this story pushes all my buttons. It hits all the story beats. The form could not be better. Not a word or sentence is unnecessary, and each builds toward the climax.

The great reveal is both devastating yet trackable through the story.

The hero, a hyper-intelligent kitten named Gummitch, is both lovable and relatable, in spite of species’ differences. And the author’s use of language gapes my jaw; “…he flung his spirit into her like a fistful of flaming arrows;” “mirror beings were insubstantial or at least hermetically sealed into their other world, probably creatures of pure spirit, harmless imitative ghosts;” “…he teleported himself three yards to the rear, making use of that faculty for cutting corners in space-time, traveling by space-warp in fact, which was one of his powers…”

All my favorite writers have poet’s souls, but this piece, this miniature magnum opus, speaks to my heart. The theme of self-sacrifice, especially when that sacrifice is made to protect or preserve family or friends, underlies all my favorite stories. I have a soft little place in my heart for unsung heroes.

Other readers either love it or hate it. Some object to the entire theme, and long for a happy-ever-after, a magical ending where everybody gets what they want and joy is everywhere and the sun shines forever. Others don’t appreciate being manipulated by the writer into tears, but who wants to read an emotionally sterile story? Some simply hate cats, but I’m not able to grok that mindset any more than a sea cucumber can channel the thoughts of a Saguaro cactus.

Others, like me, believe it is one of the most poignant and heart-breakingly-beautiful stories ever told. The tale of Gummitch-kitten is posted here, if you’d like to read it for yourself and make your own decision.

Another story with near-perfect craft and construction is, “Who’s There?” by Arthur C. Clarke.  Yes, one of the main characters, the essential supporting character, is a cat. So? What’s your point?

## Lost in Space: The Unconsidered Hazards of Time Travel

Hulu and Netflix make it way too easy for me to feed my time travel addiction.  Dr. Who, Time After Time, Quantum Leap, D.C.’s Legends of Tomorrow, The Flash, Continuum, Primeval–SF binge-watching has never been more fun.

The different time travel theories proposed by each show and the screenwriters’ various answers to the insidious paradox problem fascinate (and sometimes infuriate) me. My favorite theory so far was advanced by the character Fitz in Marvel Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.; he insists that if a psychic truly saw the future, then of course that future can’t be changed. If anyone could change the future by their action or inaction, then the psychic wouldn’t have the ability to see the actual future, now would she, because what she saw was only a potential future. If she can view the future, then it will be as fixed and unchangeable as the past. Viewing the future collapses the waveform! I love it!

One thing everyone seems to ignore, though, is the critical “moving through space” part of time travel. If I went back in time an hour or so, my main problem wouldn’t be avoiding myself so as not to create a paradox; my problem would be my inability to breathe or maintain internal temperature and pressure in the vacuum of space.

Earth is rotating at 1000 miles an hour; it is rocketing around the Sun at a speed of 66,000 miles an hour; the sun is moving at a pretty fair turn of speed around the galaxy at 483,000 miles an hour, and the galaxy is streaking through space at 1.3  million miles an hour! (1)

Celestial motion won’t stop in deference to my little time-travel jaunt.

What makes my time-travel journey so exciting (and lethal) is the fact that we don’t have absolute reference points to quantify all this motion. We don’t know the precise location of the Big Bang, or the exact distance traveled so far, and we don’t know our precise speed, either.  Mathematicians are amazing people, and if they had absolute reference points I’ve no doubt they could calculate exactly where we are now and exactly where we were an hour ago. They could make my trip nonlethal–if we weren’t lost out here in space. We don’t know where we started and we don’t know where we are and we don’t know where we are going, either.

One popular way Hollywood ignores the whole “lost in space” problem: semi-sentient, gigantic wormholes are eager to assist time travelers. These wormholes magically know when and where they are going and how to expand to an improbable size and safely convey travelers to their destinations in one piece. Characters use mystical phrases like “quantum entanglement,” “negative longitude” and “Einstein-Rosen Bridge” in haphazard ways, but nobody does any math, and the mystical wormholes are in charge of celestial navigation.

Math is the antithesis of magic. Math requires a lot of hard work, and relies on facts, theories and formulas. It only looks magical from the outside.

Mastery of movement in time is only half the problem; quantifying travel in space is equally challenging. Still, I guess it’s just as well screenwriters cheat and pretend wormholes (or the machines traveling through them) can solve complex math problems and calculate the precise location of our tiny ball of rock as it hurtles through the universe. If they didn’t, those shows I love to watch would be awfully short.