Cat Concerns
1/4/23
I will speak to him in English one day.
Not today. I look outside by the curtains at the bleary water. It has rained for two days. I like to look outside from the windowsill. Though, I cannot see far and all the objects beyond the glass are silver. Master woke up today and immediately went to change my food for new food when I thought he might go sit cross-legged and fall asleep on the couch first as he did yesterday. But he gave me my food, then he picked up one brick of pages. He has many. He sat there in my chair flipping pages after long pauses. So, I came to the window to look out at all the humans unpacking their steel on wheels. I’m unsure why master gets frustrated – like, when he asked me, “Why do you open the bathroom cabinet?” then knocked me off the sink.
I like the cabinet because there are rare things inside like the toothbrush and smells like shaving cream and Band-Aids. He thinks he can keep me out with the useful blue tape he keeps applying to the mirror. I have nothing to do with the painting he does in the first room, for I get carried into the second room when the paint is out.
He had a painting on the floor tonight though. I walked on the canvas and kept walking in front of his handheld computer when he tried to take a picture of the painting on the floor.
I know he can’t always see as good as I do.
For instance, he’s been reading bricks about the unconscious. Such a silly new term for what my kind has known since the oldest men went to sleep in tombs in order to dream the future.
He can’t fathom the experiences of ancient cats, meow.
I inherited them from alien snow leopards last December.
Master was sitting on my chair today, and he was finally starting to realize that he must love himself, in his own chest, actively, if he is ever going to be less than a know-it-all primate. He must go that way, inside himself. This Love…it moves more than all the raindrops falling at once, more than every single raindrop dropping.
While the Love moves it is laughing.
As he sat on my chair in despair, I saw four old men that stood like oak trees around him laughing. His attention sometimes goes upward into his old self in a nice, safe, forest of love, and he believes it…let’s himself believe it. I can wonder too. But he went outside after that to do things just when I was going to say some English. I licked the molding, rubbed against the wall, hunched over, wrestled my raggedy toy, and napped. Then he came home panting.
He had worn the odorous black running shoes.
He’s not cut my nails in a long time.
I poked him when he was taking out the knots of the shoes.
When he shaved, he pushed me off the sink. I went into the bathtub to look at that drain instead, as if there aren’t two drains in the bathroom!
Then something must have been wrong with the man because he had to sit down with his eyes closed for a while.
I know his heart hurts. I saw his dreams last night.
He put me in the other room so he could paint. I stare at the door.
I don’t know what he paints.
He made the bowl of wet tuna fish…and when I extended my spine to the counter he said,
“You’re almost two foot high.”
I felt good about height. I nibble the tuna. It tastes like love. He puts his share in sandwiches. I scatter tuna flecks on the carpet. He left me again, eager.
Master appears to want to go out and find something to bring home. There is a row of yellow paperbacks across his desk, and he carried five paperbacks out the door. He returned inside with the same yellow paperbacks plus grocery bags that he set on the kitchen floor. I like how the bags feel against my fur.
Later, master had this ugly, awful face on as he drank a cup of fizzy golden soda. He always forgets I’m here. I’m happy. The people in the silver below get out of their steel on wheels. They walk around making gestures or shouting loud enough that I can hear it up here. “Calm yourselves young subjects,” I say in Meowlish. Master was upset. I think he was thinking about the girl he can’t love anymore and dreaming in the wrong direction. He went through his emails and looked at dates. “That was so long ago,” he said. Then he shut his eyes. I think he fell asleep for five minutes. But he opened his eyes and flexed his toes. I was laying on his chest. Then he went and talked to people on the computer screen for a few hours about language.
I traversed the keyboard twice.
He told people on the Mac screen my name.
It’s a big name with many letters.
I like having a big name.
Spyridon.
Anyway, it’s night now.
I don’t know what there’s going to be out there, but it can’t be worth that awful face he makes when he can’t smile. I know he wants to get to that library we build in the future. I look forward to it too, but I can wait, just like the clear blue sky behind the clouds.
I’m curled up on my mattress. I watch out for the bad spirits when he sleeps that dance around on the rug when he’s sad, so now’s my time to sleep while he sits on the couch. I can’t see his face. I’ll say something to him in English one day, but it might be in a dream, one he never remembers.
I think he gave Jesus a dollar earlier. Before bed, he carried a painting to the front of a gas station with his book tied to it using my yarn…then he came home and vacuumed the flecks of tuna fish. Master ate Oreos while I made sure Jesus was safe and pure by the shrine in the kitchen.
There are numerous shrines for humans.
Humans are cool.
Snow leopard aliens are cat business.
from 2023