More an entry than a poem, this blurb reveals my thoughts looking at the following photos and out towards the future.
I wish, for one second, that I could see the world through the eyes of my cat. For a second, the world is not as complex as I see it. Or maybe, that's not fair to say - it's just complex in different ways.
Like the bird he's eyeing in this photo, it's his dinner. Simple as that.
If I, as a cat, return emptyhanded, it's a reflection on me and my abilities. I'm not quick enough. I'm not calculated enough or strong enough.
Tough luck, on to the next catch of the day, smaller and more helpless than a flighty bird. Lizard. Lizard-brained - easier to control. They're an easier meal. But, lizard doesn't taste nearly satisfy as much as bird.
Maybe none of these thoughts go through a cat's mind. My cat, he's just wired to hunt and play. Catching birds isn't work, it's play. I wish life felt more that way.
Jump, cower, pounce, play dead, smack, then claws draw blood. The same exchange, the same routine over and over with prey, and yet they never grow tired of it. Maybe they realize their life, their worth, isn't tied to an outcome - "bird or no bird." Eat or be eaten.
Maybe they're just happy to be alive. Happy to use their muscular legs to jump and spring and pounce through the dew-ridden grass. Happy to smell the crisp outdoor air and make that weird cat face when they catch whiff of something strange and new. They're overjoyed to feel the adrenaline coursing through their bodies. Simply happy to be a cat.
Maybe being a cat is all they know. Being a human is all I know.
And, what is happiness to a cat? Is it cuddles or having a home to return to? Is it purring? Is it eating? Is it hunting? Is it exploring life? Is it when I come home to them? Is it when I grumble and roll out of bed to feed them, merely existing as their human servant?
Is a cat content? Do they get mad at politics? Do they fear the unknown? Do they know the meaning of life?
Or perhaps cats don't put pressure on happiness like humans do. They don't have existential crises. They don't absorb themselves in figuring out their meaning on this big blue ball.
They're cats. They just exist as cats. Oh, to be a cat.
Oh, to just be.
Simply being, that is cat.
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