On Observing the Calico

The fat housecat twitches in her sleep.

Paws kick. Soft whimper. Ears perk then fall.

[And I watch longingly, jealous of her peace. The only world she knows is rise, eat, relax. Afternoon nap. 2 o’clock crazies. Smash the laptop keys, wonder why the human hates this. Spy on the neighbors from the window perch as they water the grass. Spy a squirrel. Beg for lunch scraps. I envy her easy living. The privilege of knowing nothing of the plague staining the world she reigns over. Her small corner kingdom knows no such evil. I wish I could still sleep. Like that, or even at all.]

Pink tongue peeks out. Sudden jerk. Perfect, unbelievable calm.

[What do cats even dream about? If the only life she knows exists within these four walls– does that limit her subconscious? Or is she hardwired, like us, to dream of the impossible? Of escape? Freedom?]

Steady breathing from the softest parts. Eyes like crescent moons.

[I still dream of freedom.]

She wakes. I hardly notice her sleepy stare.

[And I wonder what went on. How she does it. Why I can’t.]

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