il Vaso di Pandora ~ Rene Magritte
The muddy puddle that formed the hotel’s front approach seemed, to Atoms sky-pointed nose, to have a faint tinge of neglect about it. The sky reflected a pale blue in his eyes.
“It’s bigger than It sounds like in my memory,” he said, “The sky, I mean; it seems to go on for ever.”
“Hum, very poetic” Said Cajones
“I’ve never understood what that means,” said Atom, marvelling once again at the complexity of yellow in Cajones’ eyes, “Poe attic… sounds like the murder scene in some horror story told by a scary bloke with one bulging eye.”
“Don’t worry, it’s a species thing,” said Cajones, ruffling the fur at his nape, “Poetry was developed by the ancient cats, the ones that didn’t have to rely on your lot for food.”
“bullshit” said Atom with unconvincing conviction.
“’s true; another one of our many skills, think about it: our thirst for knowledge so strong that we will eat spiders just to know what they taste like (actually you can get quite a good buzz off some of those spiders); the silence required to live among you unnoticed (unless we chose to be noticed); the ability to convey the beauty of the kill with grace; that’s poetry.”
Cajones skirted the muddy puddle in two arcs of ginger then stopped to wait for Atom on the other side.
“It’s bigger than It sounds like in my memory,” he said, “The sky, I mean; it seems to go on for ever.”
“Hum, very poetic” Said Cajones
“I’ve never understood what that means,” said Atom, marvelling once again at the complexity of yellow in Cajones’ eyes, “Poe attic… sounds like the murder scene in some horror story told by a scary bloke with one bulging eye.”
“Don’t worry, it’s a species thing,” said Cajones, ruffling the fur at his nape, “Poetry was developed by the ancient cats, the ones that didn’t have to rely on your lot for food.”
“bullshit” said Atom with unconvincing conviction.
“’s true; another one of our many skills, think about it: our thirst for knowledge so strong that we will eat spiders just to know what they taste like (actually you can get quite a good buzz off some of those spiders); the silence required to live among you unnoticed (unless we chose to be noticed); the ability to convey the beauty of the kill with grace; that’s poetry.”
Cajones skirted the muddy puddle in two arcs of ginger then stopped to wait for Atom on the other side.
6 comments:
poe attic.... very nice;
i could not also help but think about a cat uncurling, stretching, and then curling up again in the opposite direction.... poetry indeed to reach that far to the confines of one's shin ( ok, fur....) and not totally explode out of it...
i like this cat
and atom is a worthy anthropologist
Harlequin: Nice, you have just given a major promotion - he will be pleased :D
Everything about this series is magnificent, and so wonderfully thought out
I'm especially fond of Cajones, your ballsy cat
Keep 'em coming
Spit: glad you're enjoying it - there is still plenty to come (not sure exactly since I'm making it up as I go along :))
Hahahaha! Was Cajones in Jarmusch's Dead Man?
Jeff: Ha! you may be right, he is the reincarnation of Nobody.
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