ORIGIN: What can we say? The cat got our tongue, and we threw it in a tulip. It should have been a perfect fit, but we have yet to hear an apology.
Do you know why cats steal tongues? It’s because they only have 2 ears. Every cat dreams of becoming a tulip, but the last petal-shaped piece is missing. Cats use our tongues to crown themselves tulips. What we say goes. From our mouths to God’s ears. And even cats know that’s the only way to hold on to a crown.
Flowers grow towards the sun. Dew slides down their petals. Like fear down my spine. Why aren’t you afraid? You aren’t safe and sound. That tulip isn’t a boat, following a straight line to the sun. Its warmth won’t spend eternity tickling laughter out of you. You should be afraid. Life doesn’t end with tears of joy. Don’t be a fool. You will drown, long before you sail past the halfway point to happiness.
It’s not easy to find your place in the world. Sometimes you miss the signs, or nobody cared enough about you to put them up in the first place. If you have found a tulip, and it has your name written on it, don’t let anybody tell you otherwise. You are home. And I can only hope to one day be as lucky as you.
Congratulations, it’s a perfect fit. I hope that was enough to satisfy your curiosity because now you are trapped, with no way out of that tulip.
Little white lies only work when the intended listener doesn’t want to be hurt. It’s all thanks to their magic, not yours. With a face as bald as a white tulip you ask for forgiveness under a cat that’s taking a nap. A dream can’t be squeezed into such a little teardrop of time, much less a heartfelt apology. Truth lies in the ears of the listener, and I for one am happier with that arrangement.
Sorry, I’ll try harder next time.
Sorry, I love you.
Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.
Sorry, this will be the last time.
That tulip used to have an expressive face, a whole palette of emotions, but the aloof little cat deemed it a waste of energy. A scratch here, a lick of a sandpapery tongue there, and the tulip went back to being white as moonlight. Its energy now at the mercy of an ambitious cat.
The world is a ball of yarn waiting to be unraveled. Mysteries call to curious cats, but it doesn’t take much to predict the outcome. Having the answers is all well and good, but even the most single-minded cat has to live somewhere. Take my word. Once you are done clawing your world to shreds, all that will be left is a ruin of maggots wriggling at your feet. No one wants to live there. So, don’t waste your energy. Just let that ball of yarn be. And if you still want answers, make them up. Close your eyes and imagine something you can live with.
Rubbing against your leg and scratching your furniture isn’t enough for me anymore. I smell something coming from the other shore. Something new and fresh, that awaits my footprints. Something more enticing than you, that deserves to be the new center of my map. Bye-bye. I have an ocean to cross, I won’t be wasting any more energy on you.
The allure of sleep are its dreams. Catnaps are too short, there isn’t enough room for the story to unfold. Their only saving grace is the sun. That warmth that touches every fiber of your being and the stars don’t have a hope in hell of ever replicating, not even in their worst nightmares. But now, thanks to you, I can have the best of both worlds. I will put your energy to good use. I will dream under the sun. And who knows, maybe we will meet again.
Do you know how much energy it takes to keep my eyes glowing night after night? I could be selfish, just like you when you dream behind closed eyes and keep that better world to yourself. I may be a solitary cat, but I don’t think only about myself. Every night I open my big, generous eyes to outshine all the monsters that lurk in the dark, waiting to turn sweet dreams like yours into nightmares. Frankly, you should have volunteered all your energy to the cause willingly. But don’t worry, tonight, when I open my eyes, I will sign your name at the bottom of the night. I am not a monster. I always give credit where credit is due.
All I want is to be forgiven; this guilt doesn’t let me think. I can’t forget anything; the elephant doesn’t let me. It takes too much space; I can feel my skin turning blue. This guilt has to go. Back to the bud, where I can nip it cleanly, without spilling a single drop of blood. Back to you. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. You can blame the elephant for the lack of blood flow to my brain. But your pig snout looks just like a flower bud, and I can’t take any risks. Once it’s gone, that guilt has to be untraceable. I’m sorry. Please, don’t bleed too much.
Are you sure that guilt is a flower? When I close my eyes at night, my guilt doesn’t follow suit. It’s still there, in full bloom, in each and every one of my dreams. My guilt has roots. It has a trunk that leads to evergreen leaves. The memory of an elephant. That’s what keeps me awake at night. A tree that cannot be felled and sawed into firewood, regardless of how many times I have been forgiven in my dreams.
Haven’t you heard? We don’t live in a black and white world. Pink only has a place in fairytales. Everything and everyone is elephant grey. Nothing is unforgivable and no one expects you to be perfect. That’s the beauty of this world we live in; there’s no need to wallow in guilt.
Before bidding me farewell, the cat told me that I had nothing to worry about. An elephant took its place, but guilt wouldn’t trample me to death. Because I have never taken responsibility for anything in my life. Either the cat got my tongue or someone else put words in my mouth. That cat taught me to keep to myself, but people are social creatures, and I made sure to always have someone else I could put the blame on.