The Cat and Truth

The human says that everything changes and the human, as usual, is not without a turd of truth.  Goldilocks is here, then gone.  Kerfluffle appears and lounges uselessly, lugubriously, in her hair-den.

The human, of course, intuits that everything changes but then, from vast fear and indolence, tries to cling to everything that crosses its path that it desires.  Bodies, artifacts, ideas, feelings … they all stream by and the human is like a shark, devouring everything it wants.  So the human is not defined by truth, beauty, or virtue, but hypocrisy—somehow managing to live hovering on the void between what it says and what it does.  This is why it blabs so endlessly about truth, virtue, and beauty—it longs for them but doesn’t have the courage to enact them.  It thinks—in the vast stupidity that defines its species—that by speaking about them it enacts them.  No.  Words are entirely specious.  The highest reality is enacted and not spoken.  Show me the human who does this.  There may have been one or two of you.

The cat, however, Supreme Being that it is, making the human’s notions of God seem puerile, incarnating divinity in all its aspects—whether Spinozean, Zeusian, Lilithian, Ganeshian, Buddhistic, Levitican, medieval, animistic, Islamic, messianic, ghostly, egotistic—walks the way of beauty in its furry grace, walks the way of virtue in its transcendence of both vice and virtue, walks the way of truth by living things as they are, not as they might be in an impossible and ridiculous world.  Your academies institutionalize this ridiculousness; your religions caricature these impossibilities; your businesses, judiciaries, governments, and revolutionaries marry ridiculousness and impossibility in a stew they call pragmatism.

But The Cat sees the perpetual changes the human fears … and sleeps, stalks, and eats in the knowledge that there is one eternal beauty, virtue, and truth:  that all existence is sleeping, stalking, and eating.  All else is veil and ignorance and death.

KERFLUFFLE

I, Jesus B. Panoramica, would like to comment on a curious recent addition to my cosmos.  Specifically, a few murdered birds ago, I smelt a foreign smell in the space that always has dead dried bloodless food for me.  I don't speak of the common foreign smells--those created by you bipeds:  your sweats and excrements, laughs and flatulence, bedrooms and perfumes.  These bore me.  But one of my kind.  A member of the Great Feline Family, which has and does and will dominate every living and sentient object in this world and every world until at every Meow every knee shall bow and every tongue loll in furry envy and praise.

The smell seemed to be upstairs--a place I rarely go for it's been dominated recently by one of the great apes, a dubious representative of the equally dubious simian family.  Yet duty--also known as curiosity--called and I glided up the s stairs to check it out.

You can imagine my surprise.  In the room that is not the great ape's, a creature lurked that somehow laid claim to being a colleague of mine in the arts of global domination, absolute cunning, unmitigated intelligence, and unparalleled beauty, but whose physical attributes were so bizarre as to almost entirely discredit the claim.  Imagine this.  A face like Groucho Marx.  No solid body to speak of yet in its place such a chaotic mass of fur as to shame Jupiter's bulk and make Snuffaluffagus look like a stray hair on an ant.

Its name is Kerfluffle.  Naturally, sensing my vast superiority, it hackled and hissed.  In response, I performed the old ruse of feigning fear and running downstairs, leaving it to my stupid brother to duke it out with that ridiculous hairball.  Of course, she believed my ploy and now assumes I am like the others--dumb, easily cowed, forgetful.  But no.  Even now I forge strategies in the far fires of my vast kitty soul.  I shall slowly strike terror.  I shall avenge.

In the meantime, the question remains--what is this thing? Why is it here? What are its origins? Why does it never leave?  I've been consulting the ancient oracles regarding strange unions between the impossibly huge balls of hair that used to roam the universe and randomly mate with Marxists of all descriptions in all manner of joining.  I shall report back in due course.