I have been late to work every day this week because of my secret meetings with a three-legged cat. I leave the house with plenty of time; always been the kind to stop to smell flowers or stare at a particularly friendly bird anyway. I very much love this cat, stroking his fur makes me incredibly happy. We sit on the pavement and he circles around me, purring softly and bumping into me. He is just a kitten. His mum, also a blind Siamese, will greet me occasionally. She will not turn down a thirty-minute petting session. I can see where he gets his persistence from.
I stop to scratch the three-legged cat for nearly an hour, he goes wild for an ear scratch! Absolutely bonkers! I glance at my watch, thinking I should get going, but when I look back up at his face any rush or fear dissipates. Is there anything more important than this? Is there anything more urgent in this world? I will keep going until he is satisfied, until he goes back to the spot where he was laying down before he noticed me. But time goes by, he is loving every minute and it has been over an hour now. My legs are going numb. The pressure of the human world starts to get to me. It is a fight between my mind and soul, a battle of ethics. I would like to think other people will stop and scratch his ear, just like I did. But what if they are also like me? They must also have "important human things" that demand their attention. But what if, unlike me, they don't like cats as much as I do? How do people see cats? Three-legged cats? As inconsequential, as a small difference in this world. Wouldn't my time be better spent toward policymaking, scientific innovation or charity? Why help this helpless three-legged cat?
"What if I am also a three-legged cat to them?" This thought rushes down my spine. Suddenly, every time I haven't been helped as a kid re-surfaces. "It all makes sense now, helping me never made a difference"...
I am also the kind that can reframe just about anything which makes me uncomfortable. I exist. Without getting philosophical, I have pretty good evidence that I do exist. I also know that I am now petting this cat, and have been for a while, every day this week. I think of him when I am at work, does he think of me too? I'll be his friend. If I am the cat, I may also one day be the object of someone's poem. I know love exists, because I exist, and I know love.
Much love,
NekoMiya