Apr 04 23
On a tall maroon fence there is a, mostly, grey cat; it has a bit of white on its underside and paws. It is sleeping; though it’s hard to believe that cats truly sleep, so aware do they seem (especially in outdoor scenarios). It is positioned on a corner juncture where long and short ends of the fence meet. A small but thick branch extends over a portion of its body, camouflaging it a bit.
We are fixated on the rhythmic rise and fall of its fur as it breathes. Its slightly matted fuzziness inflates and then gets smaller — inflates then gets smaller — inflates then smaller.
Our preoccupation continues until we become aware of our own breathing. The shift moves our head downwards, our gaze falling upon the drain of the kitchen sink. The small black hole is like a toy abyss.
A motorcycle (or something similar) revs loudly (presumably down on Sunset) and shakes us out of absorption.
We look up, the cat is gone. The small thick branch is shimmering as if in advance of the furry departure.
We are fixated on the rhythmic rise and fall of its fur as it breathes. Its slightly matted fuzziness inflates and then gets smaller — inflates then gets smaller — inflates then smaller.
Our preoccupation continues until we become aware of our own breathing. The shift moves our head downwards, our gaze falling upon the drain of the kitchen sink. The small black hole is like a toy abyss.
A motorcycle (or something similar) revs loudly (presumably down on Sunset) and shakes us out of absorption.
We look up, the cat is gone. The small thick branch is shimmering as if in advance of the furry departure.