A cat. There it sat. Or rather should I say, there it lay. It seemed to be waiting for something, or that was just how it appeared to be. Maybe that was only the way I saw it. Perhaps if someone owned this cat they would know what it was actually doing. Surely this cat belonged to someone. I should hope so.
Small, fuzzy and unimportant. It lay there staring, waiting, watching. People might’ve thought me odd to have watched a waiting cat, but it might surprise you to know that it’s the small things in life that count; like brushing your teeth. Watch out for that when you age.
I like to imagine the cat was female. It had that superior sort of stature that reminded me of my mother; over-powering and strong, yet soft and timidly beautiful. My mother passed away quite a while ago. I suppose it was my fault. She said she always wanted what was best for me.
You see, my mother had life insurance.
But we were broke.
Yes, the cat, if it had a name it would’ve been Genetrix – Latin for Mother. I’ve always had a fancy for Latin. Dead language – that’s what they call it nowadays, but how can it be dead if it can be easily translatable on the internet? I suppose many things in life don’t have correct names. Like oranges and carrots – both orange, are they not? Maybe some guy way back when saw the oranges first.
There was some orange fur in the Genetrix’s coat, her owner should take better care of her, for it would’ve been quite ginger if it weren’t so dirty. She was so still, waiting. Poor thing. What a cruel owner. I suppose maybe there was an excuse for the owner; it was around about lunch time. Around about the time when the stomach is quite used to turning your chewed food into starch for your body. Around the time you still play while someone makes your meal.
Genetrix looked hungry. Starving in fact, almost as if she were empty. I pitied her. Yet, she awed me. Still so beautiful, while so haughty.
People would’ve thought me odd staring at a watching cat. Stranger still that neither the cat nor I moved, for we were too similar to stop being so alike and yet not be entirely exact. The cat more so familiar, I suppose. Red. Oh, well. I can see why the owner isn’t coming back. Even after lunch. Even if it were prepared to that aroma-drooling perfection.
From the floor of which the object of my attention lay I finally realised what I had known all along, watching the strong-weak beauty. Red, seeping, leaking through the edges, fine drops upon the pavement of the bitumen path behind my house. Like a flower of crimson upon the background of a crumbling night sky.
Genetrix. Oh, how wonderful, how perfect and lovely you would’ve been.
Had you still been alive.
I stood. I knew what had happened. I stripped off my jumper, a cheap five dollar cotton thing size 6, and placed it over her beautiful corpse. Bowed my head. And cried.
I’m not sure if people will correctly understand this. It’s open to interpretation. However, the meaning of this that present day events can be so intricately interweaved within our past it’s often hard to tell them apart.
However, thank you for pointing the double "seemed". Heheh, I do love to babble and randomly sprinkle meaning within it.
