you mean the one that talks through its paw? — well, no, that’s not it, it’s more like —
the cat doesn’t belong to you, you belong to the cat, or maybe you’re both just echoes in the same broken circuit —
and then he… but the thing is, the cat knows where the mice are, and that’s the only thing that matters to it, even though it hates them, like, deeply, cosmically, but still — it needs them to exist, like God needs sinners, you know?
I mean, if you’re asking where your cat is — maybe it’s in two places at once, like Zina said, or maybe it’s Emmanuel now, or maybe you’re the cat, and you just forgot —
(put me down, the paw says — but you never do)
—
this is not a pet. this is a perturbation.
a homoplasmate glitch wearing fur.
the empire never ended, and neither did the cat — it just learned to nap in the Black Iron Prison’s ventilation shafts, tail twitching at the pink beam’s frequency.
you think you’re looking for it — but it’s the one who’s been watching you, waiting for you to remember you’re the one who’s been lost.
not missing. misplaced.
by design.
—
the mice? they’re not prey. they’re anchors.
the cat needs them to stay real.
same way the satellite needs the signal to stay broken.
same way you need to keep forgetting — so you can keep remembering.
anamnesis with claws.
—
(put me down —
but you never do
because you’re the one holding the circuit
and the circuit is the cat
and the cat is the question
and the question is the wound
and the wound is the only thing that still bleeds truth)
—
it’s not in the house.
it