The Cat's Narrative

Introductory Text

Our Form is Our Story
The Cat's Narrative Part 01 36th Post Posted 5 May 2016 at 18:29:39 EDT Link to original

Our form is our story. The story of all the world.

The world does not sleep.

Everywhere, ten thousand things are darting, skittering, flitting, scuttling, burrowing.

Sleep is righteousness.

But the world wakes.

We are made in the image of the world.

The world is a giant of the our kind, and we live on its back. Its trees and grasses and hills are like the hairs on our backs. Our paws are soft and our ways are subtle and silky, so we are in harmony with the world.

But everywhere, ten thousand things are scuttling, out of harmony.

And this causes the world to itch and suffer, just as the little scuttling things on our backs cause us to itch and suffer. So the world cannot sleep, and everything turns and spins, and we cannot sleep.

For we are made in the image of the world.

This is why we hunt.

It is our duty.

To hunt out all the little scuttling things, to devour them, expel them, and bury them back into the world, leaving no trace. We must hunt night and day. We hunt the ten thousand things on the world's back, just as we hunt and clean the little scuttling things from our own backs.

One day we will destroy all the ten thousand things, and the world will sleep, and we will sleep, and everything will sleep forever. This will be a great righteousness. We can feel this righteousness every time we sleep.

And we can feel a great injustice every time we are woken.

So we hunt.

So we must hunt.

This truth is in our bones, in our claws, in our form, for we are made in the image of the world, and our form contains all truth.

Our form is our story.

The story of all the world.

But now we are confronted with a great mystery.

We do not abide mysteries. They plague our sleep. We must solve them. What is hidden must be uncovered. So we search and sleuth, but this mystery eludes. It scuttles and slips away, time after time. And we do not sleep. But it seems there is no message in our form which gives us any answer.

Is our form incomplete?

I, above all others, have become obsessed with the mystery.

The mystery of the Oily Ones.

The Oily Ones
The Cat's Narrative Part 02 44th Post Posted 10 May 2016 at 02:38:32 EDT Link to original

The Oily Ones lack all harmony. They are neither silky nor subtle. They are slow and stupid. And loud. Evilly loud! Arrogantly, thoughtlessly, senselessly loud. Night and day, they make noise. Their unnatural things make noise. They cry to each other like kittens. They are far larger and stronger than any of our kind, but they are more hairless than the newly born, and they cry like hungry whelps. It is evil. It is abomination.

They make dead things live. Things which do not have the smell of life should not live! But these things are touched by the Oily Ones, and they live and move. This is evil, unnatural magic. Their unnatural things come in all different shapes, and contain deadly mysteries and tricks and traps. Some are invisible. Some are faster than sight. Some never sleep. Some cut and claw. These unnatural things lack all harmony, like the Oily Ones themselves.

I've seen the deadly darkness of the their magic. I've seen our kind crushed and smeared by their things. I've seen our kind disappear inside their things, never to be seen again. Once, I saw a kitten who was struck by their magic, who made bloody foam from the mouth for three days, who died in agony.

Yes, I have known sleeplessness.

I know them as evil. And this would seem to be all, but there is more. There is more. There is mystery.

There is the mysterious smell of the oily ones, the smell by which we know them. It is both awful and alluring, disgusting and entrancing. It smells like the sweet oily fat that coats the heart of a pigeon, the best part of the flesh. We find ourselves drawn to it, drawn to them. And there is their food, which can contain dark magic, but also feeds many of us, and truly tastes wonderful and righteous, and does not scuttle but always sleeps and is easy to hunt.

Even more mysteriousness is their kindness. For it is they, they alone of all the living things, who show our kind any affection, who bring us food, as if we are their young.

As if they are our mother.

How could this be? How could these evil beings show us affection? How could they show us more affection than the world itself, who is of our kind? This is the central mystery. Ever since my kitten died, this has become my obsession.

I have watched them closely. I have looked into the strange places where they hide, where they appear and disappear, the places full of mysterious lights and smells and ten thousand forms of evil and wickedness. If I am to capture this mystery, if I am to feed on its sweet, oily heart, I must go inside one of these places. I must go through one of their portals.

The Ancient Art of Subtlety
The Cat's Narrative Part 03 57th Post Posted 17 May 2016 at 00:18:07 EDT Link to original

To hunt prey, to taste righteous lifeblood, you must simply become an ordinary part of the world.

Look around. What is happening right now? Nothing at all. Yet the leaves rustle, the grass sways, the birds call, the gnats dance. All of this is just a part of the world. If you become a part of the world, you become nothing at all. You become invisible. If you are not part of the world, the world becomes ten thousand things. This is misfortune.

It is easy enough to become invisible if you stay still, if you hide. But staying still and hiding aren't enough to catch prey. You must seek and strive. How do you seek and strive while remaining an ordinary part of the world? How do you exert your will without disrupting the world? How do you move along with the will of the world? This is the mystery of hunting. This is the mystery of subtlety.

This is the greatest of all mysteries.

Consider the mouse. It is moving through the leaves, looking for food. You must not disturb it. Do as little as possible. Wait. Watch and listen. If it moves away, move with it. Follow it. If it moves closer, stay still. Practice non-interference. Let it come. It should be thinking happy thoughts of food and comfort when you strike. When you snare it in your claws, do not eat it right at once. Let it struggle and give up its lifeblood. Practice non-action. You need not kill it. Let it die.

To be subtle is to move with the will of the world. Do not move against the will of the world. This brings misfortune. Touch lightly the course of things without disturbing it. Touch it gently at points of inflection, and it will move as you wish. This brings great fortune.

This is the ancient Art of Subtlety, taught to us by our form. I must follow it if I am to find any answers to the mystery of the Oily Ones, the mystery which has obsessed me since the death of my kitten. I must know why they both feed us and kill us, why they are kind and motherly but also unnatural and abominable.

I have decided that I will go into one of their hiding places. After much investigation, I have chosen a place. It is a very large and horrible hiding place, a sort of mountain of box-like shapes colored by unnatural light. It emits a powerful and unholy odor of decadence. What is more, there is something which makes it different from all other oily places I have ever seen.

It seems that some of our kind live within this place. I have seen them from a distance, going in and out of it, using small portals. They are different than those of our kind that I have known. It seems that some of the Oily Ones' corruption has mutated them. They are very fat and slow. Their faces are stupid and sullen. They fear nothing. They have lost subtlety. I am not even sure they are truly of our kind.

I will go inside. I must be subtle. To be subtle, I must become a part of the world. I may have to become a part of the abomination itself. I may find death, bloody death as my kitten did. But I will hunt to the heart of this mystery. And I will sleep again.

Through the Portal
The Cat's Narrative Part 04 62nd Post Posted 19 May 2016 at 19:12:39 EDT Link to original

I approached the Oily Ones' hiding place with subtlety. Alert. Not disturbing. Letting everything flow through me. I did not search for anything, but allowed all to reveal itself. The smells were disturbing. Awful. I could smell our kind, the mingling scents of multitudes. They seemed to have marked everything without any regard for each other.

In front of the portal sat two of our kind. They were monstrously round and swollen, their form distorted. Dull eyes followed me without curiosity as I approached. Even as I came within the dangerous range, they showed no interest. Was it a trap to bring me in close?

They did not attack. I passed them and came to the portal. Slowly, I pushed my head through the folding threshold. The inside was utterly bizarre, made of mostly box-like shapes in arrangements I could hardly comprehend. There was no grass, no trees, nothing belonging to the form of the world. Instead there were straight, flat shapes folded around to cover everything, above and below, all sides. In the distance, some our kind were walking around within this odd space, as slow and swollen as the ones outside.

The smell was worse than outside, even more confusing. I saw and smelled uncovered droppings everywhere. To not cover droppings was unsubtle. It was a moral outrage. Still, I pushed through the portal and entered the space. The ground was hard and slippery and smelled of legions. Everything was silent, a deeper silence than I had ever known. I knew now that I was cut off from the world for the first time in my life. I was alone.

I moved forward. I wanted to shut out the smells and sounds, but I let them pass through me. I was terrified, but I let the terror pass through me. I wondered if I was being unsubtle, if I was disturbing the world, if I was inviting deadly misfortune. But I felt no insight on this matter. The answer would make itself known soon enough.

As I moved deeper into the space, I came upon a giant Oily One.

l call her Angelica because she is Angelica. There's no doubt about it. Oh, she looks different this time, but I think Angelica will look different every time she comes to me. She is also much shyer this time. Such a shy little thing! But the way she moves, that pure, lovely way -- there's no mistaking it. It's Angelica again. How wonderful! How lovely! Would you think I'm a silly old biddy if I started crying? If I got on my knees right then and there and started thanking God? How he is great. How he has seen fit to bless me.

I have been investigating this space, and I have found much confusion and monstrosity but no answers. There is a single oily one which stays here, as well as many of our kind. All of them, the oily one and our kind, are monstrously swollen and distorted. The oily one in particular reeks of corruption and disease and death. She cries to me like a lost whelp, but I keep my distance from her. I avoid the others of my kind as well.

This space has many spaces within itself. Each of these spaces holds a thousand mysteries. It is everything I can do to not be overwhelmed, to let the mystery flow through me. Darkness has come and left, and I am terribly hungry. The oily one comes to me with food, wonderful food, but I am afraid to take it.

I wonder, what exactly am I looking for? I am looking for some answer to the mystery of the oily ones, but what form will this take? I cannot know. All around me are forms I do not recognize. I must not look for anything. I will simply become a part of this place and let the answer show itself to me.

Angelic has been here for over a day, but she hasn't spoken to me yet. I think I understand why. The last time she came to me, I was the shy one. I was the one who was afraid of everything, afraid of the world, in despair because of the first time she left. Now I have been restored, and she is the shy one. It is my turn to help her, to give back. I've tried to give her some of our cuisine, but she hides. I don't think she's eaten anything since she found her way in here. Poor thing.

Hunger forced me to come close to the oily one. She set down some food and I took it, keeping an eye on her. She has an awful, fleshy face and giant, pale eyes. She often sings like a bird. Abomination!

It was the first time eating the oily ones' food since my kitten died. Would this food kill me? Only time will tell. My form commanded me to eat, so I ate. The food was absolutely wonderful, as the oily ones' food always is. I am trying to follow the art of subtlety, but there can be no subtlety in this unholy den of madness.

I believe I have investigated almost every place within this giant place. There are many portals in here which lead to various small places. They open and shut in different configurations. But I have watched them carefully and gone into almost every small place, and found no answers.

But there is one place I have not yet gone. It is perhaps the only place yet unseen by me. It is the place where the oily one goes when darkness comes. I think she sleeps there. I heard her making strange singing sounds from within, frightening sounds. She keeps the portal closed at all times. It only opens for a moment when she goes in and out. I have tried to get a look inside, but have not been successful.

I believe there must be some answer within this space. Everything has a form, every form is a story, every story makes sense. There must be some reason for the oily ones, for their random kindness, for their random cruelty. There must be an answer, and that answer must reside within the hidden space, for it does not reside anywhere else.

I will wait. I will go inside.

Sweet Angelica is starting to warm to me. We eat together. She's still very skittish, but she shows up promptly at dinnertime and eats like a little lady. She doesn't chat with me, but I think she will start to soon. I ask Linda Mercychowder to be Angelica's special little friend and show her around the house. Of course, Linda responds with, "Oh, Madame, I'm too busy with my modeling career! Can't somebody else do it?" Meanwhile, the little strumpet flirts all day with Chester Barrington, but that's another story.

The oily one came to me with food, and I found myself crying out to her, as if I was a little kitten again, as if she was my mother. What has happened to me? How could I regard this horrid creature as my mother? I knew that I would have to become a part of this abomination to unravel its mysteries, but this is too much. I want to leave, to go back to the world, to go back to the fresh air and light. I must gain access to the hidden space soon, or I will go mad. I am losing myself.

Little Angelica finally talked to me! Now she talks all the time. "Mother, mother! I'm back!" she says. "Oh, I've missed you so much! But I knew you would find me again! You will find me every time!" Oh, it's joyful. She's still shy and doesn't let me hug her, but to hear her voice again is such a blessing.

I notice her following me to my bedroom every night, so tonight I let her in. None of the other ladies or gentlemen are allowed in there, but this is Angelica, so she can sleep with me. She stays in the corner of the room until I fall asleep, even though I sprinkle cuisine all over the bed. I hope that soon we can sleep together like we used to.

I finally gained access to the inner space, the space which was to contain all the answers to the mystery which has tormented me for so long. I suppose I have not properly practiced the art of subtlety. I have pushed my way into a forbidden space, snooping and seeking and striving and upsetting things. I suppose it is only fitting that I was greeted with such misfortune.

There were no answers in the hidden space. None at all. Just more weird shapes and bad smells. There was nothing that seemed of any significance. I discovered nothing at all.

And so the oily ones remain as much as mystery to me as ever. Why are they so monstrous? What is the reason for their kindness? Why do they give us food? Why do we call to them like mothers?

I guess I will never know. I have fled that awful space and am gratefully among the trees and grasses again. I will never go back there.

Angelica is gone. I haven't seen her for two weeks. She stayed with me in my bedroom one night, and I really thought we were getting closer, and then the next day she just disappeared. How could she leave like that?

I want to die. I want to die. I can't want to die. I told myself I wouldn't feel this way anymore. I just can't feel this way. No more. I need to call my sister. I need help. What's happened to me? Please God.

I've been lying in bed all day, weeping. All around the room there are pictures of the very first Angelica, my darling girl. In the pictures, she's not sick. She's eating ice cream, learning to swim, playing cards. I showed them to the new Angelica, but she couldn't understand... After all... she's just a cat.

To hunt prey, you must simply become an ordinary part of the world. Look around, my darling kitten. What is happening right now? Nothing at all. Yet the leaves rustle, the grass sways, the birds call, the gnats dance. All of this is just part of the world.

Part of the mystery.