Tuesday, May 5


There are days when I think about getting a cat. At first I wanted a rabbit, a white one with big fluffy ears, but after giving it some thought I quickly realised that I preferred a cat. It would be nice to come home to a living creature instead of to an empty room. But most important of all you get to name the creature, just as if it were your child. You would pick up the cat from the asylum, finally doing something useful in your life. You would name him Alexander Pousjkin or Friday or Olly or Sky. You would buy him special meals and special biscuits and on Sunday you would maybe treat him to a fish. You would watch your favourite programmes together, and he would jump on your lap if you decided to write. You’d be forced to sit still for hours, even if you wanted to get up and stretch your legs. You’d always have someone to talk to and there would always be someone to stroke and to caress. You’d say: “Alexander let me tell you what happened at the office today,” even if Alexander wouldn’t reply. But maybe I’m afraid of sharing my apartment with a a cat. Perhaps I feel most comfortable with what I know: my solitude.