The cat is not talking to me; the girlfriend is still in Tokyo. She did send me a nice Kafka quotation though:
You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait, be quiet, still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.
Only problem is: the cat shares the room with me and the cat is in a serious bad arse mood. Right now the Sistine Chapel wouldn’t be big enough for the both of us and my room – with its slightly pathetic thirty square meters – ain’t exactly Sistine Chapel material. No Michelangelo hanging from the ceiling to cheer us up either.
No idea why the bloody animal is in such a foul mood. Not that cats need that much of an excuse to sulk or wave disgruntled banners. Your average cat does not hang Forrest Gump posters in its bedroom. It might go online and buy a T-shirt with a dementedly smiling Jack Nicholson, maybe – but a smiling Tom Hanks: God forbid.
Anyway, whatever Kafka says, the cat is most definitely not rolling in ecstasy at my feet. It would probably cheer up if I turned into a cockroach though.
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