I passed the unfinished flyover the other day. Underneath it was a dead cat. He was lying on his back. All four feet up, stiff. His body, I saw, had started to swell. And of course, the first thing that crossed my mind was him, my dead husband.
And then I wondered..
Did the cat fall from the flyover?
Or did he fall on purpose because he thought he still had at least one life left out of his nine lives?
(Apparently he miscalculated because he ended up lying on his back. Aren’t cats supposed to always land on their feet? Well, if they still have their nine lives, that is.)
Or did he commit suicide, having had lived all nine lives and began to question his purpose in life–er, lives?
Did he even have nine lives at all?
So many unanswered questions.. and I’m still talking about the cat.