i'll be the cat

a quiet domestic revolution

“I’ll be cat.”
My daughter looks at me as if I just spoke in a different language.
“I’ll be cat.” — I repeat, then proceed to jump nonchalantly onto the sofa,
stretch languidly, and curl into a ball.
“Purrrr” — I add.

She looks at me for a long moment.
In the background, her baby sister is loudly clanging together the little metal lids of their kitchen set. “Cat” — she enounces, matter-of-factly.

That’s not usually how it goes.
Usually it goes:
“Let’s play that you are the mama,
she’s the little baby,
and I’m the dog called Flower.
And now you cook dinner while we play.”
We’d never had a cat in our pretend family before.

She squints. I can almost hear her brains whirring as she processes this
utterly unexpected turn of events.
The cat. Since when?!

“Can I still be a dog called Flower?” — she enquires, suspicious.
“You’re free to be whatever you want, darling.
Today I’ll be the cat.
Meow.”

Today, at least for as long as this game will last,
I won’t be afraid to take up some space
and fill it with leisure
and my own aching limbs,
unrolled and surrendered over someplace
soft and cosy.

Just like this — oh my! —
in the middle of the day.

I will rest assured in my own right to rest
— no need to earn an excuse to lie down,
not for me.

I won’t question my worth.
I’ll let my needs be sacred.

I shall stretch, if I want to.
Take a nap, if I care.
I’ll say “Yes, you can cuddle me,
but not like this
and not there.”

I am a cat.

Not here to be jumped on.
Not here to be of use.
What’s that? You need something?
Well, if I don’t wanna to do it,
I shall simply refuse.

I am not here to serve.
I am not here to please.
My job is to do what I want, when I want to.
I’m my only priority,
so I shall be at ease.

I won’t dart to the kitchen because you want a snack.
I am a cat.
And no, you most certainly can’t
wipe your snot on my back.

I will bathe in my own radiance.
There is nothing for me to do.

No dishes.
No school runs.
No bills overdue.

There’s no fret.
There’s no hurry.
To me, they’re all gone.
The only laundry I must worry about,
is the pile I sit on.

Mmmmmhhh—eaow.

Oh, yes.
Today I’ll be the cat.
For as long as it lasts.

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