One-Eyed Cat
Where is this weird-looking one-eyed cat?
Everything seemed so bright. Fatigue enveloped me, and something felt off in my head. The air circulation was bad, or perhaps I hadn’t gotten enough sleep. The sun-expose itself too brightly, the weather unbearably hot. Even the cat that usually meowed through my back door was nowhere to be seen today. It was rare for this cat to behave this way, and it had already been 15 minutes past the usual time it showed up.
“What happened? Maybe the weather is too hot, and its cozy black fur isn’t equipped for this weather,” I assumed while peeping through the peephole in my door, waiting for the cat. My forehead was full of sweat, and I found myself glad that my eyebrows were functioning precisely. What is a man without his eyebrows, my mind pondered, but I knew I should rid myself of these trivial thoughts because through this peephole, there was something more precious.
“What happened? Maybe the cat is hiding somewhere, waiting for the clouds to save it from this blazing sunlight,” I assumed once again. When would Mr. Blue Sky call his relative, the cloud? Ironically, I mentioned Mr. Blue Sky when the band created the song to thank the clear sky.
What a shitty day, I thought to myself. It was only 45 minutes past 10, but the day could not get any worse.
Today was my last day in my hometown, and I hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye to this weird-looking one-eyed cat.
It was already 55 minutes past 10. I hadn’t packed my things, and I was still standing there, thinking when the cat would arrive. Five more minutes, I thought to myself, and then I’d be done. Maybe the cat was dead. But until I saw it, the cat could be alive or dead. Weirdly, the thought of the cat’s death didn’t make me sad. Maybe it was because, dead or not, the cat wouldn’t say goodbye anyway.
Two more minutes left. Still, there was no sign of the Weird Looking One-Eyed Cat. It wouldn’t arrive, and that would be it. I had to pack my things before my ship departed in two hours. I looked away from the peephole and took one step backward. Everything seemed fine, and I felt accustomed to everything, until I remembered I had a left eye that I always closed while peeping. I was still staring right through the hole as if I could see something.
I still had two more minutes. What if in these two minutes, the cat arrived, and I could say goodbye for good? But I had stood in front of the door for an hour, and still, there was no sign at all. So what difference would it make if I peeped through this hole one more time? But I still had two more minutes. What if, in these very two minutes, I could stare at the one-eyed cat?
God damn, I still had two more minutes. What if, instead of looking through the hole, I just opened the door and looked around? Maybe the cat was somewhere beyond my field of view.
I couldn’t do it.
If I suddenly opened the door, the cat would run away, and all I could see would be its tail and ass. No chance. No chance I could differentiate any cat only by its back. I did remember its soft black fur and its stumpy tail, but had we ever misrecognized someone in public just by their back? Besides, there were many black cats in this world, and this weird-looking one-eyed cat was what I was waiting for. I had to look directly into its eyes.
I still had two more minutes. But this peephole wouldn’t do anything at this distance. When enough is enough, and more will be adequate. Wasn’t it always that two more minutes? I should’ve let it go. I had to pack.
At least I should remembered this cat, I should tell everyone that I meet about this cat, but how should I tell anyone about this weird-looking one-eyed cat?
The very last thing I could do was give this cat a name. This name would be a substitute for the Weird Looking Eye Cat. The name would become the concept of this cat. When I referred to this name, I referred to this cat. Not a universal cat, but this particular cat. Unfortunately, the usual cute cat’s name wouldn’t fit. This cat was unusual, and there was no way an eye cat suited our concept of cute in this pitiful society.
My mother was really good at giving names to the plants she loved; she could help. But it was only me who had seen the cat. I couldn’t believe a person who hadn’t seen or known something could give it a name. A name should be thoughtful. If it’s not, then what difference does it make to all the people we give ugly names to on the street? I was the one who always fed it, the one who was always waiting for it through this peephole, so I was the one who had to give it a name.
This fatigue really made it worse. I couldn’t even think of a name for the cat. Not to mention the air circulation; I needed that oxygen to think of something, not grandeur, but just something different. Come on, think of something. Something to be remembered. I needed that Archimedes Eureka moment, but not that grandeur I emphasize — just something different. Eureka! There was one weird name that came to my mind, and with all the correlation behind it, it was the suitable name for this weird-looking one-eyed cat: Schrödinger. Yes, I would call this cat Schrödinger.
