You sure there’s nothing wrong with that white misty thingy, eh?
Why? What’s wrong with that white misty thingy? And furthermore, the Misty Thingy has a nicer name than the Misty Thingy, you know.
The fat cat walks idly on a dark, earthy trail leading to an even darker forest. The closer we get to the forest’s border, the more I feel like the Misty Thingy is going to disperse and mix in with the mist above the tall trees.
I just think the song he sings just now is weirdly familiar.
Then try to remember it. The cat looks at me with contempt. It’s as if the sad songs and the weary melodies the white Misty Thingy produces are because of me. There might be many reasons, but the main reason will always be me.
I can’t remember it. It’s weird. I am usually good at memorizing things.
That’s all the more reason why you can’t remember it now.
Wait, what’s the name of the Misty Thingy again?
You really are a special kind of idiot. You always have been.
The cat hisses. I don’t know why the cat is so angry at me, and I don’t know why the Misty Thingy stares at me with sadness and cold. I can’t see its eyes, but the sadness and the cold feeling are always there. After all, the eyes cannot convey anything.
So this Misty Thingy will only talk in verses from now on?
Nope. None. Just that I don’t like verses.
You never like verses.
I like them if they were your verses.
He looks at me with those glistening dark irises which always convey more than what needed to be said.
That so? He said.
And by a simple ‘That so’, he means that I am a liar. A terrible liar at that. And from that ‘That so’ moment forward, he will never believe in whatever bullshitting things I say again.
Yes. Yes, my darling. That is so.
What’s wrong? Move it along, will you? We don’t have all day in this forest.
Nope. Nothing’s wrong. Just that I remembered something.
Then that’s good, ain’t it? The most terrible thing in this realm and the other world is forgetting things and never know what things you forget.
But this thing is very sad. And painful. And uncomfortable.
That’s all good my man. All is well. You know what that’s called?
It’s called ‘living’. And as long as you can feel that in your heart, then whatever that uncomfortable thing is, it’s a good thing.
Somehow, I think of an impossible idea. That maybe the myth is true after all. Cats do have 9 lives, and this ugly cat has been through her 9 lives with a lot of wisdom, lessons, and suffering, too. How this wise and other-worldly ugly cat blesses me with her saintly presence and leads me to my next life, I don’t know. For a brief moment, I was focusing on the white Misty Thingy. I want to touch it – to grasp it tightly into my hands, lock it away in my heart, and consume its entirety. Yes. Yes, my darling –
Man, I think I do enjoy some verses here and there. I say.
Why? Do you regret not liking verses? The cat sneers. Her whiskers move up and down in a sarcastic, mockery motion. But nevermind, nevermind.
Yeah. I regret it. Wholeheartedly. I say, my eyes try to find those familiar glistening dark irises on the white Misty Thingy’s whole body. But there are no traces of them anywhere.
Yes. Yes, my darling. I wish I could have loved your verses more. Your ridiculously childish talk. Your meticulous organizing habits. Your weird way of interrupting me whenever I tried to hold you. Everything everything. I guess when I said, Yes. Yes, my darling, I meant –
I wish I could have loved you more, my darling, I wish it so damn much.
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