Crowds gather at the hastily erected stage, curious as cats. The set is a living room that breathes in and out to the rhythm of pulsing stars, and the star is a newspaper blowing down a wide boulevard in an architect’s projection of the perfect city. The first act is kindness, the second deceit, and then there’s a pause for saucers of milk. We lick our paws clean. The final act prohibits public gatherings, and although we want to know the ins and outs, the whys and wherefores, and a brief outline of each stage in the process, we know all too well what curiosity does to cats. The living room sobs and sighs the names of gods which fell from the stars: Bastet, Mafdet, Sekhmet, Nergal, Dawon, Kasha. The crowds disperse like clouds. We’d like to know how the story ends but doubt that the knowledge would justify the means. Meanwhile, the cat has taken all our tongues but at this stage it no longer matters. We can apply for their return through official channels
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Oz Hardwick
Picture Nick Victor