Yes. Why do you ask ?” Mark looked up at the large grey cat lying on his bed, its yellow eyes peering into his soul.

​

“I think of the past and the future, Mark.” Mark threw his head back and rested it on the wall behind him for a while. The room was small, and although the house was silent and the lights were off, he could see everything very clearly.

​

He whispered. “And what do you think ?” He did not expect an answer, but still looked up at the cat, which jumped up and turned away.

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“In none of them, you are happy.” The cat’s voice was deep and serene yet Mark hated the void that filled its words. He shivered and wrapped his hands around his body. His voice broke as he questioned the animal further.

​

“But why ?” The cat turned around slowly, its body following the movement of his head, like an owl.

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For a moment, it seemed as if it wanted to let out a slight chuckle, but instead, it opened its eyes wider. “ Everyone wants to stroke cats until they look odd. Have you ever thought about this, Mark ? I very much enjoy being ignored by strangers.”

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The cat’s words resonated strangely in Mark’s head.

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“I suggest you gaze further than the colour of the flowers you pick. Although pink is quite wonderful.” The outside light seemed dimmer now. “I’ve been here before.” Mark whispered.

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Suddenly, the cat stretched out and spoke again, its tail gliding from side to side.

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“Do you find yourself disturbed ? Uncomfortable ? Perhaps you don’t like taking advice from a cat.”

Not knowing what to answer, Mark got up and walked around the room, until he felt tired and finally found the courage to talk to the animal again.

“I am chasing after a woman who doesn’t exist.” The room was silent.

“Cat ?” His call remained unanswered.

He felt cold and approaching the bed, anxiously grabbed Marine’s pillow, smelling her lingering perfume.

“Oh Marine…” His eyes filled with tears as he looked up, and, as he was about to let out a silent cry, the cat jumped on him. “Mark.” Mark sat up in shock. Confused, he looked at the time. It was half past one in the morning. Perhaps he should stop drinking, it really did make him tired.

“Mark.” Mark started sweating.

“Cat ?”.

“Mark. Open your eyes. This is it.” Mark could not understand what the cat meant.

“You cannot lose yourself in a sea of illusions Mark. The ideas you love to indulge in only exist because you take pleasure in losing yourself in them.” Each of the animal’s words had been carefully enunciated, as if every letter was crucial to its point. The cat carried on. “You are drowning Mark.”

The room was silent. Everything was dark. A quiet ring begun in Mark’s right ear. Shaking his head, he realised how painful every part of his body felt. He only desired to sink into his bed, like one would into the water. The cat was right, he did feel like a dead fish.

The cat’s voice rose again, slower, in a more considerate tone. Perhaps, it felt sorry for Mark. Or maybe it paced its words to make sure he truly understood them.

“Mark, accept that beauty is not what could exist. Beauty is concrete and does not live in the dreams of those who wonder.” Those last words felt sly. The cat’s voice had slightly twitched. He asked.

“And what if I want to be with these ideas you so despise, Cat ? What then ?” The animal stepped back.

“These beautiful thoughts you lay in bare have poisoned your sight my friend. You will grow old and bitter. Bitter and old, and the ugliest guest at the table of your fantasies. They will stare at you in disgust and whisper; ‘ Oh look here comes Mark, the carrion of his dreams, the one who abandoned the forests and the fields to bathe in nothing but golden regret and guilt.’”

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“I’m leaving, Mark. I can’t wait for you any longer now. I’m leaving tomorrow. I am taking the first train and I am never coming back. Goodbye.” 

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Mark looked out the window, holding Marine’s letter in his hand. He hoped to catch a glimpse of her, walking away in the snow. But all that remained outside at this hour were empty cars, their colour obscured by the flickering glow of the street lights. “ Do you ever think about death ?”

The sentence had slipped out of his mouth unannounced. His head felt heavy. It could be filled with cotton, or ruffled up pieces of paper. Reality was coming through to him slowly, in waves of dreamlike memories. Nothing was black or white anymore, just a collection of specks of colour, small fairies dancing around his room. Mark sat down by his bedroom door, on the small blue chair Marine had bought at a flee market. It was uncomfortable but he could not sit anywhere else.