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The Purple Cat

My first encounter with the purple cat bedazzled me just a bit, enough to throw any dream spies off the track. I’ve raised my eyebrows for a reasonable number of times, I’ve lifted my stupor soaked hands and I’ve plumped out my lips in the shape of the most ingenuous female astonishment. The truth is I knew a purple cat had to appear in my life somehow but I preferred to be surprised. ‘ No, I have no idea what’s happening, this must be a miracle of some sort’. Such a thrill. The purple cat was merely a cub then and to be more precise, the colour wasn’t a clean, solid purple. More like a wide lilac. The kitten was quite a presence in my dreams, all fluffy and with clean paws. Not to mention she was a true comedian, making me laugh so hard that my back hunched. Then she would jump on my hump and I would start tramping away to avoid accidents.

Dream after dream, my purple cub cat grew into a purple adult cat. For unknown reasons, she had an even number of whiskers on her left side, and an odd number of whiskers on her right side. ‘Big deal’, the cat used to say, ‘their length is all that matters. Did you know there is a perfect ratio between a cat’s whiskers and her tail? And I am one of the few cats which meet that special proportion. What do you have to say now?’ she squinted her eyes at me, stabbing the air with the aforesaid whiskers. What could I have said? ‘You are the coolest cat I’ve ever met!’  I felt sad when she was making plans to  leave my dream and cross the border to a vegan, earringed redhead’s REM phase of sleep  But until then the purple cat combed my hair or, on her good days, she let me braid her into my lap so I could read for hours. Occasionally, when she purred too loud she became lavishly phosphorescent and I had to cover her with a blanket, careful not to bend her whiskers.

What is there left to say? Sometimes she drove me really mad, like when she sharpened her claws on my skull, when she pooped in my memories, or when she rummaged through my suppressions. Despite all that, my purple cat was my purple cat and I loved her complementary yellowish, smoldering a rough jealousy while waiting the end of the dream. And when that came, I woke up crying and sneezing as if, on her way to a redhead vegan’s subconscious, my purple cat had tickled my nose with a perfect tail instead of goodbye.

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About drunkstoryteller

Story teller, beer lover and headbanger master

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