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Cats have nine lives. That’s nine times to grow. Nine times to love and be loved. Nine times to find faith and nine times to lose it. Nine times to die. The promise kept by recurrence, a generational selfhood. Rebirth, regrow, relearn, the plight of a perpetual being. These lives are only worth the weight of their memories. How easy is it to keep track of lives lived and passed? Maybe try scratch-marks on a wall. Slow drags of a sharp claw against soft stone. One, two, three, four…After the multitude of minutia, the endless routines and rituals, losing sight of your tally would be all but inevitable. Can you even remember how to count?
Does experience permeate the membrane between lives? Does the remainder carry over? Those words unspoken, those deeds undone. Under enough pressure, some things could be shared between timelines, extruding through corporeal bodies. But what about your shell? Would you keep your stripes? Your spots? Your scars? None of it matters if the liminal…
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Cats have nine lives. That’s nine times to grow. Nine times to love and be loved. Nine times to find faith and nine times to lose it. Nine times to die. The promise kept by recurrence, a generational selfhood. Rebirth, regrow, relearn, the plight of a perpetual being. These lives are only worth the weight of their memories. How easy is it to keep track of lives lived and passed? Maybe try scratch-marks on a wall. Slow drags of a sharp claw against soft stone. One, two, three, four…After the multitude of minutia, the endless routines and rituals, losing sight of your tally would be all but inevitable. Can you even remember how to count?
Does experience permeate the membrane between lives? Does the remainder carry over? Those words unspoken, those deeds undone. Under enough pressure, some things could be shared between timelines, extruding through corporeal bodies. But what about your shell? Would you keep your stripes? Your spots? Your scars? None of it matters if the liminal…
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