Chimps and that which has been flung.

I've been pondering some larger questions these days. Larger than … say … "Where is that smell coming from?" or "Why does that itch? Didn't I just clean that a minute ago? Why would it itch now?" No, I find that, in my older age, my mind scampers down a hall toward loftier notions. I am kept awake by the kinds of things that lead me to stare out a window for hours at a time. Not staring, completely, of course, since my eyes do eventually shut, and I'm not actually kept awake, but, well, you get my point.

I'm worried about the humans that I see, down below. Bi-pedaling up and down the sidewalk, coming into view and then shrinking, disappearing, sometimes forever. I think, "why?" and "for what reason?" I know that many of the people with whom I share this studio have found meaning in their work, in their personal relationships, in their loves and laughter. But the people outside — silent, distant — are so uninteresting to me.

Where is the petting? Where are the soft whispers of "good, good kitty"? Silent, ignoring my inquisitive throat-clearings, they have completely detached from the reality that is my life.

I'm sad for them. Only by connecting, man to cat, can we all begin to find joy in this warm, sunny window sill that is all the world.