Читать книгу Drowning in the Shallows - Dan Kaufman - Страница 12

10

It’s past midnight but sleep is a distant dream. I’m sprawled on my sofa with a sedative glass of red, Tom Waits growling on the stereo and Jackson balancing on the inside windowsill.

The window’s slightly open so the breeze can come in but not enough for Jackson to escape: he’s an indoor cat who’s never even walked on grass. Susan tries to make me feel guilty about this, but my vet says it’s the right thing to do: outside cats get run over, into fights with other animals and lick the toxic coolant that drips from parked cars.

We like the romance of cats that prowl the neighbourhood and only return home when they feel like it – but romantic thoughts, as I’ve learnt, can only get us into trouble.

Jackson almost loses his balance before lying down, poking his nose into the breeze. We can see rooftop silhouettes and trees swaying in the wind, a few lighted windows, the crescent of the moon. He’s mesmerised by the outside world and when a bird flies past his body tenses, ready to attack. He’s scared of the scraps of meat I try to feed him – he’ll only eat dried food – but he thinks he can hunt a bird.

What it would be like to unleash him onto the world? It’s tempting, if only because it would make him so momentarily happy. I can imagine him springing out, ready to explore and conquer everything, but it’s just a daydream – the outside world would kick his furry little arse.

Yet is he really leading a full life here? Although he has fake mice to play with and takes great pleasure in clawing the tender undersides of my feet while I sleep, is he really making the most of his life? There’s so much promise out there, and yet he only observes.

Then the question hits me: am I in the same situation?