She looks out of the window. And sees the traffic pass by. The chaos, the screeching horns and then the eerie silence. She sees and she wonders. What if I could move freely. What if I could do all that I want. What if I could be more adventurous. Wildly hunting for food, scaring a mice, desperately searching for a mice to satiate the mice that jump in my hungry stomach. What if life were not as it is? - that is so comfortable, that is so perfect. An order, a certainty can be so suffocating for a wild kitten like me. Day after day, the same packed food, handsome Garfield on the cover, unsumptous food inside. Its disastorous. My lady loves me. But does she understand me. And her eyes moistened. A breeze took her back on the plot of space and time.
A cold chilly winter. The snowhite suffering from her labour pangs knew the time had come. Unconscious she lay on the roadside & next to her lay her beautiful creation a lovely black kitten with hazel eyes amidst the others that were snowhite just like their mother. Saddened & angry, questioningly she looked at the black beauty, you can not be mine, you are black, I am white. The little one with eyes half-open, whishered a cooing, 'Oui! I am yours for I can belong to nobody, but you my dear mummy'. But the snowhite wont listen and she left her little one to the mercy of nature.
Just then a nice, gentle lady passed by. Looking at the exotic half dead, half alive, hungry with food, hungry for love, the belle femme melted and bought the little blackbeauty home to bring her back to life with her love and care.
Time flew by. Days became weeks. Weeks months and months years. It was all perfect. Long walks along the Seine with her Belle Femme, endlessly watching her favourite channel, beautiful party dresses, weekend trips to exotic places, packaged food. There was everything. All that she could think and all that she could never imagine. But something was amiss. She felt lonely. She felt sad. She wanted something. She did not know what. And she thought. Everyday that 10 to 5 regime... put in couch next to the window, silently watching the traffic pass by as her belle femme went to work, was difficult. And then the weekends, the balckbeauty would play the games the belle femme wanted to play; the blackbeauty would dress up the way someone wanted her to dress up, the blackbeauty would eat what someone wanted her to it. There was always someone else deciding what was good for her. She did not have the freedom. The freedom of choice. The freedom of expression. Yes, I know now. Why is there everything and still nothing. I miss that freedom in life. I know the magic word: Freedom!
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