You know cats have nine lives, but in my darkest moment, I wonder, do they add after another. Here the kittens lay next to me, dreaming their dreams as a human would. Their paws rhythmically pressing in the air and their little noses shaking when it is time. Here I lay awake fully informed of the running out heartbeats and the one valid law of the universe: everything decays. Yet, my mind is a solver, refusing to accept a broken puzzle. A solution shows itself through physics, chemistry, and mathematics—how I have been built. If I was an artist, I would immortalize him and her with my brush. If I was a poet, I would make sure words would never forget them. But as a scientist, paint won’t do nor does ink. And those only would have captured the essence and not the body. And I do not want half, I want it all.
I can feel the solution materialize. The key is in the cells. The system of renewal is in place, there is only a bug in the program. Bugs are easy to hunt and eradicate, I’m a solver, aren’t I? There is no stopping this process; I see the solution as clear as day, and I do not have to squander away. I get up and sneak into my basement, leaving the perfect world of the bed behind. Minor tweaks to the makeup of life, and I will always hear that gentle purr. I tinker, print, and test the elixir of mine. Under the microscope’s eye, all is well, and I have found my salvation. Now all I have to do is head back up. I tiptoe back to my bed and give her and him their shots. They complain, but only as far as the other side of the bed. There they stay.
I lay my head back to my pillow and watch as their chests rise and lower. A perfect moment never to be taken away. But now they live for ever, yet, I do not. Do I even want eternal life? How can I abandon him and her? Who should go first?
Thank you for reading, have a cattulous day ❤
Here are my loves:
They are a sister and her brother, ten years of age. I would always want us to be, not eternally, but in this perfect moment of ours.
© K.A. Ashcomb