BREADCRUMBS: /home/zuihitsu/singularity/release/q09022601
[2009-02-26e17:15:16]
"Tell me what's wrong," my cat demanded early one sleepless morning.
"It sounds daft," I sighed. But I knew she'd badger me into saying more. "It's just a simple form I was required to complete several days ago. It's repeating on me. A little voice in my mind querying me over it." I thought about it for a moment, "there's also a privacy issue with the proof I was required to submit."
"You've got me curled-up next to you, and you're worrying about an information leak? It really is making you unwell. Would it help if I purred?" She began to bite at her claws. Purring seemed the last thing on her mind.
For a moment I was lost for words. "It's not so much the information leak," I sighed eventually, "in so much as my ability to see with the mind of the observer."
"I taught you how to do that," hissed my cat. She got to her feet and stretched in preparation to wander-off. "I thought I was doing you a favour."
I got the impression I'd trodden on her tail, metaphorically speaking. "No, no," I replied hurriedly, "that's not the problem."
She paused and looked puzzled. "So tell me what the problem is."
"It's not a problem as such," I smiled. "It's simply that I can see things which shouldn't be there."
"You really do have a problem." She curled-up on the pillow next to me. "Consider how it is that you're analyzing this in human terms when you're no longer classifiable in human terms." She began to purr in a matter of fact tone as she fixed me with a single stare of her big yellow eyes.
Somehow I knew we'd both be feeling a whole lot better come morning.