Blanka - Cat

 

"We're not here, this isn't happening."

That day, Blanka appeared in front of the house. She looked like an unkempt puff of smoke and immediately won Bibi's affection. She looked at her lazily and casually, a little wary, but confident. She took up residence in the box that held the green sneakers she'd bought on vacation in Amsterdam. The box was originally intended as a box for letters and cards sent from friends around the world, but clearly it had a different destiny. A postcard with a mermaid with the face of a 16-year-old girl had landed on the windowsill and taken up residence next to the green bottles, decorated with Aztec motifs in a fit of blues.

Blanka slept peacefully, as if she had always been there, as if she'd been born in that brown box that held the green sneakers. Her fur was matted and tangled, just like Bibi's thoughts. The girl accepted her appearance as something completely normal, asking no questions, expecting no explanations. Earlier, moths had appeared around the lamp, birds on the windowsill, sometimes butterflies in cups—this time, Blanka in a carton. Bibi cracked the window and poured her milk.

At night, she dreamed of swallowing fireflies, which then sparkled in her eyes.

***

Blanka sat in the living room, carefully observing her sleepy roommate. She knew her face well, knew she squinted when she smiled, knew she drank coffee only from a white mug. Yet something surprised her this morning. Bibi sat down at the table where her observer was sitting and muttered a few incomprehensible words.

"Nowhere, Blanka, I'm going nowhere. I keep my dreams in that jar with the green ribbon. I don't need words. I lie down to disappear. Completely." The eternal mystery of humanity, Blanka—she spoke the words carelessly, as if oblivious to their meaning, but at the same time, the way a prepared speech is delivered—isn't "why are we here?" or "is there a God?" The question isn't how to cheat death, but how to cheat existence. How to cease to exist. Do you understand? How to disappear completely.

Bibi cut a piece of bread, reached into the refrigerator, and, taking out the cottage cheese, said,

"The point isn't to destroy this cheese, but to make it NEVER EXIST, even though it's already been produced. The point is to erase not only the future, but also the past and the present. We can, of course, eat the cheese and forget about everything." She swallowed a piece of bread spread with it. "But who will eat us?"

She left breakfast for Blanca. She put on a saffron-colored dress, brown glasses, and left.

She returned in the evening. She smelled of the sea (a mix of salt, adventure, freedom, and decaying algae), masculine perfume, and the sickly sweet smell of burnt fat and sugar (she loved the donuts sold on the pier), or perhaps exhaustion. And yet, she narrowed her eyes, smiled at her roommate sitting in a dark corner, sighed, and said,

"Complete dematerialization. Can you imagine that? We're walking along the beach, and I'm craving donuts. So we head toward the pier. He laughs at me and says I'm going to be huge (you know, like in that milk commercial)." She remembered Blanca, reached into the fridge, and poured some into a saucer. "And I said, 'I just want to disappear.'" He laughs and says that disappearing while eating so many donuts is only possible in a crowd of obese Americans. And I said, "Eureka!" She looked at Blanka, who hadn't moved from the corner yet, and encouraged her with narrowed eyes. "Come on, drink your milk!"

After a moment, the amount of white liquid in the saucer diminished. The cat hadn't become huge, though. Not yet.

Nothing is lost in nature, after all.

That night, she dreamed of a magenta bathtub. Pigeons were swimming in it with her.

***

The entire day was devoted to preparations. Blanka had been given a gray-blue (dove-print) ribbon around her neck to resemble a more ordinary house kitten, but the result was quite different. She looked truly avant-garde in it, though it was hard to pinpoint what gave her that impression. Meanwhile, Bibi was constantly bustling about in the kitchen, where she had found herself with an astonishing number of shopping bags right after returning from work. The house was filled with so many scents that even Blanka began to have trouble distinguishing the individual ingredients. Despite the countless spices, sauces, and perfumes, a note of anticipation, anxiety, and excitement pervaded the air.

The entire artistic and decadent elite of the club appeared: a young girl with a funny accent, whom Bibi quickly befriended as she regularly bought donuts and cornbreads from her, a friend from the editorial office, the man behind the pier, and a crowd of Americans. Perhaps twelve people in total. In the room, lit primarily by candles, Blanka's eyes sparkled as if fireflies were just beyond her irises. This, combined with her white fur, created an extraordinary impression. Unfortunately, it was so intense that nothing could dim it, not even the exquisite dishes Bibi had prepared. She was furious. All attention was focused on the ordinary cat. Finally, however, Blanka tactfully retreated to the cardboard box where she fell asleep. The guests slowly began to come back to themselves, as if some spell had been cast upon them, and everyone was completely enchanted – by the lovely cat, the wonderful food, and perhaps by the wonderful hostess.

Apparently, the highest death rate is in the morning, and 4 a.m. is called suicide hour. But she had an empty first aid kit, and nothing terrified her more than the thought of crimson ribbons entwining her wrists. So she lay still, letting the man who went shopping for donuts fill his entire being with her scent. He lay beside Bibi, filled with her, and she with emptiness. If he was there, and within her was pure space, was there anything that could fill it? The world suffers from a shortage of space. Why couldn't she let it out and transform into it herself?

"There is nothing but silence," she mused, reassuring herself, "Nothing can fill the void. Pleasure is only an escape from existence. Only nonexistence is bliss. There is nothing more. Everything beyond that is suffering."

In the morning, when suicides are most frequent, she fell asleep. Her eyes, previously illuminated by fireflies, attracted moths. They landed on her eyelids. Black butterflies flew from her mouth.

***

"You're awful!" she shouted at Blanka as soon as she saw her after waking up. "I told you. I don't want your tricks." She was shaking and frowning as she quickly moved from the kitchen to the living room. "Don't you understand? I don't need them, Blanka! They don't amuse me!"

Bibi finally sat down at the table, bit her lower lip, and began tapping her nails on the countertop. The cat stretched and jumped onto the furniture, sitting opposite her.

"Come on, Blanka! Imagine my own thoughts following me everywhere, each one screaming at the other. I take every step clumsily. Do you understand? Every single one! I bump into things and trip over them. My whole body is already sore. I really don't enjoy tasting colors and naming them. Don't you think I'm too old for this? The unbearable HEAVINESS of existence, damn it! If the tea is bitter, I don't want someone to give me sugar, but to take it away. Do you understand?

Snippets of conversation and the smell of cigarettes hung in the air.

"Cause nobody loves me,

It's true

, Not like you do."

The conversation had been on the same topic for a month. And yet, there was still no answer. What is it? There are questions we haven't been able to resolve for thousands of years.

"Bibianka, that's not the point. Throwing out the cat won't change anything. Besides, it's adorable! Why won't you admit that there are things that give you pleasure? After all, no one has to immediately fall in love with everything you see. Besides, no one can take anything away from you. What are you afraid of?

" "You don't understand..." she tried to interrupt.

"No, Bibi, you don't understand. Nobody wants anything from you. Nobody expects anything. Magda or Artur would be happy to take a kitten. I'd gladly take one myself. Do you know what I dreamed about after the party at your place?" she said suddenly. "I had wings and lived in a tomato made of caramel. We threw a wedding for strawberries!"

When she returned home, she noticed she'd received several messages. Friends were describing some extraordinary stories and dreams. Her head was pounding, and she fell asleep.

She was floating on an ocean of coffee. It was hot and her head hurt. She had a bitter taste in her mouth and asked for something sweet. Purple whales jumped out of the brown water. She hugged one and dived with it to the bottom. Blanka was sitting on a large nutty cookie.

"I'd like to sweeten my tea," she said to the cat, not knowing why.

Blanka got off the cookie and swam to the surface.

***

In the morning, the carton was empty. A curtain tried to escape through the open window. Bibi closed it. She stretched and started looking for Blanka. She was nowhere to be seen. She had clearly gone out somewhere. The girl took a jar with a green bow from the shelf and poured herself some tea. It tasted of strawberry, not bitter.

That evening, Artur called. He said he was very sorry he'd taken a liking to Blanka and would miss her. He promised Bibi he'd get the palest kitten in the litter.

"It'll be completely white, you'll see," he assured her.

He didn't give any details about the accident. She didn't want to know. She only said that cats have nine lives, so now she was only gone for a moment.

"She took a break," she laughed.

She dreamed of green sneakers. They danced and jumped. "I shouldn't have bought them in Amsterdam," she thought. Like everyone else in the city, they were giggling. They were giggling the loudest, in fact.

***

The palest kitten in the litter simply had a white star on its forehead. The rest of his fur was black. His name was Philip. He didn't bring dreams, didn't grant wishes (he claimed goldfish did that). He was a true nihilist.

The tea was sweet.