Yes, sometimes I believe I am. Perhaps it’s because I’m curious. Perhaps it’s because I tent to be independent, loving my privacy, often hiding in dark, nice, clean spaces. Or perhaps it’s just because I’m lazy, and I think that a life spent on taking sunshine, lying on a sofa, it’s a good way to live.
The fact is that during the past week I tripped over cat’s world for three times. Perhaps it’s my karma, trying to tell me that’s time, for my new home, to have a cat. While I still have to work hard to convince myself about that, here’s the signs.
First: I received a discount coupon from my fav ever very design – extremely expensive – litter box. I know, a sloppy sign but a sign indeed.
Second: During lunch time I don’t usually indulge in something trivial such as having a proper healthy lunch. Oh no, thanks. I prefer doing great harm to myself having just a cappuccino (which has not the same size as at Starbucks) and then literally run into a book shop, where this time I found “I am a cat” (Wagahai wa Neko de Aru) by Japanese writer Natsume Soseki. It’s a shame I can’t read Japanese, it’s one of my goals in this life. So, exceptionally, I took the Italian translation and started to read it immediately. Inside the book shop. And no, we are not at Barnes and Noble. In Italy you can’t read a book sitting on the floor. You get into the shop, you find what you were looking for, you buy it and then you can read it. Somewhere else. Book shops are not really friendly here around, as a matter of fact you will never find an armchair or even just a stool where to sit. And then they complain that nobody’s reading anymore. Well, back to the book, I can’t believe it’s a novel wrote on 1905. It’s just so contemporary, funny, witty and… moderne. By chance I run into one of the most important writer of Meiji’s era who opened to my the early steps of Modern Japan throughout a cat’s voice. A masterpiece.
Third: Last year, while my husband was living in London, he sent me a picture of a man and his cat on a train. The unusual thing is that the cat was sitting on the train seat and that he was behaving as a dog. Well, now that man just hit the newspaper as he’s written a novel based on his life as ex drug addict, homeless, street-artist-playing guitar in Covent Garden shared with Bob (the cat). Except that something like this would never happen in Italy – can you imagine some homeless person living in Stazione Centrale hitting major media because wrote a book, not to mention that it’s pretty impossible spotting people walking cats instead of dogs in Italy (the Province of Europe) – I am amazed by the fact that people were actually queueing to have the cat’s signature on their books.
Do I have to wait till the ninth sign – as the cat’s lives – or should I be already convinced?