Disappearing Manhole Covers and a Spinning Cat
On a gloomy afternoon in April, I sat on a park bench, watching fallen leaves swirl in the wind. It was the 73rd day of my unemployment. I'd lost track of how many resumes I'd sent out, just like I'd lost track of how many pigeons were in the park.
Some strange things had been happening in this city lately. Manhole covers were starting to disappear inexplicably. The news said the police had launched an investigation, but so far, no clues had been found. The disappearance of the manhole covers seemed like some kind of metaphor, a sign that the city was collapsing, and I, too, was sinking along with it.
I lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. The dizzying sensation of nicotine allowed me to temporarily forget the cruelty of reality. That's when I noticed a cat next to the bench. A black and white cat. It didn't show any signs of caution or affection towards me, as cats usually do. Instead, it was… spinning.
Yes, it was spinning. Like a top, or rather, like a leaf caught in the wind. It spun at a steady, unhurried pace, its eyes closed, as if it were in some kind of meditative state.
I stared at it for a long time, until the cigarette butt burned my fingers, snapping me back to reality. I tried to touch it, but my fingers passed right through its body, like passing through air. Was this cat real? Or was it a hallucination?
I stood up, wanting to leave this strange place. Just then, I noticed that the manhole cover beneath my feet was gone. Where the cold, hard manhole cover should have been, there was now only a dark, bottomless entrance.
I felt a wave of dizziness, and my body involuntarily fell backward. I thought I would fall onto the hard concrete, but strangely, I didn't feel any pain. Instead, I was… falling.
I kept falling, falling, falling… Everything around me was pitch black, only the sound of the wind whistling in my ears. I didn't know how long I had been falling, or where I was falling to. I felt like a discarded astronaut, drifting in the boundless universe.
Suddenly, I saw light. A faint, flickering light. I desperately moved towards the light and discovered that it was coming from a cat's eyes. The black and white cat. It was still spinning, but this time, it was spinning on top of a giant manhole cover.
The manhole cover was engraved with some words I couldn't understand, like some kind of ancient spell. The cat's eyes flickered with light, illuminating the words on the manhole cover, and also illuminating my face.
I felt a warmth, a long-lost warmth of being understood. I reached out my hand, wanting to touch the cat, but this time, I didn't pass through its body. Instead, I… felt its soft fur.
The cat stopped spinning and looked up at me. Its eyes no longer held light, but… a deep sadness.
"Are you… lost?" I heard a voice, low and raspy, seeming to come from the depths of the manhole.
I nodded, not knowing how to answer.
"Everyone gets lost," the voice continued, "The important thing is… to find your way home."
"The way home?" I repeated, feeling a sense of confusion. I hadn't felt the feeling of "home" in a long time.
"Yes, the way home," the voice said, "Everyone has their own path, and yours… is right there."
I followed the direction indicated by the voice and saw a small path next to the manhole cover, a path leading to an unknown place. I didn't know where this path would lead, but I knew I had to walk it.
I took one last look at the cat. It had started spinning again. I didn't know if it would continue spinning, or if I would ever see it again. But I knew that I was no longer the same person I had been.
I stepped onto the path, taking one step at a time. The wind was still blowing, the leaves were still spinning, and I, finally, had found… my own direction. Although, I still didn't know where this direction actually led. Perhaps, that wasn't important at all. What mattered was that I was on the path. And this, perhaps, was the whole meaning of life, like that spinning cat, constantly spinning, searching, getting lost, and searching again…