Finding a cat is almost as difficult as finding meaning

I have been looking for meaning everywhere for a long time in the past.

But meaning is hard to find, invisible to see, and intangible to touch. Occasionally, it will bump into it, like an air wall, slamming a tsunami in my heart and shaking up the surge of wearing a red scarf for the first time as a child.

I often look for it in the grass, in my wallet and under the bed. Sometimes I find a few coins, sometimes I find a few yellow photos, and sometimes I find my cat, squinting at me with my hands. I ask it, do you know what the meaning is? It doesn’t speak, but yawns. I put my finger in its mouth.

Finding a cat is almost as difficult as finding meaning.

Most of the time, it’s hard for me to capture its figure and realize its existence, often because I suddenly feel that there are a pair of kind eyes staring at me behind me, and I don’t know what to do.

I have had this feeling in other places, and sometimes I wander in the street while humming a song, and suddenly my heart surges with nothingness.

Then there was a voice in my heart telling me that this was no good, and I had to be mature. So I suddenly became sedate in my walking posture, looked up slightly, and began to read poems in my mouth. “Everything is learned when the world is clear, and people’s understanding is an article.” 」

But this feeling didn’t last long. I turned around and grabbed it with one hand, like grabbing a memory.

In my twenty years of life, I once had a cat.

It was when I was four or five years old and still lived in a small village in the south. One day in the New Year, I sat on the bed with a fuzzy cat in my arms. I couldn’t remember the size and color, except that a string of crackling firecrackers sounded outside the house, and my chest was kicked suddenly. The cat slipped away from me and flew away outside, just like time.

Later, I squatted in front of my house for several days, looking for its trace in the back hill, pond and field, but it kept playing hide-and-seek with me, hiding and never seeing it again.

Like many people I will meet in the future.

But my chest is still aching.

Since then, it has disappeared from my life, and this memory has disappeared in my life, and it has been in the superposition of existence and non-existence for a long time.

It was not until I had a cat that it reappeared.

I think I forgot it on purpose.

So for a long time, I thought it was as difficult to catch a cat as to catch a childhood.

But there is no doubt that I have caught a cat now.

That is a heavy feeling of life, about ten pounds.

It always exudes a temperament, which is a sense of distance that is unique and independent.

I envy it.

It used to do three jumps at home, starting from the door, jumping from the floor, using the chair as a cushion, flying directly to the back of the sofa, leaving two perfect arcs in the air, three points and one line, in one go.

I always thought it was a symbol of freedom.

Until one time, I sat on the sofa watching TV, yawning, and listening to Wang Feng’s heart-rending cry for a life in full bloom on the screen, just like flying in the vast sky.

In the corner of my eyes, I saw the figure of freedom running towards me.

And I’m in the way of running freely.

The relentless and heavy beating of life comes to my face.

It was then that I understood that freedom would hit a wall.

Later, it reduced the number of runs and looked at the scenery instead.

In the lazy afternoon, it likes to put its two front paws on the railing of the balcony, lean out and watch the ant-like crowd downstairs, bustling and disturbing.

Look at people chasing, running, arguing, muddling along, doing nothing, being complacent, pretentious and ignorant.

It often takes half a day at first sight, so I started chatting with it, saying that the price of pork in the market has gone up, and someone in the circle of friends has got married again. Yesterday, two male cats fought downstairs, but they still failed to shake it, and only looked at me with wisdom.

Then I suddenly saw a bee coming, and I couldn’t avoid it. Its hair exploded and suddenly jumped.

At that moment, I saw the blooming of life instinct.

But more often it is still sleeping late, and occasionally it will squat at the door and wait for me to come back.

Sometimes I will catch a bag of cat food outside, sometimes a bag of cat litter, and sometimes a bag of vegetables. At this time, it will show a gesture that a fool can’t be taught, and turn away in disappointment.

But I know it still cares about me, and I also know that this life will last for a long time if there are no accidents.

We will continue to remember, run, see the scenery, chat and find meaning.

It won’t and can’t stop.