A dream I haven’t fully woken up from

This long, gaunt cat, with claws sharp enough to climb but without the malice to rip my skin, stops me in the street and asks to be picked up. They climb my body, reach my arms, and cuddle against my chest. I, who don’t want to waste any more of my time, don’t even question it when they start climbing me. “I’m gonna take you home. You know, food, a warm lamp, and no more night strolls.” They don’t fear the threat of freedom deprivation, in my arms, they just want to finally sleep after being through so much.

The world is rough out here. People are so hurt they cannot conceive the pain that lives in others. The surfaces are coarse, and mirroring the ambiance, we are just rude most of the time. I watch their breath moving the soiled beaten-up fur. Trust looks like peace. The cat sleeping in my arms seems to feel safe, as if they know me, as if they never met me at all.

I feel their bones poking my arms at each step when the next heel touches the ground, and gravity does that trick of adding weight to sharp things. They are grimy and still soft. Hurt, but still able to fall asleep in a stranger’s arms.

Maybe I’ve lost my memory and can’t access the fact that we’ve known each other for years, that this feline is a messenger of the other possibilities I once belonged to. Looking closely, from the deep darkness of their fur, I can spot white hairs emerging unaware of their surroundings, creating the shape of an arrow on their head. Each morning, a new white hair coils its way out from my scalp. We are older now, and it doesn’t seem too late, since we’re aging together on this walk.

I plan to feed us with the good and the best so we can resist time, accept ourselves as we are, and leave the window open in case we want to escape forever. I will be a cat myself, climbing their human body and sleeping in their arms.

As I walk now, trying my best to move gently, only one detail clouds my head: I also don’t remember where home is.