Felix Catus
Kaja Rakušček
I was about 8 at the time
I vividly remember watching the falling snow
through the window of the old car
that always slightly jumped when dad let go of the clutch
the gates to the zoo were rusty
cages were clean, almost sterile-looking
“felix catus” read the sign
the majesty left me in awe
it had features akin to cats that we had back home
but it was too big to be able to lay in your lap comfortably
and the creature didn't walk gracefully
it was jumpy like dad's car
I could sense wounded pride
and pain in its averted gaze
its mouth was open
with the tongue hanging low
I stayed the longest at that very cage
after a while I noticed that the creature walked the very exact same route
each time it circled the cage – like a train on the tracks
from afar, I could misinterpret it as an animatronic
but I was up close and saw the face disfigured from an emotion I did not yet understand
I am 23 now
I still remember the cage and the trapped animal like it was yesterday
dad bought a new car that doesn't jump when you let go of the clutch
and I wondered if the same happened to that fretful creature in that zoo
march came about
my room didn't come with train tracks
but there must have been some gravitational pull
that made me walk in identical circles
my blind gaze averted, my tongue nearly touching the floor