Eugene Ionesco Quote

I had a little ginger cat. I found him in a field, stolen from his mother, a real wild cat. Hewas two weeks old, maybe a little more, but he already knew how to scratch and bite. Ifed him and petted him and took him home. He became the sweetest cat. Once, he hid inthe sleeve of a visitor’s coat. He was the most polite creature, a real prince. When wecame home in the middle of the night, he would come greet us, his eyes all sleepy. Thenhe’d go back to sleep in our bed. One time the door was closed to our bedroom—he triedto open it, he pushed it with his behind, and he got angry and he made a beautiful noise.He shunned us for a week. He was terrified of the vacuum cleaner. He was really acowardly cat, defenseless, a poet cat. Once we brought him a toy mouse and he hidunder the cabinet. We wanted him to experience the outside world. We put him on the pavement right outside the window. He was so scared. There were pigeons all aroundand he was frightened of pigeons. He meowed with despair, pressed against the wall.All animals and all other cats were strange creatures that he mistrusted or enemies thathe feared. He was only happy with us. We were his family. He thought we were catsand cats were something else. But still, one day, he went out on his own. The big dognext door killed him. He was lying there like a cat doll, a puppet ripped open with aneye gouged out and a paw torn off, like a stuffed animal damaged by a sadistic child.I had a dream about him. He was in the fireplace, lying on the embers. Marie wassurprised he didn’t burn. I said, Cat’s don’t burn. They’re fireproof. He came out ofthe fireplace, meowing in a cloud of smoke. But it wasn’t him—it was another cat, uglyand fat and female. Like his mother, the wildcat. He looked like Marguerite.