A monologue of sorts, not sure why this came to me but here we are! I wrote this upon realising in isolation how much I speak to the animals in the house and how doing that really does help me to feel normal in the day, treating them like my mates makes life seem more normal in an incredibly bizarre way.
I plan to film this and create some more surrounding this character as I think she has a lot more strange isolation insight to share, here’s part one, ‘Conversations With The Cat.’
Each day the conversations with my cat get longer, deeper, more meaningful…and quite honestly if he could speak I think he’d be fucking exquisite.
He’s an old soul you see, he’s got a good heart and an open mind. I’ve told him a lot of shit I’m not particularly proud of, has he ever bat an eyelid? Not once. And I should emphasise that the velocity of some of these stories really shakes me to my core… so I can only imagine what he must think of me. And some of the states he’s seen me in, not pretty. And yet he still gets into bed next to me every night and acts like none of it was illegal. That’s some real shit times we’ve shared.
I don’t know if he knows, really. But then who does? We can only assume… follow the feeling… trust the general vibe of the room. And with Victor…Vic, and even Victor Becks every now and then during the year of the fancy collar – the room is never dark.
Ah and there he is now, pissing in a box. Fucking magical animals cats are really, aren’t they?