Catwhore

Guo Fengyi

I knew it when I read the first reports of cats in Hong Kong and elsewhere carrying the virus and I have known it all the time. The cat that is looking at me right now with a mixture of disdain and superior compassion but mostly outright indifference, is a super spreader. Of course, how could he not be? Day and night he roams the jungle of the backyards, fighting with other cats – yesterday, three of them were hissing at each other; I threw a tea cup of water in their direction – and spreading it among cats and cat lovers. People have called me a whore for my apparent willingness to join anyone, anywhere at any time, if I feel like it; well: my cat is a super prostitute. Speaking of prostitutes, are they really out of work these days, or is there an underground growing for, well, underground sexual activities? It wouldn't surprise me; then again, nothing surprises me these days.
There he goes again, my cat. I envy his freedom, his quasi autonomy. He is going places, that's for sure, and he only comes back if we've bought the right, expensive cat food (when we were still giving him cheap cat food, he wouldn't eat it; without the tremble of a whisker he exchanged our home for the neighbour's.)
So, this is his scenario, the little play that he is performing with his dozen or so backyard frenemies. He is not keeping 1.5 meter distance. He is not part of my PM Rutte's 'new normal' 1.5 meter economy. He is still in the old touching, holding, caressing and kissing (I'm sure) and what else (I don't want to think about it) economy. He visits all the wrong places, to collect the necessary viruses, and then he brings them back home, to us. It is a watertight system. I knew he was a killer, but his killing used to be restricted to flies, bugs, small birds, rats, frogs and mice. Finally he has us where he wants us.