Cat Kaddish

I always miss her juiciness, and all the wildness I once loved, when I thought she was both religious and feline, and she loved me too (who still remembers). And who knows what howls she makes behind my back, that everyone hears at night - and everyone talks. And they shame me in public. And a black circle is a common currency, among all the soft tongues, and everyone wants to bite it to check if it's real

Why did I stop being a cat and give up on nine lives? (Source)

I dreamed that my wife ran away from home and they tell me she's now on the street. And I go to check in my daughter's room - and discover that she's not home either, and now it's the middle of the night and she could get run over. I hear a car outside (what's a car doing outside at this hour?) - and I imagine the sudden sharp scream that pierces the night, between a screech and a howl, and my heart sinks to my underwear. And I go outside not dressed, not black, not white, nothing. And I search and search in the street, in the trash can, under the trash can, but all I see all the time is the black sky. Because somehow, no matter how much I try to look down, my head is tilted up and I can't look down so as not to fall, my neck really hurts. As if my head is stuck to the pillow - and the pillow won't let go. And it's possible that I might accidentally step on my own child myself.

And I think what a shameless woman she is, always yelling at me in front of people, and if she remembered to take clothes, or if she left with nothing. And who does she think she is. Who would even want her, such an out-of-control person, even if she runs far far away, who she really is - will catch up with her. And I know who she really is. Even if I don't know anything else about her anymore. And really, it doesn't seem like my wife to do this. She's so lazy in bed. Maybe she didn't escape, but had to go out urgently. And that's why she also forgot to close the door so the child wouldn't run away. And then I didn't wake up in time to save the child either. Because I don't have the sense of my wife's body next to me in bed - even if she disappears to the bathroom in the middle of the night. And this is the undeniable proof, because it happens during sleep and the subconscious (and my wife knows too) - it shows that I don't really love her.

And if the child is crawling alone in the street, or has even progressed to walking on all fours, a car might not see her. And I'm trying very gently with my feet to feel if she's there, to grope down there, and the sky above is black black, and the only thing you can see is the moon. And I understand that the moment I've known for years would come has arrived. Because here in the sky shines the opposite side to the dark side of the black circle. And now everyone sees me and knows, they know what's happening on the other side, and everyone will immediately switch to my wife's side. Because my other side is the illuminated side, like a screen in the dark. And it occurs to me that maybe my wife read me on the computer, when I write next to her, when she's sleeping in bed. Only this explains her behavior. She was just pretending with her eyes closed.

And now she went to read dreams on the internet while I sleep, and she thought it was all about her, because it really sounds like her, from the outside. And she was offended to the depths of her soul and ran outside - and complains to everyone and howls all night towards the moon, on some trash can that I can't understand where it's coming from. Because my head is stuck in the clouds, and I always miss her juiciness, and all the wildness I once loved, when I thought she was both religious and feline, and she loved me too (who still remembers). And who knows what howls she makes behind my back, that everyone hears at night - and everyone talks. And they shame me in public. And a black circle is a common currency, among all the soft tongues, and everyone wants to bite it to check if it's real.

And they tell me in the synagogue, because suddenly the synagogue is open at night and there are many people, and I was late for prayer without even knowing there was a prayer. And it's actually lucky that I left the house, and maybe there are Selichot [penitential prayers], although it doesn't really make sense that they moved up the High Holy Days. And it turns out that with my head like that up high I entered the synagogue without noticing, and my eyes are stuck up in the women's section. And I'm embarrassed that they'll see me looking at the women's section, even though I was always terribly curious about what happens there, and that's where I always prayed, and that's where I directed my intentions, until I got married, and realized I had been praying to other gods. And they tell me in the back benches, where all the latecomers who talk are. You don't know what happened to your daughter. A street cat. Aren't you ashamed to show your face in the synagogue? When everyone knows? When everyone everyone knows? And only you pretend not to know. And that you don't understand what they know. And I don't understand - what does everyone know?

And everyone talks during prayer and doesn't pray, to the extent that it's not clear what makes this a prayer and not just talk. And in their generosity to the obtuse circle, because I don't understand anything, as blocked as his hat, they also hint to him that everyone is talking about her, and that I shouldn't be naive. She's wild and she's alive, like her mother, and even more attractive than her, just because you're her father doesn't mean you don't have eyes (look what breasts your daughter has grown that no buttoned shirt can hide!), and she also doesn't know how to look at the crosswalk. And now it could be that you'll easily find her run over on the way back home. And I go out to the street again, and look again behind the trash can. Maybe she came back, even though the night isn't over, and who knows what secular people do at night. And what cats do at nights.

And not that I really care, and certainly I don't want to know, but who knows, who knows if she'll still come back after prayer home a virgin from the women's section. Especially if she came back as a cat, and fulfilled what was always inside her mother (and I always knew), which she herself didn't fulfill (because of me. And she knows it). But I know that after that she will never tell me and there will always be a partition wall between us, and that the beginning of her relationships is actually the end of our relationship, and I remained the only man in the house. And even I'm not really at home, because I hide who I am - even from the walls. And that's why I write in the dark at night, when the white walls are black, and it seems my wife saw. And ran away from me to be a juicy secular woman, like one I can only dream about (now that she knows what I dream about).

Because what good does it do her to be a sexy ultra-Orthodox woman under her clothes, married to a closed person who doesn't know how to enjoy her, who never really managed to love her (but only to be attracted to her), who hides even from himself who he is, and is addicted to obsessive uncontrolled concealment. The nightmare that haunts him all his life is that they will discover him, and he's constantly dreaming and not seeing the road, and could roll down the stairs. No. No. It can't be that all these years she doesn't suspect. My wife surely knows. And just doesn't say. And what happened now is simply that the daughter found out. Because she grew up, and she developed the female sixth sense. And she finally understood who her father is. And that's why I won't see her again. Yes, only now do I understand what happened. She's the one who ran away - and my wife went to look for her, and didn't find her, and got lost. My wife could no longer ignore my daughter's feline nature. The terrible discovery that she's a cat, and no long sock will help. And only me they left here in the black world, like a dry tree. They're already in the world of cats - and I will always remain in the world of dreams.

And here, just as I return from prayer home already desperate, behind the trash can, finally there's a woman. A beautiful figure in profile, with a nice breast, and I peek, but but - I see my late mother. And she looks like she was young, younger than I am today. And I'm ashamed that she'll know what became of me, and what became of my daughter. But she yells at me that my daughter is angry with me. Very very angry and that I shouldn't come close or she'll scratch. Because she won't forgive me for abandoning her, and for lying to her. Not because I told her a lie, but because I was one big lie myself, and therefore precisely because I told the truth - I lied big time. But I don't pay attention at all and don't listen this time and don't get angry and won't let my mother ruin this too, because I haven't seen her in years. Actually since she died.

And I start to cry mom, and decide. Because here's a last chance, who knows if I'll see her again, and I must tell her once. I take it upon myself to come out of the closet, to do what I wasn't capable of in her lifetime. Once in my life to tell someone before I die, what I hide and carry all my life, like a tail inside my throat. And who better than my mother - who's already dead, and will take my secret to the grave, with her, deep deep into the earth.

Mom, know that you didn't know who I am. That I hid who I am all my life. From everyone everyone, from a young age, even before I understood anything - I understood that I need to hide. And you're my mother and you don't know me, do you understand mom? Do you understand what it means for a mother not to know her son? I'm not who you thought. You didn't give birth to who you thought. I want to come out of the closet, I must - I, mom - I'm a cat. I always knew I was a cat, and therefore I knew you couldn't be proud, and therefore I did what I did. So as not to disappoint. Because you were a very proud woman, and rightly so mom, but there's no justice. There's a cat.

And suddenly I have a strong feeling of mistake. Of an irreversible error. Of unnecessary sorrow I caused mom in stupidity and selfishness. Because I already know what my mother will say, after I failed in my relationships with all the women in my life, three generations of disappointments: I didn't raise a cat in this house! And there will be shouts: Because of you your mother will die of sorrow again for the second time, and will return to the cemetery, and you'll see her only at memorial services. You're a cat? Then be a cat who says Kaddish [mourner's prayer].

But my mother just bends down to the sidewalk to pet me from above, like a long hand sent from the women's section into the men's section, and says: I always knew you were a cat. I was just waiting for you to discover it. It was clear to me since you were little. And you stayed little. And you never grew up. You weren't like the other kids running around, but a lazy fat round one, that I barely woke you up from bed for prayer, and you always pattered on velvet feet in the house and surprised me from behind and gave me a heart attack. And everywhere you went around in camouflage colors and all spotted, so they wouldn't see you, but you stood out both against a black background and against a white background, and you had no hiding place anywhere, except under the blanket I bought you. In bed. And I'm a mother, so I accept you as you are from heaven, even though the rest of the earthly world will never accept you in life, nor after death. You're my son, and I'll always be your mother who cares for you, cat, dog or even mouse. But please, please, start taking yourself seriously - and stop making a fool of yourself.