Snafu the Cat or, the Hopeful Student

A little bit before 9h30 on weeknights, Malik usually stopped studying. It did not matter whether he had finished his work or not, and although he did not follow this habit on the daily, notably during exam seasons, it usually allowed him to rest for about an hour and a half, or two, before sleep. After putting the pen down, he would connect his phone to the kitchen speaker and play tunes as he started to cook. Malik did not favor a precise genre but since his early twenties, jazz had become the anthem of his evenings. Bill Evans’ my foolish heart, Charles Mingus’ goodbye porkpie hat and Ryo Fukui’s rendition of early summer complemented his every day.

He was a rather mediocre cook, but his diet was quite healthy. Pasta, rice, fish, chicken, and vegetables were all he really needed. He did not think much of food and his maigre appearance confirmed this indifference. His late sister always used to dictate an appetite on him, which lasted until his early teen years when he almost mechanically ate three light meals each day. Nutrition represented a mere necessity, a consequence of every day’s continued progression. However, after dinner Malik would usually drink tea which, unlike food, he took some pleasure in making. His favorite kind was a peculiar blend of mint with milk along a modest selection of spices, sometimes cinnamon but usually ginger. The odor consistently attracted his cat, Snafu. He would always jokingly tell him, -Tomorrow you shall have some tea, just wait one more day.

If school’s fatigue remained moderate, Malik would read while he sipped his tea. But tiredness from his studies often took a toll on his ability to focus that late at night. Almost gruesomely, he would turn on the television and play diverse installments of sitcoms or documentaries. Snafu seemed to prefer the television. The gray feline would sit by Malik’s thigh, and fanatically focus on the screen for half an hour, that is how long it took for Malik to find sleep.

Oftentimes, Malik would pass out on the couch. Snafu really did not appreciate that for some seemingly egotistical reason. It was probably a territorial dispute as the couch was where Snafu sat while Malik was out during the day. Despite these border tensions and the typical pretentiousness of domesticated cats, Snafu truly seemed to understand anguished Malik. When he came back from the university, Snafu would slither around his roommate’s legs, Malik smiled. But the despair could not be cured by mere touch. He was a post-graduate student in physics and had been living in the city for well over a year. He liked the neighborhood and his tiny Plateau apartment, the same way a prisoner felt attached to a cell and window. Physics was a passion of his but knew that life was more than going back and forth between a few classes and a cat. Every day, dullness felt more and more like sorrow.

That October night, Snafu laid down on his lap while Malik smoked. He asked Snafu,

-Will mornings and nights ever be richer than this mundane everydayness? Will love and laughter ever rise from the dead? Will I ever be onto something? Look at me, rambling to you Snafu, as though I were Iona from that Chekhov story. Snafu glanced profoundly at Malik and climbed on his stomach. A few moments later, after Malik finished his cigarette, Kino went back into the apartment and sat on the couch waiting for his roommate to come back in. Almost magically, Snafu spoke.

-I understand, you are unhappy.

-What? How did you? But! What?

-I know, I know I’m a cat, we should not speak but I may explain.

-Wait, I mean, what?

-But you’re-

Snafu interrupted him again.

-Yes, I am much older than you think. Also, that Chekhov story is titled Misery.

-Wait so how old are you?

-You adopted me when I was about 5, in human years, then you started to care for me, having lived on the street for those first 5 years I didn’t speak proper English of course. I could understand a good part and meow some words here and there but nothing too fancy. My first week here, I noticed you pressed on that red button to turn on the TV.

Snafu briefly demonstrated his remote-control skills before finishing his explanation.

-While you were at the university during the day, I would watch television and with some time and dedication I picked up English.

-How long has this been going on?

-It depends, what you mean, this is my first time speaking to a human, but I’ve been mumbling along with the TV for quite a while. I would say that I have gotten fairly decent at it.

-Indeed, you have. And I have gone mad.

-You are lost in despair, and this is an interposition from the above, the omens.

-What do you mean?

-It need not be clear, very few things are. You are unhappy and may I ask you why?

Malik calmed down, sat on the beloved though disputed couch. Again, almost magically, he answered with the honesty of a prophet.

-Indeed, you have. And I have gone mad.

-You are lost in despair, and this is an interposition from the above, the omens.

-What do you mean?

-It need not be clear, very few things are. You are unhappy and may I ask you why?

Malik calmed down, sat on the beloved though disputed couch. Again, almost magically, he answered with the honesty of a prophet.

-I find happiness to be a fantasy or even an insult. What could possibly be enough for happiness? Physics, history, and everydayness prove this to be the case.

-Thus, you desire despair, sadness?

-No honest heart consciously seeks anguish or misfortune.

-Then why the disbelief?

-I find happiness to be insulting to you, them, and I. Souls are oceans for which both the storm and the sun create the sublime depth.

-I am afraid you shall be obliged to bear with me. What is it you are so deeply attached to conveying? Snafu asked.

-You, wise cat, define happiness!

-I shall not do so until your perception is released.

-Have it your way! Just as you are, I am full of wounds but persevere. My childhood was a nightmare of darkness and humiliating memories worthy a beaten stray dog. Adolescence, a solely unfortunate sequence of buses, trains and the death of a beloved sister who once allowed for my mother’s early departure to be compatible with the present’s constant. And then, my early twenties were spent between libraries and the bloodstained front. But after it all, today I speak to you, with words of modest hope, along a morbid smile. That very notion of hope, my beloved cat, is at the root of my belief in a woundless and bloodless tomorrow, henceforth, impossibly composing the defined notes of happiness. And that is my perception. It is hope which paves the way, and an unreachable possibility of happiness which leads us.

-Tell me about hope.

-To define it one must understand that very few things are ours, maybe kindness, hope, laughter, or love. All independent goods are mere subsets of these virtues.

Snafu ecstatically replied, -And you do name them to be virtues! If hope and virtue live, lest joy die.

Silence prevailed, darkness invaded the room, Malik woke up on his couch while Snafu laid on his lap, snoring, with somber hope forever alive, keeping the dullness of the everyday well into the abyss.

Silence prevailed, darkness invaded the room, Malik woke up on his couch while Snafu laid on his lap, snoring, with somber hope forever alive, keeping the dullness of the everyday well into the abyss.

End.

Fields

Here, not there

Acceleration on point

Track the magnetic field

It is simple

Very simple

Big in radius

It is made of metal, You put it inside the hole

Remember, it has a thickness to it

And this is hollow inside

A magnetic field pointing downward

To the hidden region

Warmth radiating

Pulsating like a star

Acceleration, acceleration

I calculate the rotation of Your curve

In red and put it here

Two ends

One positive on the left

One negative on the right

A magnetic field between these two halves grows

At this time

Steady expanse

Sudden collapse.

Kasia Seta

Removing layer by layer it makes sense doesn’t it there is less expense and what is more important in the end?

What else to do with well-rounded Appalachian hummocks. The mountain top cropped nibbling further down past the surface mounds into the succulent deposit. There is no real health concern.

Once the hill is retooled, the time is ripe for regrading and revegetation.

If you cannot handle the overburden fill the valley with spoil.

These razed beds are more fertile for frequent grazing the argument goes.

T. G. Simon