Georgios Karamanis
In Istanbul a cat with tucked tail sits, neat and serious, next to a woman with an open book in her hands.
Does it really matter what she’s reading? I imagine a mystery novel; a cat, I speculate (if it had the patience to follow a narrative from beginning to end), might enjoy a bit of blood and suspicion. Does it really matter if the cat sat down first, or the woman, or how long it will continue to lounge here when she leaves? (Or it could be a field guide to Istanbul birds; a cat, I do believe, is a hunter concerned with knowledge and preparation.)
The woman reads (has she even noticed the cat?), the cat sits (has it even noticed the woman?), and instantly a leap is made. Here we have a cat who listens to stories. A silly notion? Perhaps. But no one, I venture, would be more pleased about it than the cat.
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