It's Still Life

The Cat’s Koan
(Or: The Sound of One Paw Clapping)

The Old Woman
is reading a book of Zen poetry.
The cat
has claimed the sunbeam
that crosses the page,
and with it, her attention.

“I have a koan,” he purrs,
without opening his eyes.
“What is the sound…
of one hand clapping?”

She looks at him over her glasses.
“You don’t have hands.”

“Exactly,” he says,
as if she’s finally grasped the point.
“So already, I am enlightened.
No hands,
no clapping,
no problem.”

He rolls onto his back,
“But listen,” he whispers,
ear tufts twitching toward the silent room.

“Hear it?
The sound of no sound.
The clap of no expectation.
The applause of the universe…
for my brilliance.”

She reaches down
and scritches between his ears.
He purrs. A low, rumbling vibration
that fills the quiet like an answer
no one thought to question.

“That,” she says softly,
“is the sound of one cat content.”

He cracks one eye open.
“Close.
But it’s actually the sound
of you realising
I deserve an extra tuna.”