It's Still Life

The Cat Studies Tai Chi
(Or: The Slow-Motion Pounce)

The Old Woman finds him
in the middle of the sitting room rug,
moving with a slowness usually reserved
for glaciers or drying paint.

One paw lifts,
hovers,
descends—
as if placing it on the very heartbeat of the earth.

“What,” she asks,
“are you doing?”

He does not look up.
“Tai Chi walking.
It is the art of moving without moving.
Of stalking without haste.
Of… almost catching the sunbeam
but choosing not to.”

She watches.

He slides a paw forward,
ears tilted toward some silent, internal breeze.
“You are aware,” she says,
“that you usually sprint across this rug
at 3 a.m. for no reason?”

“That was my unrefined self,” he murmurs.
“Now, I move with intention.
With qi.
With… a slight crick in my lower back.”

Just then,
a fly buzzes past.
For a heartbeat,
he is stillness incarnate.

Then—
FLASH of fur,
a leap that defies physics,
a mad scramble across the side table,
and a crash involving a vase,
two books,
and his dignity.

Silence.

The cat freezes,
half-under the sofa,
one ear inside out.
“…Ahem.
That was… advanced Tai Chi.
The ‘sudden dragon’ technique.
Very… powerful.”

The Old Woman picks up the vase.
“Of course.
And the fly?”

He licks a paw,
avoiding her eyes.
“It has achieved enlightenment.
I set it free.
Now—
where’s the tuna… ?”