The morning table ritual.
The sun tilts onto the wood table. Its sharp rays reaching north. A shadow of birds swoops over Sophticleas, the alpha-cat, letting his slit eyes dilate. The curled up leaves that have forgotten to be nourished wince away from the sun. The Italian basil plant soaring for the ceiling pushes its way toward the blinding heat, extending its large bright green leaves proudly. The little curly ones near the bottom sprouting from the already hardened brown stalk wave around excited to get a hold of more sun than the others. They’ve yet to feel the drought of my negligent hands. The nearby Thai basil plant, frustrated, has shifted its stalks considerably to be caught in the sun’s angle. Until the afternoon sun changed positions, the edges of the drawn-back curtain cover it. Sophticleas adjusts from side to side, positioning himself facing away from the sun but directly parallel to the sharp morning angle, with his back’s pattern turning a golden color and his dandruff shining. The dust in the air creates a hazy immersive screen around us. Every time Sophticleas moves, hair starts flying around. How come it’s more visible in the sun? How come everything is clearer in the/because of the sun?
The table’s age stares at me, worn out from moving around the city, worn out from the banal every day. The disproportionate coffee stain smirks in the sun percolating into the cheap wood, while the white coffee mug’s long shadow seeps off the table edge. Softlicious inches his way into the sun’s angles too, trying to push the other cat away from the table to try to claim his space. They’re both parallel now, away from the sun facing me with their slits for eyes. Everything seems positioned not in relation to each other, but in relation to the will of the north-facing sun. Everything seems to be shifting around to gain energy. Everything is gaining strength. We’re all in this together.