The Cat Is Not That

There’s a fella I know. He is noble. He is kind. He is silent. He is still. There’s a fella I know. I mean to say, I know I don’t know. He isn’t noble. He isn’t kind. These are my words, for him. For this cat. He is a cat. He is not these words. He sees beyond words, He sees beyond worlds. He is a cat. He knows that words are the cages we attempt to trap meaning in. He sees meaning and meaninglessness. He sees no difference. He is a cat. I call him grey. I call him gray. I call him content. I call him graceful. I call him Saki. (its the name given him) (though it's not his name) He is a cat. These words are for me, though seemingly given him. He is a cat. Out beyond ideas of word and meaning, there is a field mouse. “I’ll eat you there.” He is a cat. He is not that that I call him. He is a cat. He is a cat. I call him Saki.