The Cat

"So basically, I am my sense of humour, is it? ", I look uncertainly at the sagely tabby, hoping vaguely for a non confrontational answer.

"I said Man IS his own private humour, yes. Wheather or not you feel comfortable wading the waters of your humour depends entirely on, well, your sense of it" , he finishes artfully, polishing the last speck of dust off his tawny paw.

"...my sense of humour is known to be rather...lame" , I mumble, more in participation than in protest.

"Ah, but then, this world is lamer than you'd think. Your humour is probably just a mirror to it . And since when was lame that  lame? Lame's good fun, everyone knows that!"

"Hmm, when you put it like that.."

I watch Tabby as He moves on to dry-clean his whiskers. Clearly, He has a very regimented routine when it comes to image development. Ah, well.

"So you reckon all that was...real ?" I persist.

"Look love, I won't spend my awesome orange afternoon trying to convince you of your reality. That's just.."

"Lame? " I offer, half sulking-

" - the sad kind of it, yes."

(moody pause)

and then Tabby looks up at me, his eyes a stern-ish green.

"Of course it was all real. I mean, what  isn't?

"You aren't." I piped up rather rudely.

"Or so you tell yourself!". (Tabby wears rouge wink)

"Look here , what's gone and lost is as real as what is to come, and go,

and what you have here?

this rainy noon, this wise-ass cat (Tabby wears wannabe-humble expression),

this comic conversation,

they happen to be the numbers on your Boarding Pass."

"The Boarding Pass to your rambly Train of RealitIES. One that would take you Wherever ", He adds,

probably picking up on my blonde expression.

"Do I get to drive my Train?", I ask for no reason.

"Only when I'm taking a nap."

"Like when?"

"Like now."

"Ow, okay."

"So this Train, does it have -"

"It has Compartments. The Gone-by bogies are right towards the end, since you were so eager to

unhinge them. (Tabby chuckles) 

But you are better off in the middle, trust me,

the Vestibule can be a tricky concept when you really run for it. "

"So much for them being there" , I grumble.

"You are a grumpy kid, aren't you?" Tabby looks at me with mild curiosity. 

"No, it's the weather. I am allergic to good weather."

" But of course you are."

"Reality, love, is only ever as real as

we let  it be", Tabby begins to begin afresh before

I cut him short in wired temper -

"Really?

So how  real do you feel today, you, you

feline wretch ?!!! "

"Ha ha ha,

very real, actually. Let's see, at this point in time

I feel as real as the Geometry test you had flunked in fourth grade

(I blush inspite of myself)

or the happy-lame verse you had composed for the boy you wanted to walk the world with.

(I don't blush)

Or isn't that real enough? "

"No, those got to be real..I guess?..."

" There there",

a low purr of smug satisfaction escapes Tabby as I proceed to stroke his round-bob head.

That is before a sudden tumble of rain overwrites our plot 

Or 

I find myself crouched asleep under the leaky loo shower.

Cats should just stick to mew-ing,

really.