A breath of awareness. It was as if it wasn’t even my first, and by the time I landed on the table beneath me I was convinced I had been imagining the sudden rush of stimulus.
The Artist kept looking down at me with silent eyes. I couldn’t tell if she was studying me or if she was afraid of me. I slowly blinked, sat still in the quiet and waiting. There was a small fear in me that I assumed was standard practice—a panic of sensation that came from being thrust out from a sea of nothing. In a life of nothing and emptiness, the exploding of stimulation in sudden creation meant I had a small well of anxiety I still slowly quelled with quiet breaths. It was thought I was never living before this moment—although in truth, I likely wasn’t. My first waking moment and memory was here, before The Artist, with her eyes staring back into mine.
She finally spoke. “Subject 1-2-7, what is your name?”
I tilted my head, a curiosity in the girl before me as her gaze never left mine. It was then I realized I hadn’t considered my name, but in that same breath I felt my mind recall it as easily as if I’d known it my whole life. “Catley,” I thought I said. But the words didn’t leave my mouth. A soft, broken meow took its place.
The lack of knowledge was momentary—every new reaction or question exposed gaps that were filled by a well of pre-installed knowledge I barely realized I could access. That’s right, I’m a cat. The truth of the statement was clear as I softly pressed my forepaws into the table below me, noticing the sense of scale as opposed to The Artist before me. I felt a sense of my body fall from just my head down to my body and paws before reaching all the way back to a soft tail. I weakly moved it back and forth as I got accustomed to the form.
Accustomed? I’ve always been a cat.
The Artist picked up a small clipboard, clicking a mechanical pen and scribbling something down. Her gaze left mine, writing diligently as if I had done something. “Can you understand me?” I tried to mewl out. The sounds were a bit more clear, conscious of my vocal cords and attempting to be louder. The Artist looked back up at me with a quizzical look, waiting to see if I did anything more before continuing to write. I assumed not—the words I tried to speak were human, and pushing them through an unfamiliar mouth clearly wasn’t working.
Wait, unfamiliar?
My internal train of thought was derailed as The Artist spoke again. “Subject 1-2-7, we’ll be operating on yes or no questions due to the circumstances. Namely the lack of a cat translator.” She looked back up at me. “To confirm, is your name ‘Catley?’”
I lifted my head into a more comfortable position in order to take a small breath in and let out a more clear mewl to signify something to The Artist. She seemed to register it, writing something down before looking back up at me. She continued to question me about basic things—mathematics, motor functions, memory, and anything else that was on that clipboard she held.
“Catley, are you aware of who I am?” The Artist looked back at me with wide, curious eyes. I mewled in confirmation, inching forward as if some subtle notes in my helpless sounds would somehow convey my understanding of her. I knew what she was. It was a permanent memory as if ingrained within my mind.
She was my creator. The Artist, and I was her latest work.
“Catley, are you aware of what you are?” The Artist questioned further. I hesitated. I didn’t quite understand the purpose of asking. The Artist knew I was a cat, as did I. Of course, The Artist knew all of this. The purpose of asking this question wasn’t because they wanted to know. The purpose was figuring out what I knew. I stayed silent.
She chuckled. “Catley, you are me. In the same way I am you.” She lifted up a hand, holding it out like she was touching glass as I placed a paw on her palm. “While your knowledge seems lacking in some areas, you are a fragment of me in creation. You’re a part of me, and I’m a part of you.” To demonstrate, she looked me right in the eyes. The connection became apparent—her eyes were the same as mine. Not exactly—the difference physically might be obvious, but the parts of us behind our eyes were the same. Our beings were cut from the same cloth.
The memories flooded back before I could realize I always remembered them—a mirror that went one way. A creation that The Artist—that I had made to reflect myself in a different way. The cold touch of what I thought would feel like glass but instead wrapped around my hand like water. The blind lunge I made to push into it and come out again. It was a splitting of self that felt more cathartic than painful. I don’t know if I felt it. Maybe The Artist felt it, but I should have remembered it too. Because now I can remember seeing myself come out. A cat stepping through the mirror and onto the other side. I don’t know which was the side I began on and which was the end point, but none of that mattered anymore. Now I could imagine through The Artist’s eyes. I saw myself holding a hand out and pressing onto my own paw.
The Artist put her hand down. “So, did it work?”
I gave a calm, relaxed meow. Yes, it worked. There was no need for confirmation. She knew everything as I knew it, and we both could understand that it had worked without any further discussion. This questioning was likely worthless too—from the start, we both knew everything that was to come.
I waited a moment, recognizing that our memories had now been fragmented. From her perspective, since I walked out that mirror our lives had become separate. Every second that ticked by was a second I felt my experience differ. I was becoming a whole other being, and my new limited cat vocal patterns would never be able to express it. In that way, I suppose The Artist and I were forever different creations. I’d become a fully sentient and responsive cat, but without a large keyboard that would fit my paws I could never properly communicate the way that The Artist would. I think I might find myself jealous of that in the future. For now, I realized I had only one real focus
So…what came next?
I think I felt her hesitate on that as well. There was uncharted territory we were covering by even existing in the same plane. Even then, I saw a smile stretching across her face. It might have been pride in accomplishing what she did, and others would likely know it as that. But I knew better. That was the smile of someone about to pull something devious. A plan of action was in her mind and I felt myself almost twitch anticipating her next words.
“I’ll consider this experiment a success.” She proudly declared, scooping me up into her arms as I yelped. She began pulling me away and carrying me out the door. “So, only one thing left to do: bring you along as a familiar.” She smiled. “And the observatory’s one and only pet. Our mascot.”
Can cats gulp? I gulped.