Every now and again I find my cat, Edmund, wandering about my tiny little apartment. For 15, 20 sometimes 30 minutes he does what I call the "great circle" path over an dover again. This isn't his normal frantic scurrying between the patio doors and the bathroom window when something outside has his him all axcited. It's a slow, deliberate yet not deliberate wander that takes him along all the major thoroughfares of my bachelor apartment. Were it not for the inherent gracefulness of a cat, I would call it plodding.
It makes me think of the tigers I have seen at the Toronto Zoo. When you get to their enclosure, you can see one of them pass by you every couple of minutes as they walk along this path that has been worn into the circumference of their home. As it passes by, again and again, it sort of seems as if the tiger has just said to itself “Fuck it. I've got nothing better to do.” It seems so pathetic and devoid of hope that it makes me so sad I don't want to stick around and watch a magnificent animal I would normally be fascinated with.
When I see Edmund walking about like that, I hope that he isn't as despondent as that tiger at the zoo.