Plinius, the cat

And Plinius. The cat. Plinius was on my side. You can’t bend a cat. You can’t make a perfect copy of a cat. In his own way, Plinius was less predictable than the most extravagant human could possibly be. Starting with his smell. Yes, he smelled like cat, but not like any old cat. He smelled specifically like Plinius. I have had plenty of cats all through my grown up life but not one of them has ever smelled anything like him. If it is true that we are normally not very good at remembering smells (and though we have invented devices to record and play back actual sound and images we have never invented any automaton that would – on request – conjure up a specific smell.), but that rule does not include remembering Plinius’ smell. Equal part cat litter, dust, fur and … realness. I don’t even have a comparison, a word for that smell, but I can say “Plinius” and I can actually smell him. He was very present and himself until he just wasn’t anymore, until, one day, without proper good-byes, he disappeared.

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