Sponges. Any kind. Petunia has a thing for them.
The cat likes to jump in the kitchen sink, perform
a series of gymnastics and gyrations, lift a paw,
swipe the sponge off the ledge, hug it, wrestle
with it, and attack it. “Stop that,” I say, while
she works herself into a frenzy, gnawing the
corners of the sponge. I wrench it from her jaws
and put it back on the ledge next to the bottle
of dishwashing liquid where it belongs. She
gives me her best impression of an innocent
look. I’m not buying it. “Do you know,” I say,
“according to a popular guru on YouTube,
we’re all just consciousness inhabiting a body.
We’re not our thoughts. We’re not our bodies.
We’re consciousness.” In response, Petunia
demonstrates her talent for slithering around
the perimeter of the sink like a snake, claws
clicking against stainless steel. “The guru said
this is a life-altering revelation,” I continue.
“It’s supposed to be the answer we’ve all been
searching for, the key to enlightenment. He
said knowing this will change everything.
It’s an interesting concept. I like it. But what
do you think? Does knowing this change
anything for you?” Petunia flips over, grabs
the pink sponge from the ledge, bites off the
corner, and spits it out. “I guess not,” I say.
Laura Stamps is a narrative poet and the author of several books: THE YEAR OF THE CAT, IN THE GARDEN, CAT DAZE, TUNING OUT, and more. Winner of the Muses Prize. Recipient of 7 Pushcart Prize nominations. Shortlisted in the Loft Books Poetry Competition. Twitter: @LauraStamps16.