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.    

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