Published October 2014
Feline and Nothingness
by Alison Ross
I am using smashed crayons from the eighth dimension to scribble an invisible dissertation for my imaginary PhD in Extinct Nuances. My disappearing dissertation is tentatively titled, Feline and Nothingness: The Zen-Nihilism of Deconstructed Cats. I am deconstructing my cat, who only exists in her own suppressed subconscious, to see if I can determine her subliminal worth. She resists deconstruction, however, because she says she is a retrogressive constructivist. So I ring up Picasso and he rearranges her psyche to resemble a Cubist's Rube. My Cubist Cat pukes up a painting by Braque and calls it "Existential Hairball." She claims it comes from the void of her own tortured soul, but I know better: She's been eating too many metaphysical cockroaches again. So I e-mail Kafka and he suggests sequestering her in a nightmare created by glass spiders. But David Bowie texts me and says I cannot use copyrighted material. So I text him back my entire dissertation, but it gets lost in space, which causes the cosmos to expand. Then the universe contracts and reincarnates into a Crayola picture of a non-existent cat, smeared across the subtleties of her own invented dementia.
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