He’s in his heaviest sleep and looks quite peaceful at last. Does his thoughts follow him into his dreams? Is he somewhere else altogether, lost in a web of memories and desires?
He looks different – not sure how to put it exactly. I’m not talking about his physical appearance like when I found him under a pile of clothes, scrawny, disoriented and barely breathing. It was a relief that all he needed was some cool water to recover. (He refused the tuna.) I don’t know, it’s something else. Almost as if he’s gotten older somehow. Or maybe I’ve changed.
When he was well enough to roam the hallways and hop onto my study desk, I thought for sure I wouldn’t see him for a while. But he returns every day and curls up beside me before I fall asleep. He always seems to know when I’m sad, better than I do. It’s rare to find another soul to which you connect with so deeply.
I can’t really call him a pet. No, the quiet way that we’re drawn to each other cannot not be reduced to master and pet. I’ll call him Ian.
I finally had the bathroom window fixed. But I leave it open ajar knowing that Ian will likely wander.
‘Through Ian’s Eyes’ is a mini project based on my friend’s 1000+ iPhone photos taken between 2013-14. In the series I will pick one photo a day for a week to interpret in drawing and story.
The story is about a stray cat in New York who goes through an existential crisis as he begins to question what it means to be a cat in human society.