The Legacy aka Pink Pussy Cat Doesn't Care
What would you do if you spotted a Crimson Cat in your neighbourhood on an uneventful Wednesday? Would you and your friends stare at it in a cocktail of awe, suspicion and mild excitement? Or would you continue your tragic commute and pretend nothing rebellious just strutted past your parked scooter? Let me tell you how this usually goes. You, noble citizen of civilization, would first blink in disbelief. Then photograph it from seventeen angles. Then discuss its “aura.” Shortly after, you would decide it needs to be captured, caged, branded and converted into a weekend spectacle. The wisest among you might even send it to a zoo where it can remain imprisoned forever, magnifying the spiritual experience of strangers until it quietly dies of loneliness, boredom and fatigue. And all the Crimson Cat ever wanted was to chase some mice, eat them with dignity, and pass out under a tree with a signature purr, the kind that says, ‘I paid my emotional taxes today.’ The Cat had no say in its Cr...