The Solution

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A cub tiptoed to lick a man’s armpit, while an inventor exercised on the edge of a divan, spine bent against the floor. After a year the cat had grown strong as a tiger. It had learned to sleep on any black shirt he had used. The wildcat tackled and crazed with his figure laying on a chair like own pillow. Obviously he was not under the scented fabrics, but everywhere with a sweaty shirt, there was a holographic projection of his body. He invented receptors to distinguish the sweat, and projectors, which draw a see-through figure where fabrics were left. Goal was astral assistants for daily tasks, listening to commands like robots at a virtual home.
Problem was among an infinity of possibilities how to taste time, perspective is altered according to the importance in each nose. On a whim of solution with proportions. Once the scientist had to take a sudden leave to a field study, the home was lent for a colleague, who had to feed the cat. After a week he returned and they discussed about the found results in living room. Suddenly the wildcat comes out angrily, and leapt to scratch his rib with a paw to gain attention.
‘Matura, hush, to your bowl!’ he turns to her, ‘Did you fill it as was noted?’
By the rejection, the wildcat began to caterwaul.
The colleague shows a leg, ‘Yes, but I bought cat food from home.’
‘Too sweet food for this cat, it was the mistake.’
‘I see it wants to lick your salty armpit, why don’t you give in.’
‘I should’ve referred to specifics about the diet.’
He carries the cat back to the bowl.
‘Raw food is its favourite. Meat, fish, cooked turkey. On a lighter day, Matura eats cheese, yogurt, cooked vegetables. Now let’s get back to this study.’
‘Could cats be fed more ecologically?’
‘Any suggestion on tongue tip?’
‘Well, the new world needs new solutions. By preserving warmth and sweat––’
One of the assistants awakes.
‘––sweat: itself from that heart / how sheen veins had absorbed / yet in so bad world / that even a wildcat wants / lick its libation for thirst.’
Crystallization of the moment into conclusion was pressed, stored, saved.
‘Yes, the room learns.’
‘Also wonders, what else our meeting could produce.’
‘So let’s finish the lesson graciously.’
‘Envision the product around the world through cemetery of stars.’
’In the starry room, is there any room for improvement?’
‘Answer by intuition.’
‘I’m afraid it isn’t dependent in talents, but dependent on everyone, who eats the eyes from all shimmering stars, who could be seen. Look to the infinity. Hope is endlessly waking dreams. But only a sliver of all that will be answered.’
‘Oh, and if your sweat and warmth are preserved, question is, could we use them to feed more chatoyant eyes in the dark. For the new ahead. If they smell how good person you are, heads will turn––’
‘––How could I preserve / This sweat in a sterile bottle / And serve it for your cat, too?’
‘Yes, sometimes the outer space disguises you in a black shirt in the distance. But if they’d see you handwork of this divan, it would mean a beddable edge for the cats.’
‘Simply calculated niche, this era considers only ones, who are watched in living rooms.’
‘In or out, hibernation or recession.’
‘So what’d cats prefer to eat, if they were given libation to quench thirst?’
‘Wrong question. Cats don’t prefer. They are fed. ’
‘They would prefer, if they knew all options… to hope for.’
‘What would that fix?’
‘Suicide,’ he says after receiving info by the glance to a list of problems, offered by one of the assistants, ‘No one would prefer to die if they knew manifold options to hope for.’
‘Would that make a better end for the world?’
While he scrutinizes the holograms do their tasks as different professions, during different point of the lifespan.
‘Absolutely, I believe most conscious suicides could’ve recovered a great talent. They were only stricken into a delusion that a path walked by them was hapless.’
’The beginning of the problem, before a chain reaction, before a rope is pulled,’ she initiates.
‘Lies in taste,’ he concludes, ‘in contrast to the usual atmosphere, where human are getting accustomed to constant laughter and entertainment, they face a sudden reality of deep research. It’s unimaginable for them. So is the meticulous taste with enjoyment.’
‘What is sample for the solution?’
‘A lifespan, consisting of understanding… of a singular taste. Without both, you cannot lick the sweat. And without the sweat, you won’t accustom yourself to enjoy its aftertaste, and calmly fall asleep on the shirt. As the wildcat does now.’
‘And if my cat doesn’t like the sweat, we’re at the root of problems.’
‘Gotcha. Since if a cat has fallen in love with one taste, the odds are it languidly sleeps on the laurels, without any desire to hunt.’
‘Hibernated instincts––’
‘––Curiosity, indigenous talk / inquisitive compassion / flock’s interaction.’
’Where the taste leads cats, or if homogeneous, it doesn’t lead at all.’
‘Yes, we see a kaleidoscope of taste, and it’s narrowing when you turn the lens towards the direction our world grazes at. Varieties die at a pace of rain forests. Stories are told shorter, as memories of slender means.’
‘What feeds the oblivion? What would strengthen lives?’
‘Principles, in both good or bad, how you become an arbiter or a vermin of taste over a longer lifespan. After succeeding in one, the cat has eight lives to live,’ he winks and gives a standby command to the house.
’Tell me, how principles constellate?’
‘One of them goes without compromising good sleep,’ he comes to land a kiss on her forehead. ’This little planet has a span. An era of beliefs until new one begins. Talks continue at dawn.’
‘Looking forwards to a recipe for the solution.’
‘Sometimes its heart is closer than assumed.’

About the Author: 
Samuel Sylf–author of several books, which he doesn’t admit to have released, expect one. Specifying in poetry, not to mention anything else. Perhaps you will know more one day.
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