3:00 a.m.
Pierre wakes with the witches. Not many people realize this, but witches do still freely roam. They’re an entertaining bunch, emerging from the dark and still places that settle over the world before dawn. Pierre doesn’t really know what a witch is. These arrive in pairs, from the little patches of wilderness that persist, as the humans clear out with the sun. They’re odd, devouring all sorts of rubbish and wailing at the moon. But they, like him, love the night for its beauty.
They’re also great to play cards with.
6:30 a.m.
By the time the sun rises, the witches have left for their business, and Pierre for his own. Light breaks the illusion of solitude — the humans start stirring and their machines rattle to life. But Pierre is used to it. His only interest at the moment is breakfast.
Not to brag, but he’s a pretty good hunter. That doesn’t involve killing, necessarily; Pierre’s good at hunting all sorts of things. Leftovers, offerings from campus safety, soft-hearted students with treats in their bags. It’s a good life that Pierre has cultivated here.
8:12 a.m.
Nap time. Pierre chooses to hide away before the paparazzi storms the campus. To be clear, he likes humans and loves attention. But, after a long morning of business, he’s not in the mood to pander. So, he’ll find a secret patch of sun and rest.
8:17 a.m.
The squirrels. Horrible. Pierre forgot that they’ve colonized these trees; it had been quiet on this edge of campus lately, higher up the hill where the humans go to sleep. They must have felt the sudden urge to take inventory of this particular warehouse right at this moment, just as he was drifting off. Lucky him.
He doesn’t like squirrels. They do what they need to survive. And they are good at it — survival. But the problem with squirrels is their personality. Or the lack of it. The only thought Pierre has ever gleaned from a squirrel’s mind is concerned with food. They’re not here to live, but to collect. They don’t create homes; they stockpile in bunkers. They don’t talk; they negotiate. Because they’re literally everywhere, he can’t get away from the incessant chatter. Humans know how to lounge around, dogs are always disgustingly happy and birds are airborne and free. But the squirrels? Haughty capitalists of the worst kind: obsessively hoarding what nature freely gives.
9:01 a.m
Nap time, for real. Pierre has found an even better spot.
3:15 p.m.
The great thing about being a cat is the freedom. Cats, by nature, are inward-looking beings. That’s not to say they’re narcissists; Pierre has no delusions about his place in the world. But cat-hood is driven from within. Pierre wakes, eats, sleeps and spends his days how he pleases. Sometimes, cat-hood is a six-hour nap.
3:20 p.m.
After a quick stretch, Pierre is ready for lunch. He’s feeling very playful by this point in the day. The naps leave him eager to hunt. Luckily, there are plenty of rats on campus.
5:44 p.m.
Now is when the humans begin to settle down. Pierre likes this time of day. Even the sun calms down and its warmth diffuses softly through the breeze.
People-watching gets interesting; humans shift from bustling, goal to goal, to more entertaining pastimes. Pierre likes to find a sun-warmed ledge to curl up on and observe. Clusters of humans linger under the old oak trees, and smaller ones begin to appear with parents in tow. Some walk by with bags and books, some with food, some with their odd human toys, some with dogs. It’s like a circus down there.
6:30 p.m.
Nap number three. A quick one this time. Pierre wakes up to the clang of the bells. He must have drifted off without realizing. In his defense, studying people takes a lot of brainpower. Pierre would know — he’s been doing it for years. He’s practically an anthropologist at this point.
6:59 p.m.
Now, as the dusk creeps in, Pierre is wide awake. He doesn’t have a goal in mind, just the urge to move. He slithers up the hill through secret paths, trails of leaf litter and brush that the humans don’t care to know. He finds it amusing to watch them heave their way up their odd concrete roads, in orderly lines that cleave through the dirt. They’re very slow, but it’s not their fault. He’s just lucky to be a cat.
7:30 p.m.
Pierre knows where to sit and wait for his admirers. Some humans really want to be his friend; the smart ones come bearing gifts. Pierre is happy to be pampered, but he is not a creature thirsting for affection. He does as he pleases, as cats are known to do. That doesn’t make him a recluse — he’s just an individual.
9:50 p.m.
Bedtime. Pierre’s an early riser, so he needs his sleep. Good night!
Contact Naisha John at njohn@oxy.edu
