Still Pulling

The sofa. Where she would be after dinner, night after night, without fail.

She’d be there to watch that rectangle. My goodness, its glow was blinding. It was a too-bright attention monopolizer. It came up with inane, inconsequential chatter, night after night.

Its incessant murmur grated on my feline spirit. Badly. But it commanded what living creatures could not.

So it was time for action. I was done watching a box take over my life.

I placed myself between it and my owner, effectively becoming a furry barricade to the night’s entertainment. But she pushed me aside with a dismissive arm.

But we cats are detail-oriented. Observant. There was something unusual about the screen’s occupants.

They seemed strained. And it seemed to be…

MOVING. Along with her.

Doing exactly as he did.

Then, the box started to behave—differently. It started to murmur in an odd monotone. Deliberate.

The figures seemed aware of what was going on in the living room. They seemed to reach for my owner. To move her. To guide her. But my owner had no idea.  

That darned box was no longer observing. It wanted a firm grip.  

My owner. That thing wanted her. I had to do something. ANYTHING.

I did something no good, uninvolved feline would usually do. I leapt. Decisively.

And jumped on her. And at last, her hands remembered me. With a stunned gasp, she grabbed me and glanced at her watch.

“Oh, Whiskers. Dinner.” She switched off the television and went into the kitchen.  The murmuring in the box softened into silence.

The screen in front of me went dark. But its occupants hadn’t.

There were hands within. Still pulling.

Some mirrors show your face. Others reveal the thoughts, fears, choices and contradictions hidden beneath the surface.

Mirrors of the Mind explores those reflections through stories that look at people, relationships and the unexpected turns that make us question what we thought we knew.

Sometimes, the most revealing thing in a mirror isn't the person looking back. 🪞