More Than Fog On Little Cat Feet

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. But everything and everyone hears differently. An illuminated sound gives the unheard a physical presence. And when I spotted the luminescence on the black horizon, I could feel the scream.

I leaned into the windshield as if to get a better look and discovered not one but two spiraling discs. They appeared as a cluster of lights energetically exploding in a synchronized cyclical fashion. This ballet of spinning light was dazzling and intense. Blinking and brushing my hand over my right eye, I pushed even closer to the window and tried once again to focus more clearly. Groping on my desk for my field lenses, I fumbled and hurried, not taking my eyes off the spectacular display in front of me. Ransacking the objects strewn about the desktop, I located what felt like glass. I picked them up, and it was gone in the nanosecond it took to bring the field lenses to my eyes.

Standing in silence on the bridge of this craft, I glanced to my left and then my right. Alone, of course. No one saw anything. No one heard anything. I let out a long and defeated breath by leaning on my knuckles in exasperation. Running my hand thru my hair, I sat down and stared out into the deep black nothingness. They're so damn elusive. My spine shifted and creaked as I leaned way back in a stretch. What next? My thoughts were flat…tired. Bending forward, the concrete floor was cool against my sweaty palms. I grabbed at my shoelaces and retied the loose one into a new tidier knot.

Green eyes blinked at me. Smug and elusive, they closed as if to indicate there would be no conversation. "What's wrong with you?" I thought a rather rude inquiry, but nonetheless presently reflective of my mood. Two strides, one yawn, and he sat on the desk, taking in the black void of nothingness falling out endlessly before us. Flicking his tail in his dismissive manner, I continued my one-way conversation. "I know you've felt them." He licked a paw on both sides casually and slowly set it down with great intention. That remark earned me a glance, and he stared directly into my face and held his gaze. The emerald hue of his eyes was brilliant, I thought, even penetrating. "What in God's name do you know?"

"Nothing, I suspect." Leaning against the doorway, Jane shifted in her shoes. Pursing her lips together and exhaling slightly, she began across the small side deck and picked up the cat.

"Eavesdropping," I inquired.

"But of course, it's my best work. Any new sightings today?" She teased, stroking the cat luxuriously. The purring began, a quiet running motor, constant and comforting. The three of us glanced momentarily in one seemingly very black direction.

"Why do you believe he knows anything?" She bent forward, gently placing the humming body onto the floor.

"I don't think he knows anything; he feels something."

"That's ridiculous," she murmured. It's a cat." As if understanding the degrading tone in her comment, said cat stood, stretched once again, and turned to leave. Silent and light on its toes, he was the black ghost of the ship. He sauntered his way off the bridge and headed out, the pocket door silently sliding shut behind him.

Jane turned and sat her butt against the helm, inquiring, "Have you logged anything at all?" Tapping her pen in her palm, she flipped to the week's log, all summarized on one page.

"Well, it's beginning to feel like a complete waste of time.' I started. "Every time these sightings occur, I am alone, the solo shift, nobody hears anything, and it's impossible to record or capture. I might as well be losing my mind. I just had a sighting, first one in three weeks."

"I see. Well, you're supposed to be alone. Viewings are rare, you know the time charts can’t cover all the shifts with more than one individual. And instead of capturing something, why not just record the experience?"

"And that would matter why?" I put an ever-so-small effort forth to hide my exasperation.

"If you're so hell-bent on proving the cat can feel something and that this cat can help provide valuable information as to what these events are, I suggest you should start seeking out different clues. Quit looking to the tangible. You're not going to find answers there."

"Well, for someone who doesn't give a rats-ass bit of credibility to my theory, you've got quite a lot to say." My hostility was beginning to perk. "I'm an astronomer and an astronaut, not a poet."

"Okay, Galileo. Suit yourself". She set the page down and began to exit. With a pause and a glance back she began, "James, as a reminder, we are examining a galaxy that has been expanding for 440 million years. With our new ability to detect infrared light, we are maybe, just maybe, going to discover new insights about the Cartwheel. Oh, and this Cartwheel Galaxy is a mere 500 million light-years away from our home. It is a rare sight. You'll have to pardon my skepticism if I don't think the answers lie with what that damn cat is feeling. I think you got lucky getting him in as part of this experiment at all."

Go to hell came to mind, but instead of any retort I furrowed my brow and pondered her words; record the experience. And so with yet another grand exhale, I began.