I came home the other day and I walked into the living-room, where I found my cat lying and staring at an orange, which was on the floor between his front paws. I said hello, because that's the civil thing to do, and he didn't even move an ear. He was completely absorbed by this orange.
So, feeling rather left out by the fun, I crept up next to him and asked him what the hell was so tripping about the fruit, and still he lay with it between his paws, apparently not giving a damn about his human friend.

I was tempted to discreetly prod the thing and gain his attention, because I was tired and fed up and desperately wanted to squeeze the poor sod, but then as I sat and slid my shoes off I started observing it too. And then I realized that it was very interesting indeed...its radiant colour, the misleadingly regular shape, its bumps and crevasses and spots, the evening sun shining bright on its waxy skin, and the green bit where it used to be connected to its tree. And I found myself thinking about how it had travelled miles, after growing in an open space somewhere, and I imagined it getting larger and changing colour, days and nights passing around it, and its tree, and the bark of its tree and the smell of it...and I realized it was beautiful, really beautiful, and I had tears in my eyes when I woke up and Paddy had gone and the orange was still there,
full of superhuman wisdom in its harmonious, glorious staticity. And I could have felt foolish, to be bawling over an orange, but I didn't.
I'm grateful I share a house with a little creature who, I do not know if he knew I needed to be reawoken or if it was absolutely my own doing, leads me on.

Because I realized: that's all it takes to fall back in love with life and its beauty.
A cat and an orange.