The Golden Line (Chpater-2) ⇒ Kirno Sohochari

Tomcat and the golden line of flying High…

Tomcat is a very clever species despite its notoriety to the mouse. He is not funny and foolish as we used to see him in Walt Disney’s cartoon movies. Life is hard for the mouse and be the mouser. It’s a game of hide and seeks where mouser always chase the mice and the little creature tries to alert about the ruthless hunter. Our funny tomcat is not comical in real life. He is greedy, prodigal and reckless with his great killing instinct. His gestures remind the history that Tomcat is the minuscule addition of wild tigers.


Real life tomcat is cruel in nature with his impudent voice. His soft thumbs, sharp nails, phosphoric eyes, strong teeth, hairy tails and even the whiskers are not funny at all. All this reflect Tomcat’s objective that life could only furbished by killing amusement.

Our sportive tomcat is an inborn mouser. It’s not his fault. The Grand Designer of life designed him like this. He destined his fate that he would be the example of depravity. The mischief cat is an eminent burglar and disturbing itch for the little mice and birds. He is lazy and bohemian and perhaps the best example of “busy for nothing”, which is not beneficial for anybody and soon nauseated his neighbors to treat him a disturbing creature.


Tomcat knows very well that nobody like him. The housekeepers do not like him very much as they like his female partner and the kittens. He knows that nobody trust him. He is not credible to stay in the kitchen and sipping milk from the goblet. The housekeepers treated him as an outsider. Usually they used the phrase that, “Be careful brother! Don’t give the slightest chance to the Monkey and the tomcat, if you pampered them they will start to dance over your head.”

Our tomcat is an unsung hero of clandestine romance. He allotted his furtive effort to saturate his lustful desire. He is lustful instead of lovemaking. The inborn killer makes his partner pregnant by the furtive love and soon left her alien. We see him to walk in the lane or enjoying the lazy moments by sitting on the cornice. The miscreant cat is salacious and certainly a shameless scoundrel.

I want to love somebody and be to kill many. I am tired to repeats me and even more to search the happiness. I the cursed Daedalus killed my son by artful destruction of thinking.

The famous cat is not affectionate to his kittens. He is not a responsible father at all. Fatherhood is unknown and absurd to him. His notorious whiskers are used to careless about the babies and even don’t hesitate to kill and eat them if he gets a chance to kill. I think it’s not his fault. The Grand Designer of evolution included him to be the member of mammal’s class but didn’t educate him about responsible love. He educates to donate sperm and nothing else. It’s not fair to think him selfish I think.


Tomcat is the worshiper of his great killing instinct. He is powerful on chasing and killing. Motivational hunting fabricated his muscles and soft tissues. The great killer is sitting to my cornice at this moment targeting a pigeon to kill. I can see him clearly to my window. He is now moves silently to the pigeon. His soft thumbs and phosphoric blue eyes are looking stunning. Fact is that a cruel tomcat could be attractive when he is busy to display his instinct capacity to the world.

I don’t know what will happen next and who would be the winner of this dreadful game. Scene is complicated here. One is daring to kill and another is dared for survival. The pigeons are not a foolish creature. They are inborn fliers and indeed masterful on it. They know how to take the flight from a jumping cat. Tomcat has to perhaps a professional killer and athletic on jumping skill, but he cannot fly. Pigeons are the lucky winner of evolution. They are not artful on jumping but easily can fly high from the ground to the big sky. It is necessary to know how to fly high if you want to survive from the professional killer.

Pigeons are artful flier. They are the remote ancestor of gigantic Pterodactyl. This reptile had great flying and survival capacity, filed on the whole globe at the pick moment of dinosaur-age. The reptile donates its ability to its successor and pigeons are among them. Flying is certainly a powerful tool to survive and our tomcat is limited in that capacity. The Grand Designer cut down his ability of flying freely in the gigantic blue sky.

I feel empathy for the cat and me too. We two have great similarities. I carry a killing instinct in my mind. This instinct helps me to invent deadly weapons. It makes me diversified in spite of my weak strength. Weapon saves me from the dreadful attacks of my enemies. My soft thumbs, vulnerable bones, weak nails and teeth, myopic eyeballs, funny mustache and even the strong hands and foots are not sharp enough to kill the target easily. Weapon helps me to overcome the shortage. I am great, because my brain is great. The jelly tissues are the driving force of my survival.


I know that my jumping skill is not enough to supersede the cat, but my brain helps me to jump over him. I can fly even to the sky saturates my killing desire from the higher surface. However, I yet don’t know how to fly freely in the free sky despite the capacity. I’m divine on love and passionate on lust but am I yet even know how to free my soul from the killing instinct? I am gonna mad sometime to think this. It seems to me that I am more than ruthless to the tomcat. I perhaps the cursed outcome of evolution.

The grand history of evolution designed me as a duplex personality. I the love maker and killer on other hand! It’s indeed not logical to declare me as the “best animal” of the earth. I am lavishly developed my brain and now the lavish brain seems to a burden for me! Brain is great and it’s a burden too, because, it can think something.

As a thinker I have an impressive capacity to think everything. My brain is a powerful thinks-tank. I cannot stop it to think anymore. It’s outlandish for me to think without any stoppage. My brain is a chatterbox and I am the talkative thinker of the centuries! Alas my fate, still am does not know what is freedom and what do we mean by this! Thinking is a strange depravity if you don’t guess where you could go and when to stop. I am the outlandish outsider of this depravity.

Oh! My heart, I am tired to think a lot. My liquefied brain seems heavier to me. It’s now heavier than my existence. Thinking is baleful when it is lost the capacity of knowing the resting horizon. I the pity window-man, living on the surface of love and hatred and am the dweller of the duality. My think-tank does not able to inquire the realm where I could refine my heart with impeccable love!


My heart, tell me am I is a real lover? Am I truthful to my desire? Am I a real well-wisher of happiness? Tell me, am I honest or not, as the tall trees are honest to their fruitful existence? The bumblebees as if honest to their capacity of sting somebody, am I like the bees? I want to love somebody and be to kill many. I am tired to repeats me and even more to search the happiness. I the cursed Daedalus killed my son by artful destruction of thinking.

Invention and exploration is meaningless if it prohibits you to breathe. Thinking is a pain when it could unable to wash your fate-duality. The grand design throws me to injustice. I’m a pathological liar of the centuries. A liar could be the King but it’s not possible for him to ensure justice for everybody. It’s my bad luck that I’m not outspoken as like the killer tomcat. My language disguises me in a shell; it makes me a selfish actor of my disguised thought!

Thinks about “Self” is truly painful and perhaps it is shameful for me. I try to control my thought looking through the window. The drama of life is acting over there. My dearest brother and the infamous killer are just jumping to the pigeon. The flying bird knows how to survive. He does not waste his time to propelling the wings for flying higher.

My staring eyes staring upon to its flight. The bird is flying higher than its ability and soon disappeared from the sight. I know the little pigeon certainly flying in the sky now, but what I don’t know is that, least it will back to the cornice or not..

Moral: We are the selfish actor of our disguised thought.

Previous Chapter Link: The Golden Line (Chapter_1) 

Photo Credit: pics_house; the social media monthlyfunny and happy: lurking cat on pigeon;