Each Thursday, join me for my once a week practice, Through the Glass Backwards. As I commute into work, I take the light rail downtown. Even though I tend to get motion sick easily, I usually end up facing backwards, watching as the city slips by. These vignettes will be a 200 word glimpse of things I see as the world outside me lives its life, and I am fortunate enough to see.
I was listening along to my music; I’m currently on the Bs in listening through every song on my iPod. I was watching out the window, on my way home from another day at the office. The sun was shining, bright blue skies, and there was a slight breeze. It’s the kind of day that makes you love the Mid-Atlantic, even with her fickle weather patterns. We were passing by an overpass for a local highways. Under the overpass, with its graffiti, its gravel, and its collection of detritus, there was a small white shape. I looked closer, trying to focus in more quickly than the train was passing. I saw a cat, white with what appeared to be dark orange spots. It put down one paw, a second, its shoulders shifting with its movement. Then, we passed and I couldn’t see it anymore.
I can’t help but wonder – where did the cat come from? What does it eat? Does it dine on Baltimore’s Inner Harbor’s famous rats? It didn’t look scrawny or wanting for food. Who knows? In that moment, though, all I could see was a cat who knew its place, one paw in front of the other.