“Mmm, this one’s good!” Rainer threw empty chocolate wrapping on the table and leaned back on his sofa. He had bought six new types of chocolate bars a few days ago and finished the last one of them just now.
Mr Stripes stretched his neck to sniff the paper and then retracted his head back in disappointment.
Rainer giggled. “You poor cat, you have no idea what it’s like to eat chocolate! You have no idea.”
Mr Stripes turned his face and pierced Rainer with his yellow eyes.
“Why’s that?”
“Well,” said Rainer, wondering how do you explain chocolate to cats? “It tastes… great!”
“Mice taste great,” replied Mr Stripes.
“Ewww,” said Rainer, and then, after a second of thought, “well, I guess we all have our favourite food.”
The pupils of Mr Stripes expanded and shrank again.
“Actually, I would say mice are more great for cats than chocolate for humans.”
“Whaaaat?” Rainer straightened up, sensing an argument coming. “Explain!”
Mr Stripes blinked, stretched his front paws in front of him, and yawned.
“Let’s see… A mouse is soft and furry on the outside, juicy when punctured and crunchy when being eaten. One mouse is a bite-full of all possible shades of sweet, salty and sour, sometimes a hint of bitter. Every degree of squishiness, from hard to bite through to gently melting in your mouth. The mixture of tastes and textures is so rich that it is impossible to name them all, only to take it in as a whole. Is chocolate like that?”
“Well… Not really… But there’s other food like that. It’s sushi,” replied Rainer and added, “I like sushi.”
“But that is not all,” continued Mr Stripes. “Every mouse is an individual. Some are young, and some are old. Some are male, and some are female. Some of them are babies. Some are lean, and some are fat. Some eat grain, some steal butter, and some survive on soap. Eating a mouse means experiencing its life through taste and smell. I could even assure you that shy mice taste different from brave mice. Is chocolate like that? Or sushi?”
“No… But there’s something else like that. It’s wine,” admitted Rainer. “I do like wine, too.”
“There’s more,” Mr Stripes was going for it. “Mice are the most healthy food ever. Can you say the same about chocolate? Or sushi? Or wine?”
“There are healthy varieties of sushi, but they are not my favourites…“ Rainer looked up into the ceiling but then back at Mr Stripes. “No, wait. Who says mice are healthy? How about parasites and everything?”
Mr Stripes stared at Rainer for a minute, then raised one eyebrow, which sent chills down Rainer’s spine because he didn’t know cats could do that.
“That is why we have you, humans. For free healthcare.” Mr Stripes explained patiently. “Among other things. Anyway, I have to admit, there were a couple of mice so bad that I had to throw up… But then I just caught another mouse and ate it. Today, by the way, I ate six mice, and it made me full and happy. Can you fill yourself with chocolate, sushi, and wine and be happy?”
“Yes,” assured him Rainer, “for the moment, at least. Not so sure about the next morning, though… You are right, you know,” he sighed, “food either makes me healthy or happy, but not both. You win, Stripes. Mouse is better than chocolate. And sushi… And wine…”
“Oh, but I am not finished,” smiled the cat.
“What else?” Rainer was getting upset after having to admit the superiority of mice as food. Especially now that dopamine from the chocolate was wearing off and there was no more chocolate left.
“I need to explain this one with an example,” said Mr Stripes, sitting up. “Say, is there anything you love to do? Something you would do all day, just for the pleasure of doing it?”
“Chess,” replied Rainer without thinking. “It’s a game. I need to checkmate… to kill the king. Like you would kill a mouse, actually. Although, sometimes I win on time… ah, never mind,” Rainer decided not to over-complicate it. “I play it a lot, just looked up the statistics yesterday, and it says I have played eleven thousand games in the last two years. I could have become a professional chess player had I started earlier in my life.” Rainer paused, “… and was better at it…”
“Perrrfect,” said Mr Stripes, satisfied. “So. Now imagine this: you play chess, and if you kill the king, he turns into chocolate, or sushi, or wine.”
“Yeah,” admitted Rainer quietly.
“And now also imagine that playing chess is a healthy exercise that keeps you fit,” Mr Stripes paused with satisfaction when Rainer looked down on his beer belly. “And chocolate, sushi, or wine is healthy food that fills you both with nutrients and happiness at the same time.”
Rainer said nothing.
“This is what my life is,” said Mr Stripes proudly. “Whenever I don’t sleep (or chill, or soak up your heat), I do what I have passion for, to earn the food that I adore, to fill myself with everything I need, so I could fall into another happy sleep.”
Accidental rhyme triggered a purr in Mr Stripes. He closed his eyes and kneaded the air for half a minute. Meanwhile, Rainer shrank into his sofa, regretting he had no wine to get drunk tonight.
Eventually, Mr Stripes recovered and continued.
“I do exactly what nature intended me to do, and for that, I am rewarded with food that nature intended me to consume. It’s a perfect circle of purpose and fulfilment.”
Mr Stripes looked at Rainer with something resembling empathy in his yellow eyes.
“You poor human. You have no idea what it’s like to never question the purpose of your own life. You have no idea.”
