The Cat returned to the fence carrying what could only be described as a bird that had resigned from existence some time ago. She deposited it with obvious pride directly in front of Señora Ama de Casa, who had been enjoying a perfectly respectable morning with coffee and absolutely no expectation of discussing decomposition before breakfast. She looked at the bird, then at the Cat, then back at the bird. Without saying a word, she stood up, disappeared into the house and returned carrying a glass of bourbon. It wasn’t even ten o’clock. The Cat approved of decisive people.
“I assume this is another one of your educational programmes.”
“A gift.”
“It appears to have died during a previous administration.”
“Which makes it historical.”
“It smells.”
“History often does.”
Señora Ama de Casa carefully avoided looking directly at it. She had already decided what it was and saw no reason to continue the investigation.
“I already know what it is.”
“That was remarkably fast.”
“I don’t need to investigate every dead bird I see.”
“No. Only every opinion.”
That felt unnecessarily personal. Another sip of bourbon became scientifically necessary.
The Cat gently nudged the tiny skeleton with one paw, looking almost disappointed.
“Humans are fascinating. They reject ideas exactly the way you rejected my bird.”
“I rejected it because it is revolting.”
“No. You rejected it before examining it.”
Señora Ama de Casa sighed and looked again. It was certainly unpleasant. It was untidy. It had very little marketing potential. Still… beneath the feathers there were delicate bones, elegant joints and a surprisingly beautiful structure that nobody would ever notice because most people stopped looking long before they started seeing.
Curiosity reluctantly entered the conversation.
“There it is.”
“The bird?”
“Curiosity.”
“It took bourbon to get there.”
“Civilisation often does.”
She crouched beside the unfortunate creature.
“You know… if an archaeologist had found this buried underground, there would probably be documentaries, research grants, conferences and at least three podcasts dedicated to it.”
“Correct.”
“But because you brought it…”
“…nobody wishes to look.”
The Cat sat on the fence with the quiet confidence of someone who had spent centuries observing humans make the same mistake in increasingly sophisticated ways.
“Presentation has become more important than evidence.”
“That explains social media.”
“Entirely.”
“If an influencer uploads a dramatic video claiming to reveal the hidden truth…”
“Millions watch.”
“And if somebody quietly publishes twenty years of careful research?”
“How many followers?”
Señora Ama de Casa laughed.
“Poor man. Rookie mistake. He brought evidence instead of dramatic background music.”
The Cat nodded.
“Knowledge has become strangely theatrical. People no longer ask whether something is true. They ask who performed it.”
“And independent researchers?”
“Some are completely wrong. Some are remarkably insightful. An inconvenient distribution also found among professors.”
Señora Ama de Casa swirled what remained of her bourbon.
“So why do people become angry the moment someone asks an unusual question?”
“Because questions are untidy. Answers fit neatly into headlines.”
Behind the hedge, three Archons had stopped pretending to admire the flowers. One of them shifted nervously.
“I don’t like this.”
“Why?”
“She examined the bird before dismissing it.”
The oldest Archon slowly removed his glasses.
“This is becoming dangerous.”
“Is she getting close?”
“No.”
“Worse.”
“What could possibly be worse?”
The old Archon looked towards the fence, where the Cat was calmly washing one paw while Señora Ama de Casa continued studying a tiny pile of bones as though they had become considerably more interesting than they had any right to be.
“She has started asking her own questions.”
Silence settled over the garden.
Finally, the youngest Archon spoke.
“What happens if more people do that?”
The oldest Archon stared into the distance for a very long time.
“I honestly hoped nobody would ever ask me that.”
The Cat picked up what remained of the bird.
It had been a surprisingly productive morning.
