Repu celebrates her third anniversary in Szaloncicaország

Existenchatlisme

“Moi? Je suis un existenchatliste” replies Tallinn when Cicabácsi asks him why he is scratching the carpet.  It is true that it would be difficult to gather from that concise “meh!” of Tallinn such a serious statement, but that is Cicabácsi´s fault and not Tallinn´s. That is why he continues to scratch, bored, bored of repetitive life with no apparent purpose. Cicabácsi has come up with the strange idea that Tallinn is depressed. Certainly not. Tallinn then retires to its thinking chair, although he never thinks sitting on it, but under it, in the Salon of Szaloncicaország. There, alone, he meditates. There he was, yesterday night, right after midnight, reflecting on that on the arrival of the new morning he will be three years old, and so will be her sister, República. 3 years now. And what is that he does?, thinks Tallinn. Chasing her sister up and down the stairs, not seeking pleasure but urged by a dark force inside him, irrational, irresistible, unavoidable, like a feline Sisyphus. Her sister, up there on the tree she must be, sleeping, possibly dreaming about escaping again to the roof of the Ország, trying to reach the Torony. Liberty? She may be dreaming of it. She has read too much Friedrich Nietzscica, she may think she is beyond good and kutyák. Is liberty an option? Are we free? Tallinn is getting sleepy; his kicsi mind is getting tired of thinking too much. He may have acquired too much cica consciousness, he may have lost the spontaneity of a kitten, or just feeling anxious about this new phase of his life: adulthood.  He starts dreaming. In his dreams his existenchatlisme receeds, vanishes. His unconscious remembers too, dreams of these three years with Cicanéni and Cicabácsi in Szaloncicaország. They haven´t had such a terrible life! Yes, true, they have been abandoned in the Hotel every Christmas and every summer, but it was for a few weeks, and Cicanéni and Cicabácsi always returned after holidays and caressed them, and kiss them. They were not abandoned. We eat and we play, we ronron, and we roll on the carpet, belly up. After all, isn´t this the proof that we must feel well here in this Ország? Cicabácsi shouts everytime Repu tries to continue her sculpting career transforming the sofa into an imitation of an Alberto Giacometti sculpture, it is true. And Cicanéni complains when I wake her up at 5am demanding some food and some love. But don´t we get that food and love? Don´t we manage to scratch again every day? Tallinn smiles in his dream, groans a bit, opens one eye, thinks of convincing República to at least say sorry to Sofa Úr next time. He thinks that tomorrow, if Cicabácsi and Cicanéni give them their treats for their birthday he will say “meh!” Cicabácsi and Cicanéni will not understand it, as usual, but he would have thanked them.