Meditation on a candle (with Wandering Gata in the background). 1

Szaloncica usually has dinner in his Szalon with the only company of the light of a candle. So lonely he is that he feels impelled to dance for his gata. He thinks about actually doing it (and many times he certainly does it, anyway, after dinner, up the stairs, going to his bedroom, part of the Szalon, though: a Szalon in cica terminology has to be conceived in very general terms). He eats and thinks, under the light; sometimes enthralled by his very deep thoughts. We are trying to communicate the intricacies of those thoughts here, hopefully successfully respecting the nuances of the cica philosophy.

Candles fascinate Szaloncica. He half closes his eyes, and stares at the mystery of the candle. He smokes his pipe after dinner, but he does not leave the table. The candle still lights the Szalon and attracts his attention. He smokes again, sips his glass of dark beer and thinks.

It is not the first time: Szaloncica has been able to develop a nice corpus of thoughts lately about the candle and the mystery of its small and quiet self consumption. Tonight is different, the train of thoughts, as modern journalist would say, is different, because Wandering Gata, his gata, the gata he dances for, has been recently visiting the Szalon, the Ország, Szaloncicaország, for being precise. Now, tonight, this night, everything makes a little more sense, thinks Szaloncica. He smiles approvingly. You can tell when a cat smiles if you look attentively to his whiskers: lightly upwards.

Difference is, very simply, Gata wears red beret and Szaloncica favours dark clothes. Mundane wardrobe options, certainly. But nonetheless... :somehow months of thoughts coalesce.

The wick of a candle is black, true. It burns, it burns endlessly, its end is bright and red, but the wick never dies, the fire, the flame breaths through it; but only very slowly dies, that wick. Yes, everything dies, but the wick only very slowly. It burns brightly though, sometimes the flame is high and defiant, and illuminates fiercely the room. But somehow, in exchange, you would expect a high and quickly paid price for such a daring feat. And it is not the case. It is not the case. Here lies Szaloncica's fascination with candles. What makes the candle burn but not being consumed by her own fire?