The Cat On The Moon


There’s this cartoon I watched when I was a kid about a cat who hated people. He hates the noise and the way he’s tramped on and treated by kids, he hates the constant hustle and bustle and movement. He just wants to escape. 

Sometimes, I feel like this. 

It’s not that I hate people, so to speak. But I can relate to that black and white cat. Sometimes it’s just too much. 

Don’t get me wrong. People are great for heaps of things. The other night I went to a concert by myself because no one else I knew appreciated the type of music, and afterwards I felt euphoric but had no way to express it. When I got in the car, I tried to explain it to my dad, but I had to recount everything that had happened and my emotions, whereas walking to the train station, I had listened to everyone chat to their friends and families about what they’d thought. Part of me just wanted to choose a group and join in [I did tell a woman on the train she looked beautiful, because she’d dressed up all specially. She told me I looked great too.] I found out later my friend had gone and I’d had no idea- I hope we’ll get a chance to talk about it, because that will feel good. I already know chatting makes me feel better. Hugs feel good- comforting and squishy and they produce happy hormones. People make you laugh and make funny YouTube videos and say amazing things and think up crazy things. They sing, and make music and look beautiful and fellowship feels good, when you’re part of a movement. 

But sometimes I feel like I’m in a line of people linking arms and I’ve tripped over. And as I fall, everyone else in that line turns to look at what is holding them back, what ruined that movement.

Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe because there are so many people in a room that look so good and talk so right and act like they know what they’re doing when I didn’t even get a script. 

Sometimes that feeling wells up behind my eyes and turns into tears.

Sometimes I feel tired for no reason other than I tried to keep a smile up for a day.

Sometimes I am hurt by something but I don’t mention it because I hate being called “oversensitive”. 

A lot of the time I miss the people who are special to me, but I know I can’t always have a room of just the right people- that’s a shout out to my Year 13 friends, who are all so far away. 

People do great things, like dance and paint and kiss and listen, but they also do cruel, unpredictable and unfair things. 

I worked for five hours on a project today that I got halfway on. When I suggested a time to come back next week, they said yes and later on called to say I shouldn’t bother. They’re scrapping the whole thing. 
Sometimes there is just so much noise. 


So this cat, he buys a relatively cheap rocket and flies to the moon. 

Tomorrow, I’m going to a hotel for a night. It’s about ten minutes from my house, and at first my parents were a bit confused [and grumpy] as to why I would spend so much money on not even going anywhere. I tried to explain it’s not even quite a holiday [I couldn’t afford one of those]. It’s more like trying to create a space for my mind to settle down, to recalibrate. It’s kind of just like I’m going crazy from the noise. 
Sometimes I feel so, so sad for no reason at all. Sometimes you telling me you don’t care hurts so much more than it should, or wondering whether I’m worth anyone’s time takes up the energy that should be spent on inserting myself into your time meaningfully. And I feel like I’m typing out an essay and my ‘r’ key is stuck but I can’t even hold onto the backspace key because it doesn’t completely cancel out what is already a flood of the wrong thing. Like I don’t know exactly what to do or how to help, and I feel like deleting the document or panicking and pulling the keyboard plug. What you actually have to do is really uncomfortable- wedge your nail underneath the key so it pops back up- which is metaphorically just getting out of your comfort zone. 


That cat ends up on the moon and really hates it. It’s strange and so uncomfortable and he’s away from everything he knows. I think the worst part is probably that he’s away from anyone he can talk to about it. So much has happened in my life that has been so weird and unexpected, and I’m grateful for my mum and dad and friends and dog who I can talk to about them. I wonder what my hotel experience will be like, because weirdly although it’s about being alone, I can’t wait to tell them when I get back. 

That cat ends up coming back down to earth. 

Sorry this post is so jumbled. It doesn’t have a point so to speak, I think it’s just more an insert of my life. Maybe it will be helpful to those who know just what I mean, or helpful for those who don’t know what is going on inside my head. —


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