The Cat Who Counted Stars

“I only chase what can’t be caught,” he said,

a black cat, sleek as spilled ink, curling

on the edge of the astronomer’s desk.

He watched numbers rise like new constellations.

“Careful,” murmured the man, “wonder is a fever.”

But the cat could not resist. He leapt,

not at the stars, but through them,

counting their light until the count dissolved.

In the morning, only silence remained,

and the man, at last, understood

how a creature dies not from loss.

But from the unbearable beauty of knowing too much.