Queen Cat yawns when I open the door. Hey, Queen Cat say I, I am back, but only the royal whiskers move a bit as an answer. You are called feline I say to her, because you are supposed to hunt around midnight, to dance on exclusive balls organized by the “ Swinging Cat Association” and be admired by the manly world of the cats. But Queen Cat just looks annoyed in my direction, being quite distracted in the very same ways most of my teachers were, pointing at me to show how an example looks like, which is not able to understand the easiest things and won’t become much more than a care-taker in a hostel at the motorway if I would be lucky. Then Queen Cat jumps on the bed, of course on my side of the bed and falls asleep two seconds later. Sometimes I think it can’t be much harder to live together with this queen than with a dragon, who cuts his golden claws every Tuesday and reads novels by Patricia Cornwall. ( This is what these species normally does, so don’t believe anyone telling you about fire and smoke.)My neighbor’s window shimmers blue, on the screen flickers one of the many sports games, taking place night after night, and every evening after evening people are getting excited. But in my place, on the table the lilac in the old white vase is not blossoming anymore, a whole lot of violet and white crumbles are on the table, next to the pile of unread papers and the organic box. For the first time in the year there are no turnips or parsnips in the massive bag arriving at my door week by week. This means that even in Ireland the summer has arrived but it does of course not mean that the woolly socks will disappear in the drawer, that’s an all year survival tool. While I share my bed with a queen of true origin, which means to arrange with little space for myself, I think of the old emperor Francis Joseph, who slept on a camp bed in the massive castle, the “Hofburg” in Vienna, and I remember the book I read recently, containing the letters between the emperor and the actress Katharina Schratt. The relation depicted there, showed a woman, who begs constantly for money, which he will not only grant, but fervently show him worshipping her and her wishes. There is no wit, no love, not even sympathy, but constant claims and wishes. She is not entertaining, nor is he, no one ever has something to tell beyond the common place, there are no anecdotes to be expected but endless  tearful talk to be found, till money is needed again. But maybe even this feels like love for someone who sleeps on a camp-bed, left alone in a massive palace, where servants are the only ones left to be heard or then and when an antique wooden- clock reminds the old emperor that his time already passed by and the new one would soon take over, leaving behind the old world destroyed in bits and pieces. But maybe the emperor never cared and dreamed happily of a greedy actress, because we get what we deserve sooner or later or at least are being told so, before we understand that the luck only visits few and most often not us. The old wooden clock in my parlor went asleep too, maybe yesterday or already the day before, somewhat around four o’clock. But today is already over, the sea is silent, the moon is full and always smiles sadly and the time runs by, even if the old wooden clock tries to pretend that tomorrow, might not come tonight.

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