The Urban Legend

A city’s cats are their most honest insights. A living index of behaviors. An urban lifestyle embodied by its inhabitants on four legs, their fur and feet speak of a city just as its names. 

Their fur traps the dust of construction sites, shaken off by the flicking of tails against market stalls and café chairs, tracing through the rhythms of human life with an indifference that is neither hostile nor forgiving—just knowing. 

I’m convinced they are the quiet keepers of a city’s secrets. Who else moves so freely between walls and doorways, lingering in the gaps we overlook? A cat may vanish into an open window, slip between the bars of a half-closed gate, or find a perch perfectly at eye level to catch a glance when you least expect. 

Some fear the black cat who crosses their path like broken mirrors and open umbrellas, seeing in its shadow the shape of misfortune. The cat moves forward regardless of our superstitions, slipping past like time itself and unburdened by the weight of human myths. They understand the rules of the street better than we who proclaimed them: that presence is not the same as possession.

I love the cats that lurk just out of reach, present yet untouchable. Those who let you approach but never too close. I love the loud-mouths who scream for your attention, lest you somehow slip by without paying them mind. I adore the hunters, those who stalk in silence mice and bugs. 

They chase away the real pests: not just the rodents, but the people who recoil at the simple existence of something untamed in their carefully ordered world. Owners aside, they belong to the city and also to no one at all.