Pension of 600 Yuan for a Cat

On the day the CPPCC meeting closed, the sky in Beijing was as gray as a crumpled old newspaper. I walked slowly along Chang'an Avenue, my tail dragging listlessly on the ground. Actually, I'm not human, I'm a cat, a gray and white stray that's been wandering this city for who knows how long.

Someone said that this year's agenda included the issue of basic pensions for peasants, saying it would be raised to 600 yuan. Six hundred yuan, I tilted my head, what kind of concept is that? How many cans of cat food could it buy? Or, how many decent nights could it provide, without having to rummage through garbage cans for rotten fish bones?

Of course, I don't understand human politics, nor the twists and turns behind those numbers. I only know that this city is very big, so big that it's like a maze you can never walk out of. In the maze, there are luxurious hotels, flashing neon lights, and barbecue stalls emitting tempting aromas. But none of these have anything to do with me. My world is just the cold concrete under my feet, and the occasional half-piece of bread thrown by a kind passerby.

I once had an owner, an old man with gray hair, living in a bungalow in an urban village. He would go to the post office every month to collect his pension, then buy some rice, flour, and oil, and then buy me a bag of cat food. I remember the taste of that cat food, although it wasn't delicious, it was at least enough to fill my stomach.

Later, the old man fell ill. I remember that night, many people came to the house, making a lot of noise. I hid under the bed, watched the old man's body being carried away, and then, I never saw him again.

The house was demolished, and I became a stray cat.

I continued to walk forward, passing a huge billboard that read "XX Prosperous Age". I looked up, squinted at the words, and only felt that they were particularly glaring under the gray sky.

"Hey, cat," a voice suddenly sounded behind me.

I turned around and saw a man in a black trench coat. He was wearing sunglasses, so I couldn't see his eyes. He squatted down, took a ham sausage out of his pocket, tore open the package, and handed it to me.

"Eat," he said.

I hesitated for a moment, then went over and carefully took a bite. The taste of the ham sausage was very fragrant, with a kind of luxury that I had never experienced before.

"You know?" the man suddenly said, "There are many things in this world, like this ham sausage, they look beautiful, but in reality..." He paused, as if thinking of the right words, "In reality, it's just a bunch of additives and preservatives."

I looked up at him, not understanding what he was trying to say.

"Just like those numbers, 600 yuan, it sounds like a lot, but in this city, what can it do?" he continued, his voice low and hoarse, "You can't even buy a decent cat bed."

I licked my paws and finished the rest of the ham sausage.

The man stood up and brushed the dust off his clothes. "Let's go, cat," he said, "Let's go see this world."

I followed him, walking into the gray smog. I didn't know where he was taking me, nor what the future held. I only knew that in this huge, indifferent city, I, like him, was a lonely existence. Perhaps, we are all like that 600 yuan pension, insignificant, yet bearing a certain unspeakable weight. Like the maverick pig in Wang Xiaobo's writing, in this era, we always have to find something to prove that we are still alive. Perhaps, it's just for the next meal, perhaps, it's just for a warm night, or perhaps... it's just to find an answer that can never be found. This answer is hidden deep in the maze, hidden in the gray sky, and also hidden in the heart of every person, or every cat.