An Orange Cat Oracle of Absurdity Story
Part 2 of 2
The audience settles back into attentive uncertainty.
The waves continue arriving exactly on schedule, which is unusual for anything discussed during an economics lecture.
The Oracle stands upon the driftwood podium and surveys the gathering. The gathering surveys back. Several members of the crowd appear to have multiplied during the intermission.
One gentleman now has two hats. Another appears to have become entirely theoretical.
The Orange Cat Oracle accepts this without comment.
He has learned that reality performs best when not supervised too closely.
“Now then,” says the Oracle.
The sea breeze adjusts the towel-cloak with ceremonial respect.
“Where were we?”
A voice rises from somewhere in the audience. “The loaf of bread acquired a marketing department.”
The Oracle sighs. “Yes. A tragic but increasingly common condition.”
The crowd murmurs sympathetically.
The Oracle resumes pacing.
“The loaf was once simple.”
It gestures toward the horizon.
“It knew what it was.”
“It was bread.”
The cat pauses.
“Then it became Artisanal Heritage Bread.”
The audience shifts uneasily.
The Oracle continues.
“It acquired a logo.”
A pause.
“A slogan.”
Another pause.
“A social media presence.”
A horrified silence spreads across the beach. Even the gulls look concerned.
The Oracle nods gravely. “And eventually it became expensive enough to develop opinions.”
The crowd collectively winces.
A wave crashes ashore. Perhaps in protest. Perhaps in agreement. The sea rarely explains itself.
The Oracle sits briefly upon the podium.
“Now understand, the loaf itself has done nothing wrong.”
The audience relaxes slightly.
“It merely drifted.” The Orange Cat Oracle points toward the ocean. “Just like driftwood.”
A piece of driftwood tumbles gently in the shallows as if responding to its cue.
“Imagine two logs.”
The Oracle raises two paws
“The first log breaks free from a riverbank a few kilometres away.”
A paw lowers.
“The second travels hundreds of kilometres through storms, currents and seasons.”
The other paw lowers.
“Eventually they wash ashore beside one another.”
The audience nods.
“So it is with prices.”
The Oracle’s tail flicks thoughtfully.
“Two items may cost the same amount.”
The cat leans forward.
“Yet one arrived there through drought.”
“Another through fuel costs.”
“Another through labour shortages.”
“Another through politics.”
“Another through somebody making a terrible decision on a Tuesday.”
The audience laughs. A few members laugh nervously. They may be remembering specific Tuesdays.
The Oracle allows the laughter to settle.
“Humans often see only the price.” The cat taps the podium. “But every price has travelled.”
The driftwood podium creaks approvingly. It appreciates journey-based metaphors.
“They arrive carrying stories.”
“Storms.”
“Shortages.”
“Abundance.”
“Fear.”
“Hope.”
The Oracle glances toward the sea.
“Occasionally they even arrive carrying common sense.”
The audience waits.
The Oracle shrugs.
“Not often.”
A gull lands nearby. The gull looks experienced. Not wise. Merely experienced. The distinction matters. The gull eyes the audience suspiciously. The audience eyes the gull suspiciously.
Mutual understanding is achieved.
The Oracle continues.
“Now we come to the question humans always ask.”
He pauses dramatically.
This takes longer than necessary.
The Oracle enjoys suspense.
The audience tolerates it.
Mostly.
“Can we stop the drift?”
The waves seem interested in the answer. Several audience members lean forward. One becomes approximately six inches longer in the process.
The Oracle considers the horizon.
“You can try. Humans are excellent at trying.”
The audience appears pleased.
“Humans build rules.”
“Policies.”
“Institutions.”
“Committees.”
The Oracle pauses.
The audience groans. Nobody likes committees. Not even committees.
The Oracle continues.
“Humans create things called stability.”
The cat points toward a large rock further up the beach.
“Stability is a wonderful idea.”
A wave rolls in. Another follows. Another. The rock remains where it is.
The audience nods approvingly.
Then the Oracle points toward a much smaller stone beside it. The tide reaches the smaller stone. The stone shifts. Just slightly. But enough.
“There,” says the Oracle.
The audience studies it.
“Even stability moves.”
He settles back onto his haunches.
“The universe enjoys motion.”
The waves agree.
Or at least continue behaving in a manner that could be interpreted as agreement.
“Nothing stays exactly where it started.”
The Oracle gestures toward the podium.
“This driftwood.”
It pats the wood affectionately.
“Once a tree.”
The podium creaks.
“Now a podium.”
The podium creaks more proudly.
The Oracle points at the crowd.
“You arrived as listeners.”
A pause.
“You will leave as people who have attended an economics lecture delivered by an Orange Cat Oracle.”
The audience reflects upon this. Several appear mildly concerned.
The Oracle points at the sea.
“Even the water before us.”
The waves continue their endless motion.
“Not one drop remains where it was yesterday.”
The Orange Cat Oracle smiles.
“Existence is mostly drift with excellent public relations.”
The crowd writes this down immediately.
The Oracle notices.
“Good.”
“That one will be on the exam.”
There is no exam.
The audience writes faster.
A cloud drifts lazily overhead. Its shape vaguely resembles a pie chart. The Oracle narrows his eyes. “Show-off.”
The cloud pretends not to hear.
The lecture continues.
“Now then.”
The Oracle jumps lightly onto the top of the podium.
The podium accepts this responsibility with quiet dignity.
“Driftwood is not useless.”
The Orange Cat Oracle spreads his paws.
“It builds fires.”
“It becomes furniture.”
“It becomes art.”
“It becomes stories.”
The audience nods.
The Oracle’s voice softens.
“It tells you where the water has been.”
A gentle silence settles over the beach. Even the gulls refrain from interruption. Mostly. One gull still appears committed to being a gull.
The Oracle continues.
“Inflation also tells a story.”
The Oracle gazes toward the horizon.
“Not the story you want.”
A pause.
“The story you have.”
The audience becomes very quiet.
The Oracle lets the silence linger.
“Humans often ask why prices rise.”
He shakes his head.
“The better question is what journey brought them there.”
The sea glitters beneath the morning sun.
“Walk the beach.”
The Oracle gestures broadly.
“Look at the driftwood.”
“Ask where it came from.”
“Ask what storms carried it.”
“Ask what currents guided it.”
The Orange Cat Oracle’s eyes narrow thoughtfully.
“Then ask the same questions about prices.”
A breeze sweeps across the sand. The audience listens. Or perhaps the beach itself listens. The distinction feels increasingly unimportant.
The Oracle sits.
His tail curls neatly around his paws.
“Humans believe inflation begins in banks.”
He shakes his head.
“Sometimes.”
A pause.
“Sometimes it begins in weather.”
“Sometimes in drought.”
“Sometimes in war.”
“Sometimes in fuel.”
“Sometimes in fear.”
The Oracle looks toward the sea. The water sparkles beneath the growing sunlight.
“And sometimes it begins when enough people agree that tomorrow will cost more than today.”
The audience absorbs this carefully.
The Oracle nods.
“The tide, after all, is just water agreeing with itself.”
For a long moment nobody speaks. Not the crowd. Not the waves. Not even the gulls.
The morning seems to pause and consider the possibility.
Then the Oracle hops gracefully down from the podium.
The driftwood sighs, relieved to return to being wood instead of a metaphor.
The lecture is clearly over. The audience begins dissolving back into uncertainty. A hat leaves without its owner. A shadow departs before the person casting it.
One listener quietly becomes a rumour.
The Oracle watches them go as he turrns and walks away.
Then he stops, and adds:
“One final observation.”
The remaining audience freezes.
The Oracle does not turn around. One ear of each audience member enlarges in anticipation.
“If you ever discover a price that has drifted all the way back to where it started…”
The Orange Cat Oracle glances over his shoulder.
His eyes gleam with ancient amusement.
“…do not trust it.”
The audience waits. The waves wait. Even the sun seems curious.
The Oracle smiles.
“It has learned the tides.”
The crowd applauds.
Or perhaps the waves do.
Or perhaps applause and waves are simply different ways of expressing agreement.
The driftwood podium settles deeper into the sand. The sea continues its endless conversation with the shore.
And somewhere far beyond the horizon, a loaf of artisanal heritage bread with a marketing department and a social media presence becomes slightly more expensive.
The tide, naturally, knows why.
The End