An Orange Cat Oracle of Absurdity Story
Part 1 of 2
The Orange Cat Oracle arrives before the sunrise, which is rude of the sun but typical.
The beach is quiet except for the waves, which are having one of their endless conversations with the shore. Neither side appears willing to compromise.
The Oracle is already standing behind his driftwood podium. This is impressive because nobody saw him arrive.
One moment there was an empty stretch of sand. The next there was an orange cat in a towel-cloak, standing behind a podium constructed entirely from driftwood and confidence.
The podium looks as though it washed ashore carrying several strong opinions and at least one unresolved argument.
The wood is pale and twisted. Knotted by storms. Polished by tides.
It has the look of something that has travelled a great distance simply to make a point.
The Oracle, being orange, improves it considerably.
A gull lands nearby. It stares at the podium. The podium stares back. The gull decides it has walked into a private conversation and leaves.
There is a crowd.
Or perhaps there is the possibility of a crowd.
Rows of almost-listeners occupy the beach in a broad semicircle of uncertainty.
Some wear hats.
Some wear the memory of hats.
Some appear fully present until you look directly at them, at which point they become oddly vague around the edges.
One gentleman seems to consist entirely of moustache. Another appears to be mostly scarf. A woman in the third row flickers gently between three different decades. Nobody remarks upon this.
One audience member coughs.
The cough implies the existence of lungs but declines to provide evidence.
The Orange Cat Oracle clears his throat.
Several members of the audience immediately agree they heard it.
One takes notes.
Another takes notes on the first person’s notes.
A third takes notes on the possibility of notes.
The Oracle nods approvingly.
“Welcome.”
The sea breeze pauses to listen.
“Today,” says the Oracle, “we shall discuss inflation and driftwood.”
The audience murmurs. Or perhaps the ocean does. It is becoming increasingly difficult to tell the difference.
“Specifically,” continues the Oracle, “why they are secretly the same thing.”
A small wave rolls ashore. Then retreats. Apparently unconvinced.
The Oracle places both paws on the driftwood podium.
The podium creaks softly.
This is not so much agreement as anticipation.
The sun considers rising.
A faint line of gold appears on the horizon.
The Oracle glances toward it.
“About time.”
The sun ignores this criticism.
It has a reputation for professionalism.
“Let us begin with definitions.” The Oracle taps the podium.
The podium absorbs the tap and quietly files it under Waves, But Upright.
“Inflation,” says the Oracle, “is what happens when numbers decide they are too small for their stories.”
The crowd reflects upon this. Several members appear confused. One appears promoted.
The Oracle continues.
“Humans like numbers because numbers look sensible.”
A pause.
“They are not.”
The audience nods.
A beach umbrella nods as well. Nobody remembers seeing a beach umbrella arrive. It simply seems to have become involved.
“Humans see a number and think they understand it.”
The Oracle waves a paw dismissively.
“Five rand. Fifty rand. Five hundred rand.”
The Orange Cat Oracle leans forward.
“But numbers are merely tiny containers trying desperately to hold enormous realities.”
A gull circles overhead.
The Oracle points at it.
“Take that gull.”
The gull immediately regrets existing.
“You could count it as one gull.”
The Oracle shrugs.
“Simple.”
The audience nods.
“Or you could count it as one professional chip thief, two functioning wings, seven suspicious intentions, and approximately twelve future complaints from tourists.”
The audience nods again. This seems equally reasonable. The gull leaves before it can be quantified further.
The sun rises another fraction. The sky begins filling with pale oranges and golds that seem suspiciously coordinated with the Oracle’s fur. The Oracle pretends not to notice.
“Now then.”
He taps the driftwood podium.
“Driftwood.”
The podium straightens slightly. It enjoys this part.
“Driftwood,” says the Oracle, “is what happens when trees miss their appointments with forests.”
The crowd murmurs appreciatively.
One audience member writes that down.
Another writes it down more dramatically.
“Once,” continues the Oracle, patting the wood, “this podium was a tree.”
The podium seems pleased to be remembered.
“It stood somewhere. It belonged somewhere.”
The Oracle gazes toward the sea.
“It had roots.”
A pause.
“It had birds.”
A longer pause.
“It had birds with opinions.”
The podium creaks. This appears to confirm the statement.
“Then something happened.”
The Oracle spreads its paws.
“A storm.”
“A flood.”
“A river with ambitions.”
“Perhaps the tree simply decided it had seen enough of standing still.”
The audience nods. This last explanation feels surprisingly plausible.
“Whatever the reason, it became unmoored.”
The Oracle’s voice softens. “It left certainty behind.”
A wave crashes gently onto the shore.
“It drifted.” The cat points toward the ocean.
“At first, only a little.”
“Then farther.”
“And farther.”
“Until eventually it became part of the great collection of elsewhere things.”
The audience sits quietly. The sea provides background music.
“Inflation behaves exactly the same way.”
The sun finally commits to morning. Golden light spills across the beach. Several audience members become noticeably more real. One becomes less real.
Balance is maintained.
“Humans imagine inflation as charts.”
The Oracle begins pacing.
One step left.
Two steps right.
One step in a direction not formally recognised by geometry.
“Lines rising upward.”
“Percentages wearing suits.”
“Economists making thoughtful noises.”
The Oracle stops.
“Incorrect.”
A crab emerges from beneath the podium. It is dragging a bottle cap.
The Oracle points.
“Observe.”
The audience observes.
The crab continues dragging the bottle cap.
“Professor Pinchy.”
The crab pauses.
“The foremost expert in coastal monetary policy.”
Professor Pinchy immediately buries the bottle cap.
The audience gasps.
The Oracle nods.
“A textbook example of asset allocation.”
Professor Pinchy disappears underground. His work complete. The audience applauds. Or the sand shifts slightly. Again, difficult to tell.
The Oracle resumes pacing.
“Humans think inflation is about prices rising.”
He shakes his head.
“No. That is merely the symptom.”
The Oracle points toward the ocean. “Inflation is drift.”
The waves seem interested now.
“Consider a loaf of bread.”
The audience does. One member appears to imagine an entire bakery.
“Once upon a time, a loaf of bread had a tidy relationship with reality.”
The Orange Cat Oracle begins counting on his claws.
“Grain.”
“Water.”
“Effort.”
“Time.”
“A baker willing to wake up at an unreasonable hour.”
The crowd nods. Everything appears sensible.
The Oracle smiles. The smile suggests trouble ahead.
“Suppose that loaf costs ten rand.”
The audience nods.
“Fair enough.”
The Oracle nods as well.
“Then something shifts.”
A paw gesture.
“A fuel price.”
“A drought.”
“A shipping delay.”
“A storm.”
“A shortage.”
“A decision made in a distant office by someone who says things like ‘market conditions’.”
The audience shudders. Nobody trusts market conditions. They sound contagious.
“So the loaf becomes twelve rand.”
The Oracle pauses.
“Still close to shore.”
The audience nods.
“Twelve rand still remembers being ten rand.”
The crowd considers this deeply.
The Oracle continues.
“But then more currents arrive.”
The sea seems pleased to be involved.
“Fuel.”
“Packaging.”
“Transport.”
“Energy.”
“Exchange rates.”
“Supply chains.”
The Oracle lowers his voice.
“And consultants.”
The audience gasps.
A child-shaped possibility in the back row drops an imaginary ice cream.
The Oracle nods gravely.
“Especially consultants.”
The loaf drifts farther.
Fifteen rand. Eighteen rand. Twenty.
Twenty-five.
The Oracle spreads his paws.
“And before long, the loaf has acquired a marketing department.”
The audience falls silent. This is clearly serious.
The Oracle glances toward the brightening sea. The waves roll steadily onward. The tide is beginning to come in.
“That,” says the Oracle, “is where we shall continue after a brief pause to allow reality to catch up.”
The crowd applauds.
Or the waves do.
Or perhaps both have finally reached an agreement.
[End of Part 1 of 2] Read Part 2