The Cat Is Me

A striking white cat perches in the window downstairs from where I live. I’d never seen this cat before, and it captivated me. I greeted the kitty. She quickly turned away, slinking through the drapery, to vanish within. After a few tentative encounters, she deemed me worthy of her presence and stayed. I made her first portrait.

I cannot predict when the cat will appear. Days pass, and the window remains empty. Then the next day, there she is, calmly waiting for me. Sometimes, she engages, curious and playful. Other times she lashes out, aloof. Still, she allows me to photograph her. She preens, poses, pounces, hisses, spits, and purrs. Her mercurial nature guides my eye.

The collection of cat portraits grew, and I knew I was onto something. Once the politicizing of the pandemic overtook our lives and civil divisions were avowed, the metaphor crystallized. The cat’s confined and frayed habitat parallels our new reality; we feel trapped, provoked, and going it alone in a collapsing world.

As we move through this massive cultural shift, the cat’s emotions mirror our isolation, apprehension, distrust, restlessness, and rage. The cat won’t change. The cat wants what it wants, demanding offerings of kibble and veneration to which it believes itself entitled. We, too, are domesticated animals, dependent upon one another for survival. These candid images of an enigmatic creature revealed let us reflect on our own untamed nature, visible beyond the pane.

The cat is me.

— Cat Gwynn