Poetry: Explaining Relativity to the Cat

Explain­ing Rel­a­tiv­i­ty to the Cat
–Jen­nifer Gresham
From Diary of a Cell

Imag­ine, if you will, three mice.
Con­trary to what you have
heard, they are not blind
but are in a spaceship
trav­el­ing near the speed of light.
This makes them unavailable
for your sup­per, yes.

So these mice, trav­el­ing near
the speed of light, appear
quite fat, though there is
no cheese aboard. This is
sim­ply a dis­tor­tion of mass,
because the mass of a mouse
is noth­ing more than a bundle
of light, and vice ver­sa. I see
how this might imply mice
are in the light fixtures,
undoubt­ed­ly a prob­lem, so

let me try again.
If two peo­ple attempted
to feed you simultaneously,
no doubt a good situation,
but you were on a train
trav­el­ing near the speed
of light, the food would
appear unap­pe­tiz­ing, falling
to the plate in slow motion,
an extend­ed glob of protein
that nev­er smelled good,
if you ask me, train or no.
The affin­i­ty of the food
for the plate, what we call
grav­i­ty, is real­ly just
a stretch in the fabric
of a space-time continuum,
what hap­pens when you
have sat in a seat too long,
per­haps on this very train.

Oh kit­ty, I know how you hate
to trav­el and the jour­ney must
have made you tired. Come now,
lick your coat one more time
and let us make haste
from this strange city
of light and fan­tas­tic dream.