Fan Wenyi:
My cat often suddenly appears on my kang. It moves quickly and takes the life of a mouse lightly. It came close to me and looked into my eyes, which made me feel a chill inside. It is still curled up at my feet, and its seemingly gentle, soft and beautiful fur makes me think.
My cat, moving in my heart, has a melancholy face, a melancholy heart, deep patterns, surly actions and gloomy thoughts. It lingers on the edge of my dream, silently. When I just woke up, it told me all the echoes when the snow mountain collapsed, but I don't know when it came to my heart and when it left my heart, in my dark body.
My cat may replace a desk lamp, then a book and a nostalgic heart. I don't need to see its specific coat color. Its plum-blossom-shaped footsteps entered my blood with the surrounding darkness. Tonight, my cat suddenly jumped out of me again. It lies in my arms, squinting at emerald eyes, and I hold it with peace of mind and use up my life.
Fan Wener:
That's a bunch of dirty cats. They are everywhere because they are a group of stray cats. Nobody knows why they don't have a home. They may be abandoned or fled. As a result, they became stray cats. I want them to have a home and eat well. They are actually our friends, so I hope they can have a good life.
It's me, the cat. Sparse buttonwood trees cut out twisted and strange shadows under the gibberish of dusk, and the obese bodies on the stage were savagely sewn up. I stood on the railing and looked at the audience coldly, in a creeping mirror.
Countless clamorous desires stung my eyes. Hey! The gears that are getting clearer and clearer in front of us turn as scheduled. I don't know where, I stretched out a hand and gently, gently pushed the fake me down. She was thinking about her cat when she fell down. The shadows on the stage are filthy and screaming: I am a cat, and a cat is me.
Fan Wensan:
The old cat in my hometown, my best playmate when I was a child, will never miss it again. I just wrote a poem for you so that the right person in my life can have it. I know you've always been great in this world. That summer, I carried my bags and set foot on a foreign land to make a living. You hold my ankle and hold my calf. I know how you feel in the dull goal, and I am worried about you and me.
Another spring, I went to Qiu Lai, and the old cat left quietly. I didn't wait until I got home. It has become a loess culture, fattening the roses in the yard and blooming brilliantly in the summer sun. I really want to go back to the past, to the carefree days of children, where my youth and the memory of my old cat are buried.
I miss an old cat, just for the youth in each other's lives. If there is an afterlife, I would like to turn into a cat, play with you in the flowers, chase dancing butterflies, grow old with you, turn into two handfuls of soil, and nourish the rose in the yard.