There is a gigantic glass box on display in the City Gallery with one cat in it, and, in accord with Schrödinger, the cat is named Lex.
Schrödinger’s cat illustrates how a cat can be both alive and dead inside a nontransparent box where no one is able to observe it. Here, the box we are dealing with is, seemingly, transparent. The cat is no longer simply both alive and dead, because each side is different. Some have questioned what is inside the box, if there is a cat at all, but as you touch the cold wall of the box, you can almost feel the cat’s heartbeat. Accordingly, it’s a she.
Standing in front of the box, you see the cat in her round glasses and a white lab coat. The innate laws of the physical world that last longer than she does fascinate her, because studying the universe makes her feel that she belongs. She does belong, belong to the universe, as sooner or later she will become the particles she studied. There is one thing though. Try not to talk about the entropy if you find it disturbing. Although the concept states that the universe is always progressing towards disorder, she finds it irritating that people agree, without much thinking, that disorder is a bad thing. She will ask you, squinting behind her glasses, to prove that entropy has negative effects, whether you or she or anyone is happy today. She will ask you to define “good” first, of course.
Pacing to the left, you see the cat wearing a purple wig and weirdly shaped sunglasses, swaying to rap or punk music. She has lousy taste in art, or a brilliant one, for most people think she knows nothing about art, but art is never easily defined. Maybe she really knows nothing, but she knows what she likes, and it’s better than taking on others’ preferences. She got bored of telling people she loves Pink Floyd or Green Day or Eminem. For now, her favorite lyrics are “if the mountain does not come to me, I’ll walk up to it,” from a Chinese rap song, because it makes walking a very bold accomplishment. Also, notably, she’s a bad translator, but lyrics are always hard to translate, so the fault isn’t really hers.
At the back of the container, the cat seems less grumpy, more loving and kind. She always tries to welcome wallflowers in conversations, despite the fact that she is sometimes one of them. She won’t make you nervous. She hates it when teachers teach students to make “good friends” and stay away from negative people as if they are biological weapons. She likes that her friends are people who don’t laugh at the offensive jokes that kids make on introverts. She loves pretending to be sunflowers under the sun on the playground when she and her friend feel like wilting. They even fooled a butterfly, enough to get it to rest on them once.
Going around to the next side, the cat shows up in the same glasses but wearing a robe, like an ancient philosopher who is fond of making connections between the physical and the spiritual world. She writes on the stone wall behind her: “Schrödinger’s cat explains why particles change routes depending on whether there is an observer. The different coexisting possibilities of their moving tracks collapse into one when being observed.” She starts off another line, “From every angle, a cube only shows three faces at a time, and you never get to find out what it’s like on the three faces you’re not seeing.”
Then she leaves the chamber and enters the first one. Now you remember this is the exact fourth side you have seen, so you try to chase after her. But you’re stopped by an officer.
“Sir/Madam, I’m sorry, but the 650-word limit is reached. Your visit is over.”