There is a great deal of uncertainty as to whether or not Schroedinger's cat actually kept a
diary.  In as much as the probability of a literate cat is very slim, and even more slim is the
probability that a literate cat would be able to manipulate a pen, or master a keyboard, I can fully understand this mounting world-wide skepticism.  However, I am here of my own free will (such as it may or may not be) to tell the world that a diary does exist.  I have not only read it several
times, I've read it a few more times than that.  I own the damned thing.  It's right here in front of
me, and I plan to begin sharing it with you in just a few moments.
          However, before I do that, I would like to make clear a few points.  Schroedinger did not
own this cat.  No, No.  To call him Schroedinger's cat is not only unfair to the cat, it is unfair to
Schroedinger, who was never aware of the cat's existence.  The cat, Seymorticus Rex, owned
himself in spite of his involuntary incarceration at the hands of an alarmingly malodorous
employee of a person named Wigner.
          Since Seymorticus Rex had very large paws, his diary was in need of much editing.  For example:  The word THE was  often spelled 5TYHRE.  This was due, of course, to his large paws hitting more than just the keys  he was hunting and pecking for.  His skill did improve toward the end, but not by much.
          Seymour's atrocious typing skill, his meandering to subjects of interest only to other cats, and his tendency to nap in the middle of a paragraph and then wake to proceed with a
completely different train of thought, have impelled me to compose a translation of his diary in the form of a  third person narrative that I hope you will find possesses a somewhat pleasing literary flavor.
 

          "Hair balls," said Seymour to himself.  He was looking at a road-kill too long dead to risk a nibble.  He had not eaten for three days.  He was so hungry he could have eaten a bowl of beaks.
Even the full-bellied feeling of a hair ball would have been welcomed.
          He began to lick at his belly.  He bit and pulled at his fur.  He licked his belly again,
thought it a bad idea, and skulked toward some bushes; casting a wary eye in this direction, and
then that.
          He was in a small park near the University of California in San Francisco.  It was a very
dangerous place to be a cat.  It was dangerous because of the bullying raccoons that crowd the
city, but it was made even more dangerous by the lurking of many scientists that are more then
willing to trade in slaves.  University cities have always been risky business for free-lance felines
with blood still coursing through their veins.
          He moved cautiously with tail trailing low to the ground.  He listened carefully.  He sniffed
the air.  He smelled no raccoons.  There were the usual odors of dog, human, regurgitated
alcoholic beverages, but neither sign nor scent of raccoon.  The comfort of no raccoons was offset
by the amazing absence of fresh Tom Spray.  He rectified this situation with a few well placed
streams of his own, then curled-up between a log and small bench for a long over-due nap.
          "Rrrraaaaaaa ggueerrrrrrrr.  Hiiiissssssss," exclaimed Seymour as he was violently startled
from his nap.
          "Oh, boy.  Wigner will love you.  Bet I get two bucks for you," said an amazingly
malodorous human at the far end of a long wooden pole.
          Seymour was high in the air entangled in a net hanging from a hoop at the end of that
wooden pole.
          His nap had been interrupted.
          His freedom had been terminated.
          After making sure that Seymour was securely entangled in the net, the human laid him on
the ground.  Seymour was screaming and clawing at everything.  It was then that the human
covered Seymour with a large towel.  The towel was damp with a liquid that had an odor that
forced Seymour into unconsciousness.
          When he woke, Seymour found himself in a very uncomfortable wire cage.  He was in a
room filled with wire cages of varying sizes.  Some of the cages were empty, others had animals in
them.  Many of the animals were of a type Seymour had never seen before.  However, in the cage
next to him was another cat.
          "So, I see you're awake," said the cat next door.
          "Yeah.  But I'm not sure it's such a great thing."
          "My name's Castraticus Nix."
          Seymour felt a cold chill run down his spine and hover near the base of his tail.
          "Where are we?" asked Seymour.
          "UCSF.  One of their labs."
          "A lab!?!  Oh-oh."
          "Yep.  A lab."
          "What the hell is that on your head?" asked Seymour.  "They're not going to do that to
me, are they?  They're not going to... to... to nix me.  Are they?"
          "No.  That box over there is for you.  This?  I don't know what this is.  One day I start a
nap, the next thing I know this is on my head.  And as far as my nixing is concerned, that was
done by two humans that claimed to love me; until they decided that fur clashed with their decor."
          "What's in the box?" asked Seymour, trying to keep the nix out of his mind.
          "I don't know.  One or another of the assistants use to bring it in here every morning, and
then takes it out every evening.  They kept complaining that no one had been able to find a cat;
something to do with a protest going on outside.  Anyway, last evening, one of the assistants came
to take it out, saw you in your cage, and left it.  That's one of the reasons I know it's for you."
          "What's the other reason?"
          "Because the assistant who brought the box in here yesterday, before she left, well, she
walked up to your cage and said, 'So you're going to be Schroedinger's cat.'  It's Schroedinger's
box, and it's been here all last night and today."
          "How long have I been here?" Seymour asked.
          "Day-an'-a-half," said Castraticus Nix.
          "Is there any way out of here?"
          "Out of the cages, sure."  Castraticus Nix played with the latch and his cage door swung
open.  "It's that door over there that's the problem.  They keep it locked."
          "Hum," said Seymour.
          "I haven't been able to think of anyway around that lock," said Castraticus.
          "Yeah.  Well, you're not me," replied Seymour.
          This comment was followed by a great deal of hissing, swatting, and general caterwauling; a
few naps; a long discussion on how easy it is to catch an alligator lizard and how tasty their heads
are; how horrid bird beaks are; how wonderful catnip is; a debate centered around the veracity of
Castraticus Nix's claim that he had once met a cat that actually liked to eat bird's feet; more
hissing and swatting; a lot of laughing about how easy it is to get a rise out of humans by simply
staring at a blank wall; and finally Seymour's escape plan.
          "So now what do we do?" asked Nix.
          "We wait."
          Castraticus Nix and Seymorticus Rex were hiding inside Schroedinger's box.
          Seymorticus Rex's plan was to wait for an assistant other than the one that had last
delivered the box to enter the lab, see that the cage was empty, assume that a cat had not been
located for Schroedinger's experiment, and take the box with Castraticus Nix and Seymorticus
Rex in it out of the lab and to freedom.  Hallelujah!
          "But how do you know it will be the assistant that will come in first?  What if it's
Schroedinger and his colleagues?  Then what?" cried Castraticus Nix.
          "Then we're dead meat, that's what.  We're color coded kitties for a biology class.  Shit!  It's a fifty-fifty proposition.  We stay in here for a day or so and then open her up and see which it is;
death or freedom.  You don't have a better plan, do you?" asked Seymorticus Rex.
          "Well, no, I don't."
          "Then quit your whining.  Nothing is going to to be until we open the box."
          "What-da-ya-mean, 'Nothing is going to be until we open the box?'" asked Castraticus.
          "Listen.  You've heard of that human that said, 'I think therefore I am.'?"
          "Yeah.  That makes sense."
          "Sure.  As far as it goes.  But you see, humans don't sleep that much, and a lot of them
don't seem to dream very often, so they aren't aware of the extent that dreams, ie. thoughts, play
in the on going becoming of reality.  I've taken that statement a step further by saying, 'I observe,
henceforth it is.'"
          "What?  Are you saying that something doesn't exist until you observe it?" asked
Castraticus Nix.
          "You got it.  Until then it's all qwiffs."
          "Qwiffs?"
          "Yes.  Possibilities that don't become real until observed.  Until we open that lid, the
outside is a qwiff.  We pop that qwiff by observing it.  Only then does it become real.  Until then
it's just probability.  In the case of our survival, a fifty-fifty probability."
          "I can't believe it.  You're saying that nothing exists until its observed," said Castraticus
Nix.
          "Yep.  The universe is all possible paths until it's observed and the qwiff is popped and
becomes as observed for that observer," said Seymorticus Rex.
          "Hold it just one second.  Ignoring the fact that I don't think that the universe gives a
damn, or is capable of giving a damn, whether you, me, or any other cat observes it, are you also
saying that it doesn't follow hard and fast rules of cause and effect?  That it is random chance that guides the universe?" exclaimed Castraticus Nix in an unbelieving voice.
          "Yep," said Seymorticus Rex.
          "And you think that our observing it effects its direction?" asked Castraticus Nix in a
deliberately calmed voice.
          "Yep squared."
          Seymour knew he was starting to irritate Castraticus Nix, and he loved it.
          "If you don't believe the universe is ruled by random chance, Castraticus Nix, then you
must believe that it follows uncompromising rules.  Correct?"
          "Correct.  Simply because we are unable to measure, or understand those rules doesn't
mean they don't exist.  Simply because something appears to be random is not proof that it is.
We are the source of the uncertainty.  How can you blame the universe for our short-comings?  I
can understand your use of probabilities until we've found a formula that works better than the
formulas using probabilities, but, Seymorticus, come on now.  To assume a randomness because
of a random appearance is to reject scientific methodology."
          "Castraticus Nix.  'Come on now' yourself.  If the basic nature of the universe is not
random, and our observation of it plays no part in its direction, then you are denying your own
free will."
          "Yes.  I am.  I believe that the universe is following hard and fast rules, and that all is
determined by cause and effect, and that free will is an illusory effect caused by the existence of an ego.  Quite a large and insecure one in some cases, I might add."
          "Castraticus Nix.  You have to believe in free will.  You have no choice in the matter."
Castraticus Nix chuckled as Seymorticus Rex continued.  "If you don't believe in free will, why
continue?  What's the point."
          "'Why continue,' you say?  I will use your own line, and much more appropriately, 'You
have no choice in the matter.'  That's why."
          They knocked this around for thirty-six hour.  Neither cat could budge the other on their
basic view of reality.  It finally came time to open the box, witness the predetermined result of a
rigidly conforming chain of events, or put an end to a wave-function, a flux state of random
possibilities and see at what point the observer pops the qwiff.
          "It's time to pop the qwiff and play the vital role in the creating of our reality," said
Seymour.  He said it in a condescending tone meant to irritate Castraticus Nix.  He knew
Castraticus was frightened.
          Castraticus Nix began to cry.
          "Oh come on.  Quit being a puss.  You're the one that believes what's out there is out there
regardless of our observing it.  You're the one that doesn't believe in free...  Oh, I don't want to go through it again."
          Seymorticus slowly began to open the box.
          Nix curled in a corner and hid his head.
          Seymorticus Rex looked outside and inhaled in shock.
          Castraticus whimpered and asked to know; would they be killed or are they free at last.
          Seymorticus said, "I never thought this would be outside the box."
          Nix cried, "Oh God.  What is it?"
          Seymorticus Rex turned toward Nix and said, "I'm not saying.  Until you look for yourself,
it will be a qwiff hanger for you."
 
 

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