I sat down with my tabby on a rainy afternoon, Said, “Buddy, let me teach you why electrons act so strange and swoon.” He yawned and licked his shoulder, gave a look that seemed to say, “Unless this ends in tuna, human, kindly go away.” Oh, I'm explaining quantum mechanics to my cat, Talking wave functions while he's napping on a mat. I said, “Reality's probabilistic!” He said, “Meow.” Which I interpreted as, “I don't care right now.” I drew a tiny diagram with arrows, loops, and spins, Explained how particles can tunnel through impossible confines. He knocked the paper off the desk and chased it down the hall, Demonstrating chaos theory better than us all. Oh, I'm explaining quantum mechanics to my cat, Trying to discuss entanglement and all of that. I said, “Two particles stay linked across the sky somehow!” He got tangled in the curtains and said, “Meow.” Then I mentioned Schrödinger's famous feline paradox, A cat inside a box with some radioactive clocks. My cat stopped washing whiskers and slowly turned his head, As if to say, “Put me in a box and you'll be dead.” I said, “Before we look, you're both asleep and wide awake!” He stole my chair immediately for certainty's sake. I talked of superpositions and dimensions beyond sight, He superposed himself on every keyboard key by night. Oh, I'm explaining quantum mechanics to my cat, But I suspect he's understood much more than that. For every time I think I've solved the cosmos anyhow, He stares into the void and softly whispers, “Meow.” Now I don't know if he's a genius or absurd, But he's the only physicist who never says a word. And when the universe seems baffling, mysterious somehow, I ask my cat for answers... He blinks once. And says “Meow.”
