I told her: I know of such a place, where the cats all come to die. I asked her: do you want to see it? She answered: no. I told her: it's clean and it's important. I told her: it's bright and it's first. I asked her: do you want to see it? She answered: no. She said it in such a way that I had to turn away from her. Ever since then I am slowly approaching the exit.
My translation of Polish poet Marcin Świetlicki's "Swierszcze" ("Crickets")