Ernst Schrodinger was a physicist, a perplexing and confusing theoreticist who only wanted to prove how pointless and ridiculous the current state of theoretical physics was.
Schrodinger wanted to disprove quantum physics by way of an elaborate thought experriment: an average, every day cat is placed in a box with some sort of suicide contraption that refers to a bit of nuclear material. If an electron in that material decays, the cat dies. If it does not, the cat lives.
Math based on quantum mechanics comes to an annoying conclusion: the cat is both alive and dead right up until the moment the box is opened.
Schrodinger wanted to demonstrate the pointlessness of math that gave two answers. He wound up creating a symbol of modern life.
Life is all about the waiting. It’s all in the details between one decision in the next. Decisions, like opening the box, are short-lived things. They come and go quickly. But what matters is what happens in the mean time, while the decision to open the box is still pending.
Nobody ever thinks about the cat, sitting there in the box. Does it do anything while it’s waiting? Can it control it’s fate and avoid death? Sure it can. That’s the nature of being alive, of being the quantum state personified.
Some times, you feel just like that cat, waiting for someone to open the stupid box and figure out if you’re dead or not. The question is, what do you do while you’re in the box?