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Y’all, cats are weird. Absolutely weird. Little Luna gets fixated on the craziest of things. She won’t play with a toy for months; then suddenly it appears. We’re fully convinced she has a toy storage spot she’s created, and when she’s ready to play with a certain toy, out it comes.
She attacks our legs when we walk in the hallway like a ninja, spends the entire night trying to walk our headboard like Anne of Green Gables and the ridgepole, insists on love and pets while we’re in the restroom, and spends an absurd amount of time upside down.
Little Luna likes to hang out on the back of my chair or the couch most nights, and far, far, too often we look over to see this:
And there she stays, happy as a clam.
We don’t understand her, but we love her. The Fellow has even said that he hates to admit it, but he’s a cat person.
I really wonder at times what it’s like to be a cat. Like, how does the inner monologue of a cat read? I did a short scene as a dog in a theatre class in college, and I felt that it was pretty accurate. “Hi! I love you! Why are you mad at me? Why can’t I be on the couch? Squirrel!” (Thankfully, no video evidence of that scene survives.)
But I feel like a cat’s monologue may just surprise us. Then again, maybe the musical, CATS, is dead on. I guess we’ll never know, and either way little Luna just keeps hanging out in her own little upside-down world, and I keep wondering.