The cats don’t know what to think about this new world upstairs. Moses has taken to pacing the rooms up there each day for a few minutes after he comes in from The Evening Hunt, howling his protest at being subjected to a break in his familiar. Before we closed up the crawlspace access, he’d hole up in there with the insulation, mewling for hours before finally he’d bound down the stairs and into my lap. I wish I could understand what it is about the second floor that bothers him, and why he feels like he must suffer through this nightly tour, loudly, instead of just I don’t know, NOT GOING UP THERE.
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