she has lived on three windowsills since she was a kitten and believes them to be the same. she will move from one to another in the course of a long afternoon and find each warmer than the last. you are welcome to disagree with her about this; she will not.
she has the calico's gift for being three colours at once and none of them quite the right colour for the surface she is on. on the kitchen table she is paler; on the bookshelf, more orange; on a dreamt kitchen floor, almost entirely black. this is to do with the cat, not with the surface.
she answers to two names, neither of them hers, and is the author of a small library of paper-cat prints found on every flat surface in rain.
— she came in at midnight and went straight to the chair as if the chair had asked for her. — k.