I am writing really fast because … deadline. For a historical Christmas Anthology with Grace Burrowes, Miranda Neville, and Shana Galen. But I am taking a brief break to bring you this observation about cats.

So, my son’s cat is a rescue cat, born feral but adopted by us when she was 4 months old. For a long time she was a standoff-ish cat. Her name is Tiger. (Look, my son named her. But it works.) Then I got Abu and she became a cuddle cat. I do not understand why, but it’s true. Abu and Tiger are good buddies. They are indoor cats.

Tiger, if she gets out, which happens from time to time, panics. But in her feline brain, the only door she can come back in is the one she went out of. No other door works for this purpose. To get her back in the house, I have to guess which door she went out, because otherwise she runs away in utter panic. This is not the portal I accessed to get out here where everything is terrifying!!! I will die if I go through that wall! Aiiiiii!!!!!

Abu plots how to get out. He knows how to open doors. He knows who is slow and inattentive. I have seen him come alert when a slow person walks toward a door.

slow people: handy door opening devices.

He lurks. He knows their blind spots. He knows exactly where to hide at which door and where to hide for which slow or inattentive person. Bam. Outside. He will come back in any damn door he pleases.

In the morning, I do not go out the most convenient door. Because if I do that, Abu will get out. I have to go out the garage door, because there is a sliding door between the kitchen and the garage door. Then I have to close the sliding door, and search the bathroom and utility room for Abu BEFORE I open the door.

He’s a blue Abyssinian. He’s gray with red underticking. He is the color of a shadow and he fucking knows it. He is lightening fast.

This is the difference between a cuddly lap cat and an evil genius.