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“For the cat is cryptic, and close to strange things which men cannot see. He is the soul of antique Aegyptus, and bearer of tales from forgotten cities in Meroe and Ophir. He is the kin of the jungle’s lords, and heir to the secrets of hoary and sinister Africa. The Sphinx is his cousin, and he speaks her language; but he is more ancient than the Sphinx, and remembers that which she hath forgotten.”
H.P. Lovecraft only understood a single aspect of Cat. He ignored the playful kitten, the cat who nuzzles ears, the cat who lives for belly-rubs, the cat who keeps your lap warm, the cat who exists to sit in a box, the cat lord of paper bags, the cat who will only eat kibble out of a specific dish, the cat who does yoga, the cat who speedruns for no reason, the cat who boops your nose.
But I may be wrong about Lovecraft. Because the cat who boops your nose can, in an instant, become the cat who calmly and coldly looks at you and silently tells you the souls of your children will serve it in Hell.
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