It begins with a pause. One paw lifts, one ear turns, and the room seems to receive a message that nobody else can hear. Then the cat launches from the rug, crosses the hallway, ricochets off the sofa, and returns with the solemn face of an athlete who has completed an important civic duty.
The two-minute zoom is not chaos, exactly. It is choreography performed at a speed that makes choreography difficult to appreciate. The route is usually the same: window, chair, hallway, kitchen threshold, back to window. The expression is always serious.
What seems to help
- Clear a predictable running path before evening playtime.
- Offer a wand toy or soft kicker before dinner to spend the sprint energy.
- Keep breakable objects away from favorite launch pads.
When the zoom ends, it ends completely. The same cat who sounded like a tiny weather system now folds into a loaf and blinks as if nothing has happened. This is part of the charm. The storm keeps office hours.
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