There are certain things you expect when you open your pajama drawer.
Pajamas, for example.
Maybe an old T-shirt you forgot you owned. Maybe that one pair of fuzzy socks that only appear when you’re looking for anything except fuzzy socks.
What you do not expect is for the drawer to move.
Or grow a tail.
And yet, there I was, minding my own business, trying to get ready for bed like a normal person, when I opened my pajama drawer and something shifted.
Not a little shift either.
A full, suspicious, “there is something alive in here” movement.
For one terrifying second, I questioned everything. Had my pajamas become sentient? Had I finally reached the stage of laundry neglect where the clothes were organizing themselves? Was this how horror movies started for women who just wanted comfy pants?
Then the tail flicked.
Because of course it did.
Halo had somehow wedged herself inside the pajama drawer like she paid rent there.
I don’t know what it is about cats and drawers. You open one for three seconds and they act like you’ve revealed a magical portal to another realm. Never mind that the drawer is full of clothing and has no extra space. Never mind that their body does not fit. Never mind that you were actively trying to use it.
No. The drawer is open.
Therefore, it belongs to the cat.
And they don’t just climb in politely. They burrow. They settle. They give you that offended little look when you dare to suggest your pajamas might still technically be yours.
I stood there staring at her tail sticking out of my drawer, wondering how long she’d been in there and how many pairs of pajamas were now coated in cat hair.
She blinked at me like I was the problem.
Which, apparently, I was.
Because I had touched her drawer.
I should know better by now. Boxes are theirs. Laundry baskets are theirs. Empty bags are theirs. Clean blankets are definitely theirs. And now, apparently, pajama drawers are also prime real estate.
So yes, my pajama drawer has a tail.
And yes, it’s frightening when your pajamas move.
But I suppose there are worse things than reaching for bedtime clothes and finding a tiny furry goblin guarding them like treasure.
At least she was warm.
Does anyone else’s cat do this? Or is Halo the only one trying to turn my dresser into a studio apartment?
There are no words…
All the best,
Tia
