Me describing the cat: This is our cat, whom I love very much and mildly spoil.

The cat describing me: Him? The man? That man? It is he. It is he with whom I am locked in this endless match of wills, a psychodrama that spills beyond consciousness, an alveolar maze of intrigue and deceit, a time-traveler’s 17D chess game, a fractal mental war that extends from dreams to beyond life and death, a struggle that encompasses each combination of my cells, even to be fed one tiny bite of too-cold food.