Chase?

I got up this morning and muddled my way through the covers and out of bed. Pajama clad, I went to the bathroom to wash my hands. (Don't ask - habit.) The floor was cold on my little feet and I shivered in the air like an air conditioner blasting into my face. Sometimes, in the summer, I stand in front of a real one to cool down, but usually, it just makes my even-frizzier-than-normal hair hang limp. But that was when I was warm; at the moment, my probably was that I was ridiculously cold. Rounding the doorframe of my room, I stepped over a shape of the floor and set a toe in the hallway. Suddenly, a jingle grabbed my ear and something fuzzy hit my Achilles, followed by the soft noise of motor. The signs were clear: Cosmo, my fat ol' tomcat, was riled and wanted to play.

Cautiously, I set my other foot in the hall. It happened again, from the other direction. And again, from behind. There was only one thing to do. If I tried to pick him up, he'd bite my hand. If I tried to pet him, he'd keep me there for hours. If I got angry and sprayed him with the spray bottle, he'd get even more riled. Yes, it was time for the ignore. I walked down the hall, foot after foot, fast enough that Cosmo couldn't get a paw into the mix. He decided to run alongside me instead. Like me, after an unchasable dream, refusing to admit its win against my spirit. Cats are loyal. Who ever said cats weren't loyal? I'll tell you're wrong about chase. I'll tell you this: Yes I - I mean he - can.