Cats deserve a world, and they have taken one — cosmic cats threading between the stars, punk cats with opinions, contemplative cats who have clearly worked out something you haven’t and won’t be sharing it. There are no signs here, no maps, no schedules, because the cats find all of that beneath them; you navigate by instinct, by the prickle at the back of your neck that says this way, probably.

They are entirely uninterested in your itinerary. They are also, very conveniently, the single thing most likely to sit down directly in your path between one world and the next. You didn’t choose to come. A cat looked at you, blinked once, slowly, and the matter was settled.