We Have Notes

By Pancake and Chip, as told to the Tall One

PANCAKE: We’ve noticed some changes around here. There’s more sitting. More napping. More staring out windows like we’re in a French film. The Tall One—our human—has been going through something he calls “glioblastoma,” which we assume is some kind of new food he’s hoarding and not sharing. Rude.

CHIP: It sounds like attacking shadows, and knocking things off shelves. But let’s stay focused.

PANCAKE: Right. The point is: the energy in the house is different now. Softer. Slower. There are more quiet moments where we all just… exist together. It’s kind of beautiful. I like to rub up against the Tall One and purr so hard my whole body vibrates. It’s my way of saying, “Hey. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

CHIP: I do this to make sure he’s still with us. It’s a vital service. I’m basically a medical professional.

PANCAKE: We don’t understand everything, but we do know this: love is loud. It shows up in the small things. Like a gentle scritch behind the ears. Or a human pausing mid-tear to smile at your weird little loaf pose. Or letting you have the softest blanket even though it was definitely not meant for you.

CHIP: Also: food. Love is food. Give us more food.

PANCAKE: In conclusion, we—the cats—are on the case. We’re here to supervise naps, monitor emotional levels, and occasionally run on the wheel at 2 a.m. because the ghosts said so.

CHIP: Stay cozy. Stay weird. Stay loved.

PANCAKE: We’ve got you, Tall One