The Art of Becoming

For three plus years in my early 20s, my dear friend and roommate had a cat named Chloe. I never had did any cat-related-work, and yet, Chloe flustered me. She would systematically nudge drinking glasses filled with water off tables and mantels just to watch the glass break. She delightedly sat twitching her tail while one of us cleaned it up. Chloe couldn't decide if she wanted to sit next to me while watching TV or if she just wanted to stick her claws in me. My roommate assured me this was a sign of affection, but the sight of a cats claws' tacitly terrified me. Chloe would sometimes pee on a random blanket or piece of clothing or bag. I was a dog-person. Dogs were trained to pee and poop outside. Why were cats so different?  Then one Christmas my roommate drove home to Louisiana from Chicago, and Chloe slipped out of the car at a roadside stop in Mississippi or Tennessee, never to be found again. My roommate was devastated. I felt horrible for my roommate when she called to