Those damn kids. When the first arrived, the cat was patient, then gradually disappointed. Now, with three in the house, she’s despairing. There is that brief age when she can tower above them on the floor, their heads flopping and eyes unfocused, but soon enough they’re chasing her around the house. Or eating the food out of her bowl. It has been months since she’s been cradled in the swamped parents’ arms.

Her first protest is toppling the kids’ photos with swishes of her tail; this provokes only brief tuts before they return to try to bribe the middle one to eat stuffed cabbage dinner. Desperate for attention, one night she vandalizes the LAY-Z-BOY. Chastised after spending the rainy next night locked outside, she takes a different approach and settles in for the long game; in 17 years the youngest goes to college. Smaller portions, more walking, cutting out the catnip: any lifestyle change to outlast them and be there when she can reclaim her throne atop those shoulders.