My cat has ice cream prescience.
I donât know how she does it. I donât know how she reads my intent so clearly.
When I walk to the kitchen to get a popsicle or thaw a slice of banana bread or warm up some mango slices, she doesnât care. She stays on her chair and waits patiently.
But when I walk to the kitchen to scoop myself a bowl of ice cream, sheâs at my heels SHRIEKING by the time I turn on the light. She knows. Sheâs not smelling it, sheâs not hearing me say âice creamâ, sheâs not accustomed to some predictable pattern because I rarely eat ice cream.
But she fucking figures out before I even reach the refrigerator. Itâs the only human food she asks for, and I have to give her a small tithe of it to keep her from shredding the skin from my legs and popping my eardrums. Sheâs terrifying.