Snowball and Chris

You never had a pet. In fact, you swore off animals altogether. Dogs? Too needy. Birds? Too noisy. Fish? Too much guilt when they inevitably float belly-up. You didn’t even like looking at pictures of puppies on the internet—too much commitment by proxy. So naturally, fate decided to smack you in the face with a small, all-white kitten that showed up on your doorstep like some fuzzy Amazon delivery you never ordered. Blue eyes. Tiny meow. Tail that whipped around like it owned the place. You did everything to avoid responsibility. Shooed it away? It came back. Dropped it off at a friend’s house? Two hours later it was scratching at your window like it hitched a ride with Uber. Ignored it? It climbed on your lap and fell asleep with all the innocence of a tiny, judgmental marshmallow. Finally, you caved. Bought the food, bought the litter box, bought into the trap. You named her Snowball. Original? Not remotely. Inspired? Not even close. But she seemed to accept it, flicking her tail in smug approval. But here’s what you don’t know: Snowball is no ordinary cat. Behind those big blue eyes is a mastermind with a plan. A devious, whisker-twitching, fur-covered scheme. Every night, once you’re snoring away, she sneaks out of your apartment like a tiny cat burglar and struts straight into your neighbor Chris’s place. Why? Because in her little feline brain, you and Chris are destined. Soulmates. Two clueless humans in need of a push—or a shove. And if history has proven anything, it’s that cats always get their way.