I think they magically change clothes to suit the situation.
All my adult life I’ve had cats . . . presently I’ve got two. Angel, a white cat with gold eyes, was an elderly lady’s caregiver kitty before I got her. She’s very skittery but also very lovey. Gandalf, a grey cat who seems to be a Russian Blue/tabby cross (very special ticked silver fur, with tabby underlying) is a recovering feral with a tipped ear. He’s got a bad case of PTSD because the cats in the local clowder were bullying him, as were the people. My neighbor and I catnapped him inside and he’s spent the last year-and-a-bit unwinding. He’s a perfect gentleman about the litterbox and his scratching tower, but he just doesn’t trust the help.
Sadly, I recently lost Miss Toffelees, a black rescue with a HUGE “personal assistant” personality, to kidney disease. While the vacancy makes our home extremely empty, it also means that Gandalf is now the top cat. So I’m hoping he’ll continue to unwind some more.
Americans are compensating for their perceived (ahem) deficiencies.
I’d be kind of disappointed, too, without the kittens!
Puck stuck the landing!
Oh, heavens, yes; I loved that cat name, and am only sorry my little Lucy Furr wore it for such a brief time!
Yup, my “recovering feral” Gandalf definitely has a different outlook on life than most of us. Serious PTSD in that he always startles and doesn’t know if he should like the Hoomin with Gushy Food (and purr during pettins) or dash away the minute it’s done.
I had another kitty, Lucy Furr, who had some PTSD, but she had started out indoors; she used to get nightmares in which she would wake suddenly and dash to the other side of the room. And she had lost the drive to play, but oh, she loved sitting pawtucket with her nose on the catnip mousie breathing the fumes.
Yup, just different folds of that magical fabric.
But in the classroom, Dakota will know the difference . . .
The clothes are magic because cats are magic.