A couple of egglike objects used to dangle from Cat’s rump, like a pair of twin planets. They didn’t rotate nor did they orbit anything (not even each other), they just moved in whatever direction Cat did: a straight line when he walked straight ahead, swerving when he went zigzag, vaulting to a higher point in the universe when he jumped, and staying still when he was stationary.

Astronomers hadn’t gotten round to naming these planets yet, so I took the liberty of calling them the Cat-Ball Planets.

As Cat grew up, these planets grew with him. Soon, they could be seen by people on other planets. When we look up at the night sky, we remember that Earth is just another celestial body among many others, including the twin Cat-Ball Planets. They reflect sunlight, making use of the sun’s excess energy. Cat loved basking in the sun because his planets needed to absorb sufficient heat and light to blaze at night, like bright stars in the sky.

Many of my friends who saw these twin globes praised their roundness and fullness and said how clever Cat was to have sprouted such special planets. They even said these objects were not just well-formed but also a little mysterious, with something ineffable about them. When they were fully grown, they’d surely leave Cat and this home, and travel to the distant cosmos.

I asked when they would leave, but my friends said this was hard to say. They’d make their escape once Cat was fully grown, and there was no going against the course of nature.

A few months after this, Cat began yowling all the time and peeing everywhere. Friends told me this was the clearest sign that the Cat-Ball Planets were ready to make their departure. Cat seemed terribly sad; I guess because he was sorry to see them go.

In the end, I brought Cat to the vet. It took just over ten minutes for the planets to go from Cat’s rump to dangling between the vet’s fingers. Even then, they were still swaying.

The final step in their escape plan.

A few moments later, the planets disappeared from the building. I glimpsed them heading toward the window, but the vet didn’t seem to care—probably she’d seen this happen too many times. Cat was still knocked out, so on his behalf, I observed the planets’ departure.

The orbs made a final round through the air, like a farewell. Then they began to ascend, twin spaceships shooting blue laser beams. They were heading for Planet Meow, which my friends tell me is where all cats go when they die.

The pair of cat balls ended up as tiny satellites orbiting Planet Meow. Maybe the smallest objects floating through the vast emptiness of the universe. Their surface started out barren, containing nothing at all except the memory of Cat’s scent.

After some time, as they pined for Cat, the Cat-Ball Planets suddenly sprouted a hair. And then a second one, a third, a fourth …

By now, both planets have grown a thick foliage that looks identical to cat fur. And at a certain point, when the appropriate season arrives, these strands will leave the ground, drifting through the void like dandelion fluff.