The kitties keep getting stuck.

First Cat gets stuck, then Kitten gets stuck, and next it’s both. Sometimes they’re stuck in different places, sometimes the same one.

When the cats are stuck, they remain completely inert, eyes unblinking, expressions calm, not meowing to be rescued but looking unhappy when a human comes close.

Quick, get out of here! Their dead-eyed stares warns us.

The kitties get stuck in all kinds of places, perhaps just wide enough for them to squeeze into, perhaps slightly too narrow for their bodies—no larger, anyway. They make sure to cram into each location at least once, shrinking their bodies into all sorts of shapes.

If one of them is pressed into a corner, they’ll become triangular. If a cardboard box, rectangular. If a bowl, round.

Sometimes Kitten gets stuck in Cat, while Cat is stuck in one of his favorite spots. They can stay like that a very long time, looking like a naturally occurring mortise and tenon, able to slot together perfectly whenever they want.

The kitties are always pressing themselves against each other, and while stuck in this position, they sometimes nap or daydream. Cats enjoy the sensation of being squashed. If they were able, they’d like to wedge themselves into Husband or me, between our fingers or in the gaps in our teeth. How else can you explain the way, when I spread my fingers and sink them into their fur, pushing into their flesh, they contentedly go purr purr purr.

Even more often, the kitties get stuck in a sunbeam. Anywhere with enough light and heat, they’ll jam themselves into, adjust their positions, and make sure the glow gets 360 degrees all around them. At these moments, the shape they take on is a halo, a pure shimmering radiance that you can only look upon from a distance; otherwise, the brightness would ruin your eyes.

The cats also get stuck in delicious aromas: wet or dry cat food, bonito flakes, cat jelly, catnip. Once they get their heads stuck into the scents of these tasty treats, they can’t be plucked free no matter what.