There is a universe embedded in the static at the edge of the radio's whisper — a tapestry woven with frequencies lost, echoes of ancient tales, woven into the sundering silence between the syllables of songs long never sung.
In the hush of those forgotten channels, the feline phantoms dance. Their paws trace the contours of the Catnip Accord, a document of fables heard only by those attuned to the nuances of nocturnal noise.
Once, in a mordant reality, the cats ruled as sovereigns of the sonic, their conversations of purrs and interrupted meows forming governance of realms uncharted by any terrestrial cartographer.
"Listen closely," murmured an ancient tome, bound in whispered leather and inked in the spectral light of twilight. "For the wisdom of scratching post is etched clearer than your pages."
As the static hummed its cryptic sonata, a path diverged in a frequency, shimmering with catnip's elusive thread. Ah, to be a whiskered bard, unearthing the sagas sleeping in the hiss and crackle of the cosmic ether.
Your journey does not end here. Follow the tails...