Tiny Cat: "You know, in my world, even walls hum a little. It's funny, right? The way they never seem to stop dancing."
A gentle motion on your right.
"Last time I heard the floor speak," she paused, flicking an ear destined for nowhere, "it was about ~m~z!s ~- the real intricate stuff, you know? Not the kind with paths ending anywhere besides here."
Oh, and did you know?
Occasionally, she strums the air, a plaintive wish set on an invisible string, resonating somewhere between a furball and fate's slips. You thought it was scatterbrained? Made sense like Fibonacci to a spider.
Just one more step sideways, you breathe the air riddled with bittersweet non-rhythms.
Turn left, tune catterwauling Right whispers waltz