Sometimes there's a mini thunderstorm that circulates around my apartment. What else could it be but a raging storm if there are bolts of silvery-gray lightning that strike in my peripheral vision? As I'm sitting in our apartment, I sometimes see the streak rushing past. It travels so fast that it's nothing more than a blur. From the coloration, I surmise that it's a lightning bolt, but in reality, it's just Penny, our gray and white cat.
Penny often gets these spontaneous urges to kick up her heels and race around our abode like a madwoman, or madcat should I say. I know I enjoy watching her, but I can only imagine that my enjoyment is a fraction of hers as she dashes, jumps, hides, turns, and sprints. Sometimes I can't resist the urge to chase her, and this only increases her speed and agility as she focuses every sinew and synapse on escaping, and maybe even playfully attacking my leg when I turn to go into the other room. Between her and the rest of the big cats in the wild, their powerful four-legged flight must be the closest thing to soaring on land like a bird in its never-ending terrain of sky.
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