Cats are both comfort and bane in this quirky and charming combination of poems and visual art. They hold down the four corners of the book as they would a quilt on a futon, witchy familiars, seeing our future as they turn into externalizations of ourselves. No mere lap kitties here, this is the eternal cat, speaking to how the self proliferates, without decision or pattern, when we aren’t looking.
— James Cihlar
