My daughter asked me the other day what my favourite thing to do was. She’s at the age where she asks a lot of these questions. I said, after some consideration, “make stuff.” Then she asked what was my favourite thing about making stuff, which led to more consideration.
It was a good question.
The , I think, is my favourite thing.
A cat seeing a scarf on a windowsill, just out of reach, wonders if its bunched muscles can propel it high enough and far enough to snag the fuzzy trailing strands with one of its claws. Maybe the cat thinks something as formal as, “What if all the cat treats in the world will fall down if I get that scarf?” or maybe not. I’m not a cat telepath. I just see the effect of the process: down comes the scarf, the cat, and any kitchenware unlucky enough to be caught in the chain of feline causation.