Alfonzo once asked him to explain the mystery of cats. “Why do cats run so hot and cold? One minute they’re purring and acting like your best friend, and the next minute they’ve run into the nearest closet like you’re a monster.”

Norbu pointed out, half joking, that these stereotypes were kind of offensive. Then he tried to answer the question seriously, and told Alfonzo something that had lingered with the alpaca ever since. “Look at context. We’re small by most measures, but we’re trying to make a mark in the world of horses and deer, big dogs, coyotes, and every other kind of dumb hairball who thinks they’re King Fuck of Dung Mountain. Think about power, size, and status. Maybe I wouldn’t hurt a fly, but do I want my big friends to know that? I’ve got to keep you off-balance psychologically to protect myself. Like maybe you think you’re ‘just being friendly,’ but you could stomp me by accident. We’ve got to be constantly aware because we’re small.”

But Norbu also revealed that sometimes cats were just weirdo fur-brains who liked to mess around: “Just get with cat humor,” he advised.

Alfonzo supposed it was wrong to point out one’s own view of a different animal’s nature—or rather, to project your conceptions of reality onto them, as if what you perceived was objective reality. Alfonzo had tried to accept others as they were, in all their weirdness. He practiced the mental gymnastics of putting himself in others’ positions. Alfonzo kept telling himself that empathy was an ongoing practice, not a destination.

Mitchell began giving his Office of Affordable Housing spiel. He had a questionnaire. Would they mind answering a few basics about the state of their domicile?

“Not at all,” purred the cats.

They went back and forth with yeses and nos, scales of ones to tens, dates and details.

“So, on the phone you told me about some grievances. Have you submitted your complaints in writing to your landlord and given sufficient time for response?”

With this question, Tuxedo started to flick his tail irritably. He became silent.

“Putting things in writing is very important if you want the process to move forward,” Mitchell said gently.

“One reason we called you is that we didn’t want to put it in writing.”

“Language is what defines the process. It’s all that anyone counts.”

The cats clearly didn’t like what they were hearing. Lipstick began to flick her tail in solidarity.

Mitchell attempted to get things back on track. “I can help you write it up. And rest assured that what we discuss here is confidential.”

The cats began to purr in a whisper.

“It’s all because of the hurricane,” said Tuxedo. And with that came a stream of troubles.