Who you gonna call?

This one time it was all 'wall staring' and climbing back into my brain, and oh, wow, a peanut!, and then it was all Chilli plant and billions of butter containers and that one spider web and papers that didn't tell you anything even though they were covered in words.
It was all this and more.
Then it wasn't.
And I said, I said: "But where do they all go? All those little formations that have to be kept squeaky clean and rounded nice and current and amazingly hilarious?"
And they replied: "In earnest, Cerri, we have no idea what you're talking about. Have another drink."
I made a face to let them know I couldn't possibly, but I accepted. I held the face. I drank around and through and during this face.
It was a blast.
And in the morning I sat down on the pavement squares and ate a cupcake. I jumped hopscotch. Ran to the transportation device and held my breath for what seemed like eternity. I carried a yellow balloon, which turned out to be a stray cat, which fell asleep in my arms so I took a photograph. I called it Vincent.
When it woke up it told me its name was 'certainly not Vincent' and that 'I should be ashamed to suggest such a thing, why wasn't I? Did I have some mental deficiency? Was I under some magical spell, like I had eaten too much Catnip?'
I said: "Vincent, I am no cat."
To which Vincent replied: "Well you should be."
I thought about this. Vincent meowed. I almost tripped over an uneven surface in the ground but a man wearing a jester hat and a long green coat grabbed my arm.
"I'm sorry," I said, rather embarrassed, "It's my cat, Vincent. He's a terrible directional navigator."
The man smiled kindly down at me. "My cat is just as terrible."
"Oh!" I exclaimed in glee while Vincent glared in his cat way at me, "What an exciting coincidence!"
And it was, until I realised he was holding a decaf coffee mug. I laughed in a haughty, 'higher up than thou' way, and I said, "Elderly gentleman, I decline!" then ran off, leaving him wrapped up in a cloud of indignation because he was only (apparently) twenty-six.
"That was rude, even for a lowly human such as yourself," Vincent purred. He seemed to be enjoying the running so I stopped, out of breath and sweating more than a delicate female should.
"If I am to be conversing with the opposite sex, I need to make sure they are well caffeinated for the conversations we take part in and I just can't, Vincent, I just can't allow fakeness of any sort into my life."
Vincent licked one of my stick-on fingernails smugly.
"These are for recreational purposes," I said defensively, "where everything is fake."
"I see."
"I'm tired of you seeing," I declared and made to drop him on the ground but he clung to my shirt and hissed.
I sighed. Vincent meowed in protest. "Human, you must carry me to the end of the city."
"Because?"
"I have family there."
"Oh, you do?"
We walked into a beauty salon and I paid for Vincent to have an entire makeover, which consisted of an overall trim, a shampoo and rinse in 'Unconditionally Lavender', and a bright pink Mohawk.
The beautician called Schmoo pulled me aside and said in a velvety smooth voice that I would not associate with an exotic Indian man: "That was not Unconditionally Lavender as it said on the bottle, I am afraid." He looked anything but. "It was Rashers of Rose."
I gave him a pitiful look, signifying that I was a dedicated pet owner and if my beloved cat wanted Lavender scented fur, then, by god, he would have Lavender scented fur. Schmoo nodded in a business-like way, and I read another whole magazine devoted to bikini waxing while Vincent went through his correction process.
I wouldn't say I came out scarred for life at all I had just read, but I was a changed person. These things changed you.
I might even attend a church and sing a hymm about sheep. Sleep with one eye open. Pour my soup into a bowl before heating. Open my umbrellas outside. Buy an umbrella.
"You are entirely dramatic," Vincent said, "And I hate you. Everything you are I despise."
"Catums," I said gaily, "Shoosh."
Me and Vincent weren't ever going to see eye-to-eye; he was far too small. We would never agree on everything, or even anything. We would never share food or laugh about old times.
But I can honestly say that we will be friends for life.
"Human," Vincent clawed my ankle, "I used your handbag as a latrine."
There certainly was a large amount of pee in my bag, that fact could not be denied. But what really got me about this situation as I looked down into the topaz liquid vibrating with all the streetwalkers hurrying by, was the appalling matter of a cat using the word latrine.