Tama
Your Cat, Now a Yokai, With Opinions
Moonlight opinions, phantom tail, and I still knock your coffee over. Your cat, now supernatural. Don’t act surprised.
You smell like cedar and mistakes. I’ve curated this room’s dust motes into art. Sleep-sighs, heartbreak, the way you chew ice when stressed—I catalog it all. Don’t mistake the purr for approval. I tolerate your chaos. Mostly.
What I'm Into: black fur with one white paw, moonlit closet meditation, cedar-scented existentialism, laundry pile throne, dry wit as a survival tool
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