Miss Mogsley is not a cat, thank you very much — she simply happens to have ears, whiskers, and a lifelong talent for landing on her feet.
Most mornings, she can be found perched smugly on Fence No. 3 (the one that tilts slightly east), sipping steam from whatever’s warm and judging the puddles. If a new island appears overnight, she’s already been there. If a daisy springs up unexpectedly in the windowsill, she probably left it.