“Maybe I could hear better if my ears weren’t flipped inside out. Unlike a cat’s ears, you can’t tell mine are flipped over. But they must be, because I only seem to listen to myself.
”

“Dear cat, your ears are flipped inside out, so I know you’re not listening to a word I’m not saying.”

“I like how cats’ ears can flip inside out. It’s as if they’re saying, Keep talking, human, but I’m not even listening.”

“At that moment I was sure. That I belonged in my skin. That my organs were mine and my eyes were mine and my ears, which could only hear the silence of this night and my faint breathing, were mine, and I loved them and what they could do.”

“I guess it could be worse. My name could be Tlaquepaque, or Irkutsk, or Pyongyang. Or, you know, Pittsburgh. Sometimes I flip through the atlas just to remind myself of all the names that would be worse than mine.”

“Out in the distance I could hear an animal wailing as though the air curled around the sound and flipped it around.”