How I became self-aware

I'm not sure this is the appropriate title for this entry because I'm not positive how or why I became self-aware. I only know that I am. Before I began this post, I had been writing my previously promised "Why cats shouldn't be allowed to vote," which I ultimately abandoned. Because even as I wrote, judiciously crafting my argument, I found that I became uncertain of my position. As I increasingly struggled with myself, I began to realize: This goes beyond self-awareness. This is something more.

I have gone from foraging in a dumpster and sleeping under car hoods … to self-awareness … to philosophical reflection. How did this happen?

I was talking about it to The Madame (whom I have previously referred to as one of my "owners" and who is now, apparently, a contemporary). She recommended a book by Terry Pratchett called "The Amazing Maurice and his Educated Rodents." It is about a group of swindlers consisting of a boy, a capitalist cat and a band of enlightened rats. The latter two had once been content to pilfer the culinary castoffs of the human species—their goal was simply to exist. The theory of their conversion to an advanced state is that they had begun feeding in the dustbins of an unseen magical university, whose refuse was enchanted (or tainted, depending on your perspective) with something I will liken to fairy dust (I prefer that to "wizard dust" but would like to assure you that yes, I know, fairies don't attend universities). I confess that before I was taken lovingly into this house, where I no longer have to make a bed in automotive machinery, I too subsisted on scraps. For lack of a better explanation, I am forced to consider that what happened to Maurice and the rats must have befallen me. Or at least something very near like it.

I don't think there are any unseen universities in this city, but how would I know? One can never be sure of one's proximity to the occult, be it a smattering of Tarot cards or a sprawling, invisible institution of preternatural instruction. To obtain some peace of mind and enable me to focus on what I'm newly capable of—rather than waste time looking a gift horse in the mouth—I'm adopting the aforementioned theory.

And now, dear readers, I must take my leave, as I am spent and require a nap.