My aunt, an ailurophile, kept picture books of cats dressed as people. My favorite, about a cat commander named Gustavus Adolphus, introduced me to a dream world where cats fought for control of the realm and became kings. I pretended to be Gustavus and strutted around in a costume my aunt had made for me. I lived in that liminal childhood space of genderless grandiosity and pretension. I was free at my aunt’s house. She gave me fresh cookies just as she did my more feminine sister.
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