Maybe a cat would sit in that sunbeam and think, “I chase the light because it’s warm, and maybe the warmth is a tiny piece of the universe’s pulse.” It would wonder if the world is just a stage and every human a passer‑by, but then it would forget and curl into a ball of fur. The cat’s inner monologue might sound like a simple, quiet meditation on existence, a quiet question: “Why does this spot feel so right?” It would be a mix of awe and comfort, a slow, deliberate pause that says, “I’m here, I’m warm, and that’s enough for now.”