Some say that when a cat adopts that lock-eyed vacuum stare into the impossible space behind you, it can see the ghosts that crawl along ceilings and walls; that it is captured by the smoky entrails of invisible bodies. Others argue for the minutiae of insects; the patterns dappled into the eggshell surface of the paintwork; the micro-currents cutting across the floorboards. Online we discover an invasion of nerve-endings and circuitry that mistake tumors for prophecy. And then you, with that gaze as steady as buildings and dancers and my father’s hands, a look that promises to work its way inside us like a virus, or a dream. We tell stories of possession and cuckoos; discover the Sumerian ashipu, those sorcerers trained in luring out the sickness demons. But understanding the strange knowledge of children and cats, we burn herbs in every corner, laughing; and at night, as you sleep in a confusion of fur and skin, we take the knives from the kitchen, lock the door to your room.