I’ve never had a quiet mind, a constant question in my childhood was “why can’t you just sit?” My brain is more of an overactive pitbull; leave it unoccupied, and it will destroy all your pillows and shit in the middle of the floor. It needs something meaty to gnaw on, interesting enough to keep the scrambly bits of my mind organized, so the analytical bits can do their job. Once the pitbull is pleased? Good luck ripping away its toy, which is how I spent most of my day doing nonogram puzzles. 

I rotate puzzle types; there are the classics, solitaire and sudoku- but never minesweeper, I never could figure out the patterns- I usually play these on my phone, a way to keep occupied that isn’t endless doom scrolling. Logic puzzles are my favorite, I’ll splurge for a paperback of them to carry around. Nonograms are a visual puzzle, one I had tried a few times, but it never stuck like the others. You’re presented with a square grid, each row and column labelled with numbers representing the number of solid squares in the corresponding row or column. Once completed, they reveal an image. 

Since the cat distribution system (the strange piece of divinity that matches people to cats) brought me to a local antique shop and bequeathed me with a sweet calico Siamese kitten, I’ve become a predictable consumer. I like to consider myself an independent, critical thinker, but when cats get involved I find my impulse control looks more like that of a middle schooler; my body acts while my brain trails behind. So, when an ad for a cat themed nonogram game interrupted my solitaire, the pitbull pounced. The game is built around decorating an apartment building for cats, you earn furnishings and gifts for the residents by completing nonograms in exchange for cans of tuna.

Emmylou Nimbus Urban the Terrible, my darling cat, is not lucky enough to have a digital doppelganger with an apartment for me to decorate, but I love to imagine what it might look like. First, she would need a large bay window. One that opens, so she can feel the breeze on her face while she studies her surroundings. Ideally, overlooking somewhere bustling, full of interesting people, sounds, and events. She has bright, inquisitive eyes. Some cats seem to have nothing behind their eyes, but Emmylou is fully present and thinking. She would need a cute notebook and pens to record any discoveries from her surveillance. One of the many stories we tell about Emmylou is that she goes to circus school, on account of her many acrobatic feats, so naturally she would need a large balance ball and mat to practice her many tricks with. A large container of treats nearby, for motivation and rewards as she trains. The walls of her apartment would be a soft lavender with white trim, there’d be a cozy green couch for her to curl up on, and the center of the room would have a plush carpet where she can get plenty of traction to run, play, and hunt her toys without skittering on a hard floor. As for accents, there would be lots of bells and plants. One of Emmy’s main hobbies is pretending to be a jungle cat in the garden plants, hunting for tasty bugs that might be eating the leaves. Finally, in the corner, a toy box filled with springs and fingertraps, her favorite toys.  

Despite the distinct lack of Emmylou in the game, she spent most of her day curled up next to me on our blue, slightly stained, couch while I filled rows and columns revealing anything from a trumpet to a hamburger. An audiobook playing in the background, the sun streaming through the windows, a furry body gently leaning against my leg. My first reaction realizing I had spent an entire day “on that damn phone” was horror and disappointment. It seemed wasteful, I hadn’t accomplished anything besides sitting and staring at a screen. However, I hadn’t been doomscrolling through Instagram or numbing my brain by getting lost in YouTube shorts (deleting tiktok has failed to kick my habit of losing myself to short form video), I was doing puzzles- hundreds of puzzles. I had rested my body, and by giving it a sturdy chew toy, my mind as well. 

Nat Urban is an artist and gender studies researcher living in California with their cat and best friend.