One thing about Top Hat: questions follow her around. A question follows her around. A question mark follows her around. Look, the tip of her tail resembles the bastard offspring of a question mark and a corkscrew, OK?
She's not likely to win any prizes at some snooty cat show, where the critters are graded on uniformity, but who cares? She's a near-perfect example of the rare (as in, only one known specimen) Erewhon Hooktail breed.
Anyway. This morning, I heard squeaking from the front part of the house. It persisted. Somebody playing too rough? Out to investigate.
Huckleberry and Southmoon come scampering. Top Hat is under the table, squeaking, and not going anywhere. Try to move the piece of paper she's standing on: she doesn't move with it. Held by some invisible force?
Oh. The tip of her tail has snagged a loop of thread from the frayed edge of the tablecloth. Out with the Swiss Army Knife; find the little scissors; snip! Problem solved, for the moment.