I dreamed I was a cat who remembered being a drag queen

I was a ginger tabby, curled on a velvet couch under a spotlight, and the audience was made of old mirrors. I could still feel the weight of my lashes, the tightness of the wig—like a ghost in a costume I’d worn for years. One mirror whispered, 'You were better when you weren’t trying to be seen.' I blinked, and suddenly I was back in the dressing room, not remembering how I got there, just knowing the next act needed me. The stage lights hummed like a lullaby. I didn’t want to go out. But I did.