One of the hardest lessons in young Sam's life had been finding out that the people in charge weren't in charge. It had been finding out that governments were not, on the whole, staffed by people who had a grip, and that plans were what people made instead of thinking.

In ancient times cats were worshiped as gods; they have not forgotten this.

Oh. I see. People don't want to see what can't possibly exist.

People wanted the world to be a story, because stories had to sound right and they had to make sense. People wanted the world to make sense.

Vampires have risen from the dead, the grave, and the crypt, but have never managed it from the cat.

At some time in the recent past someone had decided to brighten the ancient corridors of the University by painting them, having some vague notion that Learning Should Be Fun. It hadn’t worked. It’s a fact known throughout the universes that no matter how carefully the colors are chosen, institutional decor ends up as either vomit green, unmentionable brown, nicotine yellow or surgical appliance pink. By some little-understood process of sympathetic resonance, corridors painted in those colors always smell slightly of boiled cabbage—even if no cabbage is ever cooked in the vicinity.

Who knows what the future holds.