If you have ever owned a cat before, admit it: you’ve danced with it. But dancing for a cat is very different.
Basically, what happened was, I was leaping into the kitchen, and when I landed as loudly and gracefully as an elephant, the cat woke up and stared at me. I told her to stop being scared of something so dumb, but she gave me a look like she didn’t want to listen to me. So I started dancing for her while singing Sublime’s “Santeria,” which was somehow in my head (I say somehow not because I don’t know why it was in my head–which is also true–but because I don’t know the words).
She didn’t want to admit she appreciated the performance, but she didn’t take her eyes off me the entire time (about 60-70 seconds).
Now, you might think one would feel a bit silly having danced for a cat, but that just shows 1.) you don’t know me, and 2.) you don’t understand the point of dancing. You don’t do it for the sake of an appreciative audience. You don’t do it for any audience. You dance for the same reason you paint, or sing, or do anything even remotely artistic: because you have to.
When I was 3, whenever I’d hear music, I’d run to my room, change into my leotard, and frantically shout, “I have to dance!” So I know how artsy people feel, and I make no apologies for subjecting the cat to my “Santeria” dance. There was no other option; I had to dance.