The most common question I've gotten since I Think We've Been Here Before came out is a simple one: What about the cat?

Is it an editing error? Suzy, did you forget in the course of a single page that this cat is supposed to be in Berlin? How is it also under the table in Saskatchewan and neither of those places at the same time?

Sometimes this question comes from people who have only read the first few chapters. To them, I say, read the rest, see if it makes sense then. The cat is not a typo, it's an important clue.

But sometimes this question comes from people who've read the whole book. For them, I've written this (and you have been warned—it contains major spoilers):

Right before the Jorgensen family meets their end, Marlen tells them about a study he read in which scientists confirmed that, right before you die, your life does actually flash before your eyes (this is a real study, and it partially inspired this book. You can read more about it here). He wonders, in the book, whether this is a phenomenon that is limited, or whether it might become a nesting doll of sorts, where, when your life flashes before your eyes, you get to the end of the playback and then it begins again within that playback, and then again within that one, and so on and so forth forever, so that a person might not ever actually experience dying, but instead just spends the rest of eternity reliving their life over and over. But he also wonders if, because the human memory is extremely imperfect, and often bent toward a rose-colored view, the replays of a person's life might be a little better each time they experience it. They might unconsciously tweak details, remembering events in a way that comforts them even if the recollection is not completely accurate.

SO. The cat.

In this book, Marlen's theory is exactly what's going on, the replays and internal modification of reality. Like Hilda says, sometimes we wonder because we wonder. Sometimes we wonder because we know. In this novel, the characters know, somewhere deep down, that they have been here before. Marlen's theory isn't random, it's informed by his experience, even if he's not aware of it.

So what you're reading is each character's version of reality, slightly removed from what it really was—the tweaks are very minor at this point, as presumably they're only a couple of replays deep. So it makes sense that when Marlen remembers his life, the cat, who he didn't care about, isn't in the picture. Nora, who loved the cat, remembers bringing it with her to Berlin, because that's comforting to her. Hilda, who never even liked the cat, but for whom the cat is a reminder of her daughter, remembers the cat as being home with her, because that's what brings her comfort. The cat serves as confirmation that Marlen's theory is correct, and is a commentary on how our brains sometimes misremember things on purpose to protect themselves, to help us deal with prickly reality.