Kingsley, a ginger tabby cat, pads softly along the marble tiles, his paws making no sound. He squints, searching for a sunny, tranquil spot for his midday nap. The crowds are thinning, and the only thing brighter than the sunbeam on the floor is the metallic gleam of the rocket’s hull. "Hmm, that box looks promising. I bet no one will bother me in there,"

Kingsley leaps gracefully inside, his tail twitching with anticipation. He circles a few times, testing the cool metal floor with his paws. Satisfied, he curls up beneath the window, the sunlight warming his fur, and closes his eyes to drift into sleep.

In his dream, Kingsley blinks awake, confused as weightlessness tugs at his whiskers. Outside, the earth rotates silently, framed by a tapestry of stars and the distant moon. He yawns, unimpressed by the cosmic spectacle, his only concern the lack of warmth and comfort. "Well, this isn’t what I signed up for. Where did my sunbeam go?"

Kingsley bats at a piece of kibble, which only drifts further away, spinning out of reach. He glances around, searching desperately for something familiar—a box, a blanket, even a crumpled brochure. Frustration flickers in his eyes. "How is a cat supposed to eat around here? And where’s my box?"

Kingsley tries curling up in a corner, but the lack of gravity makes him tumble gently across the floor. He glances at the moon, then the stars, and sighs with annoyance. The cosmic view is nothing compared to a patch of sunlight and a familiar cardboard box. "Next time, I’m sticking to the laundry basket,"

Kingsley stretches luxuriously, hops out of the rocket, and trots toward the nearest sunlit corner. He spies a cardboard box behind a display and settles in with a satisfied sigh, basking in warmth and peace. "Much better. Now, time for a well-deserved nap.