Foist

There was a way to fold his arms so that their silvered undersides glowed against his neck and whiskers. There was a way to fold his thoughts so that their barbs wouldn't catch the SoftStuff of his (bless them) sensibilities.
There was a way to drink water whilst standing on his head. Like so:
1. Pour a glass of water
2. Have him lie down
3. Stand on his head
4. Drink the glass of water
At these times there was a way he would sigh, as if chipmunks were shredding his dreams in the pit of one lung. There was a way to get better.
It is the same way one gets worse.