I don’t even know what genre I just read but I do know I’ve been spiritually unwell since finishing Strange Bedfellows.

Like… was that a romance? A horror? A fever dream where your situationship literally turns into a cat and still somehow has better emotional boundaries than most men?? Because same.

Cleo and Wes are the definition of toxic but make it mythological. The chemistry? Immediate. The vibes? Unsettling. The realization that you might be your man’s PET CAT?? I would simply pass away.

This book sinks its claws into obsession, control, and that terrifying human urge to possess someone you claim to love—and then wraps it all in this eerie, magical realism haze that has you side-eyeing your own bedroom at 3am like… “if something whispers my name right now, I deserve it.”

And can we TALK about the Nordic paganism?? Miss Mortlock really said “you will learn or you will drown” and I did both willingly.

It’s intense. It’s haunting. It’s lowkey unhinged in the best way. One minute you’re reading about love, the next you’re questioning identity, autonomy, and whether turning into a cat is actually the healthiest option in a relationship.

Did I just read a coming-of-age story? A gothic romance? A cautionary tale about emotional entanglement and feminine agency under late capitalism?

Yes. Yes I did.

Anyway… I’m going to go stare at my cat and wonder what she knows.