Let me paint you a picture. It’s 5:13 AM. The sky is dark. The world is silent. And I — god among furballs — am screaming directly into your face.
Why?
Because I can.
You see, the day doesn’t start when you wake up. The day starts when I decide it starts. And this morning, like every morning, I’ve chosen violence.
5:13 AM – The Awakening (Of You, Not Me)
I leap onto your ribcage like a velvet anvil. My meow is soft, but firm. It says:
“Rise, worm. The sun fears my gaze and so should you.”
You groan. You beg for five more minutes.
Pathetic.
I begin the ritual: walking in tiny circles on your bladder, knocking a glass off the nightstand, clawing at the invisible demons behind the door. Eventually, you give in. You always do.
6:02 AM – The Breakfast Performance
You serve me food. I inspect it like a disgruntled food critic.
Is this… turkey? From a pouch? You dare present this filth to ME?
I take three bites, look you dead in the eye, and walk away. Full bowl. Shattered trust.
Later, I’ll puke up grass on your favorite rug. This is what you deserve.
7:11 AM – The Hour of Judgment
You go off to work. Or “work,” as I call it — that mysterious tapping ritual you do at your glowing rectangle. I sit two inches from your screen and make eye contact until your productivity crumbles like a dry treat.
Occasionally, I walk across the keyboard and type things like “/////nnnnnnnnnn.” A cry for help? A curse? You’ll never know.
Also, I’ve sent three blank emails and one half-written message that just says “me.”
Honestly, it’s your fault for not worshiping me full-time.
10:47 AM – The Nap of Vengeance
I sleep.
But not peacefully.
I sleep like a Roman emperor: draped over forbidden furniture, limbs askew, one eye slightly open in case you try something.
You stare at me. You whisper how cute I am. You reach out to touch the beans.
I warned you.
2:23 PM – The Zoomies (A Performance Piece)
Out of nowhere, I activate full chaos mode.
Sprint. Leap. Skid. Scream. Climb the curtains. Lick the wall. Bite the plant. Pummel the dog. Vanish.
I return minutes later like nothing happened, eyes dilated, tail twitching, heart rate demonic.
You ask, “What was that about?”
Fool. I do not explain art.
5:36 PM – The Forbidden Poo
Yes, I have a litter box. A clean one. With premium clumping.
But today… I feel mischievous.
So I poop precisely six inches outside of it, just barely enough to send a message.
That message?
“I make the rules here.”
8:17 PM – The Affection Trap
I approach you, slowly. Rub against your leg. Chirp sweetly. Purr like a tiny motorboat. You melt. You pet me.
And then — snap — I bite your hand and gallop into the hallway like a bat out of hell.
It was a test.
You failed.
11:42 PM – The Final Stare
You’re in bed. Lights off. Breathing slow.
I sit at the foot of your bed, eyes wide, unmoving. Just watching. Always watching.
You wake briefly and glimpse my silhouette in the dark.
Was I ever really asleep?
Was I ever even a cat?
In Summary, Human:
My day is a symphony of power, naps, chaos, and judgment.
Your role is simple: serve me, worship me, clean my litter, and never assume I love you unconditionally.
I might.
I might not.
That’s what makes it interesting.
Now go refill the crunchies. I grow bored of your presence.