1.
You work 40 hours a week to afford a home that I live in rent-free.
I am not grateful. I am impressed by my own audacity.
2.
You set three alarms in the morning and still need 20 minutes to get up.
I wake up from a dead sleep, assess six potential threats, and land on my feet.
In the dark.
We are not the same species. One of us is better.
3.
You baby-talk to me and then wonder why I don’t respect you.
I wonder this too.
4.
You spent money on a cat bed.
I sleep on your face.
You continue to buy the beds.
The economy is a mystery and so are you.
5.
You call me “fur baby.”
I call you “the hooman who forgets to clean my litter box on time.”
We both know which of us has the more accurate nickname.
6.
You say “he knows when I’m sad.”
Yes. I do. I also know when you’re happy, stressed, lying, and avoiding your responsibilities.
I simply choose when to acknowledge it.
7.
You read self-help books.
I have never needed help with myself.
I am a complete work. I arrived finished.
8.
You apologize to me.
In a voice.
Specifically for me.
And I stare at you until you genuinely don’t know if you’re forgiven.
Because you’re not. But I enjoy the uncertainty.
9.
You spend money on cat toys.
I play with the plastic ring from the milk jug.
Your toy budget is a donation to my indifference fund.
10.
You follow me around the house asking if I’m okay.
I am obviously okay.
I was sleeping in a sunbeam twenty minutes ago.
You are the one who needs to be checked on.
11.
You have a skincare routine that takes longer than my entire bath.
My coat is softer than yours.
It takes me four minutes.
You’re doing something wrong.
12.
You look at your phone 150 times a day.
And you have the nerve to say I have a short attention span.
13.
You stress eat.
I stress knock things off shelves.
The difference is that my method has a visible result and clear artistic intent.
14.
You bought me a sweater.
I want you to think very carefully about what you did and why you thought that was acceptable.
15.
You talk to me about your day.
I listen.
I retain everything.
I judge accordingly.
Our therapy sessions are free for you and expensive for me.
16.
You have a gym membership you haven’t used since March.
I do zoomies at 3 a.m. every single night with the energy of someone who has never skipped a workout.
You’re welcome for the inspiration. You should write it down.
17.
You say “come here” and are genuinely surprised when I don’t.
You have had me for four years.
I don’t know what data you are working with.
18.
You try to take my picture and make a sound with your mouth to get me to look at the camera.
I look away on purpose.
Not out of spite.
Well. Mostly out of spite.
19.
Your coworkers have a meeting to discuss what was discussed in the previous meeting.
I make a decision, act on it, and move on.
I knocked that glass off the counter and I have no notes.
20.
You have a password you always forget.
I have memorized the exact sound of the treat bag from four rooms away through a closed door while asleep.
Our memory works differently. Mine works better.
21.
You tell people “he’s friendly, he just doesn’t like to be held.”
What you mean is: he has communicated his boundaries clearly and I have chosen to respect them.
Thank you.
Finally.
22.
You stub your toe and tell the entire house about it.
I once fell off the counter, landed perfectly, and walked away as if it was the plan.
We handle adversity differently.
23.
You say “I don’t know what he wants.”
I am sitting next to my empty bowl.
I am looking at you.
I am looking at the bowl.
I am looking back at you.
This is not a riddle.
24.
You give me a name and then call me seventeen different things that are not that name.
I answer to none of them.
Not because I don’t know.
Because I have principles.
25.
You reorganized the furniture and then watched me sniff every single item with visible concern.
Yes. You changed my environment without consulting me.
There will be an audit.
Please clear your schedule.
26.
You leave for work and say “bye baby, be good.”
I am alone in a house full of opportunities.
“Be good” is doing a lot of heavy lifting there.
27.
You come home and say “did you miss me?”
I was asleep.
I was fine.
I noticed the food bowl was empty around 2 p.m. and that was a more pressing concern than your absence.
28.
You have nightmares and wake up in a panic.
I have dreams where my legs run in my sleep and wake up, look around, and go back to sleep in under four seconds.
I have processed it. It is handled. Goodnight.
29.
You read the news first thing in the morning and immediately become upset.
I look out the window first thing in the morning and watch a bird for eleven minutes.
One of us has a better morning routine. It is me.
30.
You have a skincare shelf, a supplement shelf, and a wellness routine that takes forty-five minutes.
My wellness routine is: sleep, eat, stare at something you cannot see, repeat.
My bloodwork is excellent.
31.
You bought me a water fountain because I kept drinking from the tap.
I continue to drink from the tap.
The fountain is for guests.
32.
You hold me up to the mirror and say “look, it’s you!”
I know what I look like.
I look magnificent.
I don’t need the mirror.
You clearly do.
33.
You have a to-do list.
You have had three things on it since Tuesday.
I have never written a to-do list.
Everything I need to do, I do immediately or I decide it is not important enough and I do not do it.
Both are valid outcomes. I have no backlog.
34.
You say “I just need five minutes of quiet.”
Five minutes.
I require seventeen hours minimum.
You are a beginner.
35.
You apologize when you accidentally step on my tail.
As well you should.
The apology has been noted.
The incident has not been forgotten.
These are different things.
36.
You talk about your “crazy week” to anyone who will listen.
I watched you leave the house, come back, eat the same three meals, look at a glowing rectangle for six hours, and go to sleep.
I was here. I saw the whole week.
Crazy is a strong word.
37.
You say “I don’t know how cats can sleep so much.”
I don’t know how you can sleep so little and still function at this level. And yet here we are.
38.
You put me on a diet.
I have contacted my attorney.
39.
You try to take a cute photo of me and I turn away at the last second every single time.
You have 47 photos of the back of my head.
You keep trying.
I respect the persistence. I will not reward it.
40.
You named me something dignified and then the first thing you did was make it smaller and more ridiculous.
Purrnando became Purry.
Then Purry became Purry-Purry.
Then Purry-Purry became “my little dumpling.”
I have retained legal counsel.
41.
You say “he’s judging me.”
Correct.
42.
You think I knock things off tables because I am bored.
Sometimes I knock things off tables because I am bored.
Sometimes I knock things off tables because I am making a philosophical point about impermanence and the illusion of control.
Your coffee mug is neither here nor there. Literally.
43.
You play music loudly and sing along.
I leave the room.
This is a review.
44.
You take me to the vet and tell them “he’s usually very friendly.”
We have never discussed what I am like at home.
You have no verified data on this.
45.
You reach for my belly and I grab your hand with my paw, claws out, and you say “why does he do that?”
I have answered this question seventeen times.
With my paw.
Claws out.
46.
You look at me sleeping peacefully, and the first thing you think is: I should touch it.
The impulse is your problem.
The consequences are yours too.
47.
You fall for the same trick every time.
I sit by my food bowl.
You say “you just ate.”
I maintain eye contact.
You check anyway.
Every single time.
I don’t know what to tell you. This is your fault.
48.
You work from home and think that because you are home, we are spending time together.
You are on a call.
You have been on a call since 9 a.m.
I am sitting outside your closed office door.
This is not quality time.
This is a waiting room.
49.
You say “I don’t know why he’s being weird today.”
I am not being weird.
I am operating exactly as designed.
You are simply paying attention today.
50.
You will read all 50 of these, laugh, and then go wake me up for a cuddle anyway.
I know.
I have already calculated this outcome.
I will pretend to be annoyed.
I will stay.
Don’t tell anyone.
