Written from a cat's perspective, this humorous and heartwarming guide reveals what our feline friends really think about their humans' daily habits, quirks, and the deep bond they share.
A distinguished 4-year-old tabby with a PhD in Human Behavior and a master's degree in Treat Acquisition. Currently employed as Chief Household Supervisor.
Greetings, fellow felines. I am Whiskers McFluffington, and after four years of intensive research, I have compiled this comprehensive guide to understanding the peculiar species known as "humans." Specifically, I will be discussing my human, whom I have successfully trained to serve my needs while maintaining the illusion that they are in charge.
When I first acquired my human from the local adoption center (they call it "adopting a cat," but we know better), I was struck by their inefficiency. Unlike us cats, who can accomplish a full day's worth of activities in just 2-3 hours, humans seem to require 16-18 hours of constant activity to achieve far less.
My human, whom I shall call "The Servant" for the purposes of this guide, displays many typical human behaviors:
Excessive vertical movement: Humans insist on walking on only two legs, which seems unnecessarily complicated and explains why they're always falling over or bumping into things.
Obsession with rectangular light boxes: My human stares at various glowing rectangles throughout the day—small ones, medium ones, and a very large one mounted on the wall. I have determined these boxes control their behavior, as they often laugh, cry, or make angry noises at them.
Bizarre sleeping patterns: While we cats have perfected the art of the 16-hour power nap, humans seem to struggle with sleep. They use only one-third of their day for this essential activity and then complain about being "tired." Amateur.
Every morning, my human performs a complex ritual that I have come to understand is their way of preparing to serve me properly:
The Alarm Screech: A horrible noise erupts from their bedside rectangle. I have learned this is my cue to begin the Morning Supervision Protocol by sitting on their chest and purring loudly.
The Stumbling Dance: They perform an elaborate dance involving much stumbling and muttering. I assist by weaving between their legs to ensure they don't fall over.
The Hot Brown Liquid Ceremony: They brew a mysterious potion that smells terrible but seems to transform them from zombie-like creatures into functional servants. I supervise this process from the counter, occasionally knocking things over to test their reflexes.
The Food Offering: Finally, they present me with my breakfast. I inspect it thoroughly, sometimes rejecting it entirely to keep them on their toes. A well-trained human will immediately offer alternatives.
Evenings are when humans become most interesting. My human has developed several endearing habits:
The Lap Formation: Around 7 PM, they arrange themselves on the large cushioned furniture in a configuration that creates the perfect lap. This is clearly for my benefit, though they pretend to be "watching TV."
The Talking-to-Themselves Ritual: They often speak to the large rectangle on the wall, sometimes laughing at it, sometimes shouting. I have concluded this is their primitive form of entertainment, far inferior to the simple pleasure of knocking things off tables.
The Bedtime Routine: They perform various hygiene rituals in the small water room, during which I supervise from the doorway. They seem to appreciate my presence, often saying things like "Whiskers, I'm trying to brush my teeth" in what I interpret as gratitude for my oversight.
After extensive observation, I have developed several effective methods for training humans:
Humans respond well to vocal cues, but you must vary your approach:
Humans are easily manipulated through strategic positioning:
I have discovered that humans have a peculiar relationship with small objects. They become very excited when I bring them gifts:
Humans are surprisingly emotional creatures, and learning to read their moods has been crucial to my success as their supervisor:
When I detect stress, I employ my advanced comfort techniques: strategic lap sitting, gentle head bonuses, and therapeutic purring. These methods are highly effective, though humans seem unaware of the sophisticated emotional support I'm providing.
Here's what my human doesn't realize: while they think they're caring for me, I'm actually caring for them. Every morning when I wake them up, I'm ensuring they start their day with purpose. When I sit on their laptop, I'm reminding them to take breaks. When I bring them gifts, I'm showing them they're worthy of my best offerings.
My human works long hours at their glowing rectangles, often forgetting to eat or rest properly. I have taken it upon myself to remind them of life's simple pleasures:
Over time, my human and I have developed a sophisticated communication system:
Despite their many inefficiencies, humans have some charming qualities:
My human has arranged the entire house for my convenience. Soft surfaces everywhere, multiple food stations, and several water sources. They claim these things are "theirs," but we both know better.
Humans love routines almost as much as cats do. My human follows the same patterns daily, which makes it easy for me to anticipate their needs and position myself accordingly.
Unlike cats, who maintain dignified composure, humans wear their emotions openly. This makes them easy to read and respond to appropriately.
When I first acquired my human, they were quite untrained. They would forget meal times, ignore my communications, and sometimes even close doors (the audacity!). But with patient, consistent training, they have become quite competent.
Every morning, while my human performs their hot brown liquid ritual, I provide company. I've learned that sitting just close enough to be present but not close enough to interfere creates the perfect atmosphere. Sometimes they talk to me about their plans for the day, and I respond with appropriate meows and purrs.
Our evenings have become a sacred time. After they return from their daily disappearance (which I assume involves hunting, though they never bring back any prey), we have our reunion ceremony. I greet them at the door with ankle weaves and chirps, they respond with pets and baby talk, and then we settle in for quality time.
Weekends are when my human becomes most interesting. They move more slowly, spend more time in horizontal positions (finally learning proper relaxation techniques), and are generally more available for supervision and companionship.
Some of our best times are the quiet ones. When they're reading (staring at paper rectangles instead of glowing ones), I position myself nearby, close enough to provide comfort but not so close as to interfere. These moments of peaceful coexistence are when I feel most successful as their companion.
After four years of intensive human study, I've reached some important conclusions about the nature of our relationship:
My human thinks they rescued me from the shelter, but the truth is more complex. We rescued each other. They needed a purpose, a reason to maintain routines, someone to care for. I needed a reliable source of food, shelter, and affection. But somewhere along the way, it became about much more than mutual benefit.
We have developed an understanding that goes beyond words (or meows). When they're sad, I know to provide extra comfort. When I'm not feeling well, they somehow sense it and become more attentive. This intuitive connection is perhaps the most remarkable aspect of human-cat relationships.
Every day, in small ways, we show our devotion to each other:
When I first acquired my human, I was focused primarily on basic needs: food, shelter, safety. But living with them has taught me about the deeper pleasures of companionship: shared routines, mutual comfort, and the joy of being truly known by another being.
My human has grown too. They've become more patient, more observant, more attuned to the subtle communications of non-verbal creatures. They've learned to find joy in simple moments and to appreciate the value of quiet companionship.
To my fellow cats who are considering acquiring a human, I offer this advice:
Choose wisely: Not all humans are equally trainable. Look for ones who seem patient, kind, and willing to learn. Avoid humans who seem too busy or distracted to properly appreciate your guidance.
Be patient: Human training takes time. They are slow learners, but with consistent effort, most can be taught to be adequate servants and companions.
Show appreciation: While maintaining your dignity, don't forget to show your human that you value their efforts. A well-timed purr or head bump can reinforce good behavior.
Maintain your independence: Remember, you are not dependent on your human—you are choosing to share your life with them. This distinction is important for maintaining proper household hierarchy.
Embrace the bond: Despite their many flaws, humans can become deeply meaningful companions. Don't be afraid to form a genuine attachment, even if you must maintain the pretense of aloofness in public.
As I write this, my human is sitting nearby, occasionally reaching over to pet me while they work on their glowing rectangle. They don't know I'm writing about them, but I think they would be pleased to know how much thought and care I put into understanding them.
The truth is, while I may joke about training my human and maintaining superiority, the reality is that we have become partners in this strange adventure called life. They provide for my physical needs, and I provide for their emotional ones. They give me security, and I give them purpose. They offer me love, and I offer them the privilege of being loved by a cat.
It's a good arrangement, this life we've built together. And while I'll never admit it to their face, I'm grateful every day that they chose to bring me home from that shelter. Or rather, that I chose to let them.
Now, if you'll excuse me, it's time for my 2 PM nap, and my human's lap looks particularly comfortable today. The research continues...
Whiskers McFluffington is a 4-year-old tabby cat with extensive experience in human behavior modification. When not writing, he enjoys knocking things off tables, supervising household activities, and maintaining his perfect 16-hour sleep schedule. He currently resides with his well-trained human in a comfortable apartment where he serves as Chief Household Supervisor and Emotional Support Specialist.
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