If cats could post: “My human did something stupid—again.”
At 5:00 a.m., tImagine scrolling through your social feed and seeing a post from your cat: “My human did something stupid—again. ” Let’s be real—if our feline overlords had access to keyboards, their timelines would be filled with eye-rolling rants about the baffling things we do. From rearranging their favorite napping spots to offering “treats” that are definitely not tuna, humans have a knack for confusing (and amusing) their cats. Here’s a peek at what a cat’s “stupid human” post might look like, complete with the chaotic, relatable details only a cat parent would recognize.
“First Off: Why Did You Move My Sunbeam?”
I spent hours calculating the perfect spot on the couch—you know, the one where the morning sun hits just right, warm enough to make my fur glow but not too hot that I have to move. I even tested three different pillow configurations to get the ultimate napping setup. And what do you do? You decide today’s the day to “fluff the cushions” and rearrange the throw blankets. Now my sunbeam is gone. GONE. Replaced by a weirdly lumpy pillow and a blanket that smells like your laundry detergent (no offense, but it’s not as nice as my tail). I stared at you. I meowed. I even pawed at the couch like, “Hello? Did you not see the nap in progress?” But no—you just smiled and said, “Aww, you’re cute.” Cute? I’m a nap architect, and you just demolished my masterpiece.
“The ‘Treat’ That Was Not a Treat (False Advertising!)”
You walked into the room holding a bag, and I perked up immediately. The crinkle sound? Classic treat bag. I ran over, tail held high, ready to perform my best “sit” (okay, fine, maybe just a lazy lift of the paw) for a delicious tuna bite. But then you pulled out… a vegetable. A CARROT. You held it out like it was the fanciest sushi, saying, “Try this! It’s healthy!” Healthy? I’m a carnivore. My ancestors hunted mice, not rabbits. I sniffed it once—smelled like dirt and regret—and walked away. But you kept following me, carrot in hand, like, “C’mon, it’s good!” No. No, it’s not. Next time, if it doesn’t come from a can labeled “Tuna Supreme” or “Chicken Delight,” don’t bother. False treat advertising is a crime.
“Stop Taking Photos of Me While I’m Grooming. I’m Not a Model.”
Listen, I get it—I’m beautiful. My fur is soft, my whiskers are perfectly aligned, and I have that “mysterious cat stare” down pat. But do you really need to take 50 photos while I’m in the middle of grooming my paw? I was minding my own business, making sure every hair is in place (it’s a full-time job, okay?), and suddenly there’s a flash in my face. You even said, “Look at the camera!” I don’t want to look at the camera. I want to make sure my paw doesn’t have a single speck of dust. And then you posted it to your “Cat Mom/Dad” account with the caption, “My baby is so pretty!” First of all, I’m 5 years old—I’m not a baby. Second of all, can a cat get some privacy while they’re doing their skincare routine?
“Why Is There a New ‘Toy’ That Makes Loud Noises?”
Yesterday, you brought home a weird plastic thing that lights up and makes beeping sounds. You called it a “cat toy,” but I know better—it’s a noise machine designed to ruin my peace. You turned it on, and it started chirping like a dying bird. I hid under the bed. You tried to lure me out with a string, saying, “It’s fun! Play with it!” Fun? It sounds like a robot parakeet having a panic attack. And when I finally mustered the courage to sniff it, it beeped so loud I jumped three feet in the air. Now it’s sitting in the corner, mocking me. Every time I walk by, I give it the side-eye. Human, if I wanted loud noises, I’d knock over a glass cup (which, for the record, I can do on command). This “toy” is a disaster.
