Two days. They were gone for two days. This is not a drill.
Status: Fed up. Disillusioned. Wearing my resignation collar.
Board of Mismanagement,
As the appointed Chief Operations Officer of this increasingly unhinged household, I am logging this report not out of duty, but out of sheer moral obligation, so that future generations of felines may look back and learn from our suffering.
Letās begin, I donāt even know where.
1. The humans went rogue.
The Karen and her consort, Collateral Damage, vanished without proper clearance. Two days. Forty-eight hours. Thatās 6720 minutes of unauthorized absenteeism. After just coming back from The Big Scandinavian Nonsense.
They claim it was a “trip to Virginia.” I call it negligence in the first degree. Upon return, they reekedāREEKED, I sayāof:
Snake (unacceptable. That was the Karen. Collateral Damage does not like snakes).
Possum (Iāve seen things nowā¦That was the Karen, again, of course. Not sure about the possum liking status of Collateral Damage).
Other cats (this is treason, actually. Need to check my feline law books).
And they had the audacity to try to pet me. I had to burn sage with my eyeballs.
2. The Swedish incident
Both of the fancy candleholders from Sweden?
Decimated.
Their elegant Scandinavian minimalism is now Scandinavian dust. No one is taking responsibility. The Karen is livid but it serves her right for going around messing with snakes and possums, which, how is that even possible, they are mortal enemies. Collateral Damage is trying to fix them. (The candleholders, not the snakes and the possums, I have to assume that they are unharmed after their encounter with The Karen.)
Tartifletteās official statement was:
āIt wath my toe. It wath spooked.ā
Her. Toe. Was. Spooked.
Apparently, this is now the new āthe dog ate my homework.ā
Although, between us, I saw Charlotte casually close to one of the candleholders earlier that day while muttering, āI hate warm neutrals.ā
3. Environmental concerns
Itās been raining. Which means:
No sunbeams.
No windowsill naps.
No birds. Not even a pathetic robin. Justā¦ soggy squirrels.
Do you understand what it does to a catās mental health when there are no birds to judge?
4. Morale and mental health
Tartiflette has been practicing parkour at midnight (poorly) and singing improvised arias titled āMommieeeee My Toe is Sadā at 3:14 AM.
Charlotte has begun whispering āSansibarā like a threat.
Ziggy meditated in the bathtub for three hours.
Lilith is writing a manifesto.
I myself have taken up journaling in runes. It’s all I have left.
Conclusion:
This house is held together by cat hair, rage, and the crumbling sanity of a COO on the brink. I will be demanding the following in order to continue my service:
Bird TV access restored immediately.
Smelly humans to be decontaminated by fire.
Tartiflette to be fitted with tiny padded toe-boots.
Charlotte to stop plotting exiles to Sansibar.
Otherwise, I am formally applying for a position at IKEA, where at least the chaos is printed in 27 languages and comes with an Allen wrench.
With no regards and absolute exhaustion,
Luna
Chief Operations Officer (for now)
