There are ordinary households with ordinary cats. And then there is the Karen’s house, where five overlord cats have quietly concluded that the humans are not guardians but underperforming logistics assistants and enablers with two thumbs.
The catastrophe began, as many modern revolutions do, with a notification sound. The Karen’s phone chimed. Moments later, the doorbell rang. A human appeared carrying a paper bag fragrant with brisket. Karen accepted it without even the courtesy of eye contact with the top predators in the room.
Charlotte de las Furias del Apocalipsis, self-appointed Duchess of the Arctic Circle and part time corporate visionary (“hustler” – Karen) froze mid lick. Her pupils widened like she’d just seen Santa Churufina, the churu fairy, descending from heaven through the window.
“Did you see that,” she said very excitedly.
Tartiflette, (today introduced as Tartiflettini del Chaos, because Charlotte is like that) who had been sprinting nowhere at full speed, skidded sideways into the kitchen. “SEE WHAT, O MIGHTY OVERCOAT? AM I IN TROUBLE OR IS THIS A MISSION.”
“Iaia,” Charlotte replied, watching Karen unwrap the sandwich, “just got meat without getting her sorry butt off the chair.”
Ziggy Stardust, Chonky Goddess of Sleep, cracked one eye open from the couch. “Is it raining food?” she asked, and immediately closed it again.
Charlotte ignored her. Her brain cell had connected to something bigger: “I have observed the process,” she continued. “She taps the glowing rectangle. Another human brings kibble. There is no hunting. No negotiation. Only delivery.”
Tartiflette gasped so hard she hiccuped: LIKE MAGIC??? “THE SHINY PAPER??? We can delivery.”
“Yes,” Charlotte said, stepping onto a cereal box labeled IMPORTANT as if it had always been a podium. “We can. We have Luna. We have… you.” She gestured at Tartiflette, who immediately fell over.
An emergency board meeting convened behind the couch, which had witnessed many things and would witness more. Charlotte paced with executive intensity like a TED talk with whiskers while Karen blissfully consumed brisket in the next room licking sauce from her fingers.
“The model is simple,” Charlotte declared. “Summon food. Control food. Tax food.”
Ziggy briefly came back to earth. “Deliver what? Is this about the sandwich? I swear to Bastet, every time you say “we”, it ends in chaos. If this involves movement, I’m out.” Ziggy murmured without opening her eyes.
Charlotte waved a paw dismissively: “Details are for Luna. But we will get kibble, Ziggy. Endless Churus. I don’t want that sandwich, I want a percentage of every sandwich that enters this ZIP code.”
At that moment Luna entered, already annoyed and not yet informed (“party pooper mode” according to Charlotte). Luna valued order, symmetry, and the comforting stability of rules being followed. She took in the scene: Charlotte excited and ambitious, Tartiflette hyperventilating with optimism, Ziggy horizontal with her eyes closed, and Lilith half submerged in shadow beneath a lamp with an expression that suggested she knew how this would end.
“No” Luna said.
“I haven’t pitched,” Charlotte replied blinking.
“I do not require details. If it involves you saying ‘we’ and Tartiflette running, the answer is no.”
Charlotte descended from her podium and approached Luna with her paws on her hips. “Why not? The pinky has shown us a delivery empire using inferior staff. We will replicate and improve. We will deliver things,” Charlotte said. “For kibble. And Churus. And possibly hats.”
“No. You are not starting a delivery service”, Luna snapped, adjusting her pink collar with corporate menace “because we have no permits, no routing software, no opposable thumbs, no legal department and no concept of liability…ouch!!!!! stop throwing tangerines at me, it is not helping!!!”
“We have speed,” Charlotte said, glancing at Tartiflette who ran directly into a chair.
“We have brand presence,” Charlotte added, nodding toward Ziggy, who looked adorable, as usual.
“And,” Charlotte finished, lowering her voice, “we have you and Lilith.”
Luna should have walked away. Instead, her gaze fell to the floor where an org chart drawn on a cereal box lay in a beam of afternoon sunlight. It was color coded and meticulously spaced, it even had reporting lines. It also said “Logistixxx.”
“You spelled logistics wrong,” Luna observed.
“And this is why we need you,” Charlotte replied smoothly, “I am pure vision.”
Luna stepped forward: “You are delusion”.
She opened a clipboard she was already carrying and immediately started taking minutes against her will, muttering that this is “highly irregular” and “potentially illegal in forty seven states.” By the end of the meeting she had drafted Articles of Incorporation, a mission statement, and an org chart with everyone’s titles in very small precise handwriting. She hates herself a little but she is a hustler at heart too.
According to the chart:
– Charlotte will be CEO and Queen (duh). She controls the supply chain and gets a cut of every brisket sandwich that enters this zip code.
– Tartiflette, now rebranded as Tartiflapjack the Courier, will be Head of Logistics because she is “enthusiastic about food and movement.” This means she personally eats the first three orders. She accepts this role with a war cry. Charlotte immediately regrets this but the org chart is already laminated. Damn, Luna is good.
– Ziggy will be “Brand Ambassador,” which in practice meant lying near the door, sleep on marketing materials and radiating trust. She is asleep during the announcement. A photo is taken and it is perfect. Luna adds it to the marketing materials without comment.
– Lilith would do whatever is that Lilith does. She keeps things and sage very close to her vest. (“I will take care of the Dark Web operations”, Charlotte: “What’s that?”, Lilith: “Thursdays are green”).
And Luna…There are moments in life when one resists chaos and moments when one manages it. Luna, reluctant CFO/COO inhaled slowly. “If this collapses,” she said at last, “it will not be due to preventable incompetence.”
And just like that, Charlotte’s Haus of Eats was born. (to be continued)
