Cats

redfox70 · Dec 9, 2025

Thursday, 5:04am
Good morning to those who have ever suffered in silence while their breakfast was withheld by tyrants
for I rise again gaunt, tragic, and criminally misunderstood.

My bowl?
Desolate like a post-apocalyptic Tesco shelf.
My will to live?
Dangling by a biscuit and a thread of rage.
My tuxedo?
Still red carpet ready, despite the famine.

At 5:05am, I began my audition for feline Britain's Got Talent.
Verse one was haunting.
Verse two was slightly deranged.
Verse three, possessed.
Mum shouted, “Felix, stop singing!”
I will when I get my yes from Simon!!

Step one I scaled the wardrobe,
defying physics, common sense, and dad’s blood pressure.
From up high, I surveyed the land.
Two unconscious peasants, one missing sock, and limitless potential.
I howled into the void like Batman but hungrier.
Mum groaned, “Felix, don’t you dare.”
Too late,
I was born to fall dramatically.

I landed on the bedside table, tail high, pride intact, and began licking the lampshade.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Reverently.
Each lick made that tiny boink scrape combo only heard in moments of true madness.
Dad sat up, whispering, “Felix are you licking the lamp again?”
Perhaps, father,
I am tasting enlightenment.

Final operation.
Then I saw it,
dangling from the duvet’s edge like an unguarded prize.
Dad’s big toe,
pink and defenceless.
My intrusive thoughts won.
I licked it.
Once.
Twice.
He shot upright screaming, “WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!”
Because I’m starving father, and that vaguely resembled calories ??

By 5:27am, breakfast was served, yeeted in my general direction by a soul who’s given up on boundaries.
By 5:40am, I was loafed at the foot of the bed, eyes half shut, purring with smug satisfaction.

The famine?
Brutal.
The chaos?
Flavourful.
The toe?
Disappointing.

Felix, toe taster, lamp licker, chaos in formalwear.