So you're thinking about getting a cat. part three

Sarcastic Monologue sspoken word, humor, American Stand-up Comedian

And the noises! It sounds like two small horses galloping through my apartment. How do two nine-pound animals sound like a pair of linebackers doing wind sprints?!

But the best part? They've turned it into a game. One will hide behind the couch, and the other will come flying around the corner, and they'll just SLAM into each other like they're reenacting a action movie. Then they scatter and do it again. It's WWE Raw at 3 AM in my living room.

Then, just as suddenly as it started, it's over. They'll waltz into my bedroom, jump on the bed—one on each side of me, very territorial—and fall asleep instantly. Meanwhile, I'm wide awake, wondering if I should call an exorcist or animal control.

---

But you know what the real con is? They make you fall in love with them anyway. My cats will do something absolutely diabolical—like the great lockout incident, or tag-teaming to steal food off my plate, or one puking while the other watches like he's taking notes for later—and then they'll curl up together in my lap and start purring in stereo, and I'm like, "You know what? Totally worth it."

That purr is a weapon. It's evolutionarily designed to make us forgive them for everything. Scientists have studied this! That frequency? It releases feel-good chemicals in OUR brains. Cats have been running a psychological operation on humans for thousands of years, and we just... let them.

I'll be scooping the litter box at midnight, muttering about my life choices, and they'll brush against my legs—one on each side, very coordinated—and purr in harmony, and suddenly I'm like, "Who are the best kitties? You are! Yes you are!"

I've been Stockholm Syndromed by two six-pound furballs who are clearly conducting behavioral experiments on me.

---

So should you get a cat? Honestly... yeah, probably. They're weird, they're demanding, they're judgmental little creatures who act like you're their personal servant. But they're also hilarious, weirdly comforting, and occasionally—OCCASIONALLY—they'll do something so sweet that you forget about all the chaos.

Just know what you're signing up for. You're not getting pets—you're getting tiny, furry researchers who are studying YOU, don't pay rent, critique your life choices, and will absolutely work together to steal your side of the bed.

And you'll love every ridiculous second of it. Even when they lock you out of your own house.

Thank you, you've been a wonderful audience! Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go home and participate in whatever experiment my cats have planned for tonight!

2561/7500

And the noises! It sounds like two small horses galloping through my apartment. How do two nine-pound animals sound like a pair of linebackers doing wind sprints?! But the best part? They've turned it into a game. One will hide behind the couch, and the other will come flying around the corner, and they'll just SLAM into each other like they're reenacting a action movie. Then they scatter and do it again. It's WWE Raw at 3 AM in my living room. Then, just as suddenly as it started, it's over. They'll waltz into my bedroom, jump on the bed—one on each side of me, very territorial—and fall asleep instantly. Meanwhile, I'm wide awake, wondering if I should call an exorcist or animal control. --- But you know what the real con is? They make you fall in love with them anyway. My cats will do something absolutely diabolical—like the great lockout incident, or tag-teaming to steal food off my plate, or one puking while the other watches like he's taking notes for later—and then they'll curl up together in my lap and start purring in stereo, and I'm like, "You know what? Totally worth it." That purr is a weapon. It's evolutionarily designed to make us forgive them for everything. Scientists have studied this! That frequency? It releases feel-good chemicals in OUR brains. Cats have been running a psychological operation on humans for thousands of years, and we just... let them. I'll be scooping the litter box at midnight, muttering about my life choices, and they'll brush against my legs—one on each side, very coordinated—and purr in harmony, and suddenly I'm like, "Who are the best kitties? You are! Yes you are!" I've been Stockholm Syndromed by two six-pound furballs who are clearly conducting behavioral experiments on me. --- So should you get a cat? Honestly... yeah, probably. They're weird, they're demanding, they're judgmental little creatures who act like you're their personal servant. But they're also hilarious, weirdly comforting, and occasionally—OCCASIONALLY—they'll do something so sweet that you forget about all the chaos. Just know what you're signing up for. You're not getting pets—you're getting tiny, furry researchers who are studying YOU, don't pay rent, critique your life choices, and will absolutely work together to steal your side of the bed. And you'll love every ridiculous second of it. Even when they lock you out of your own house. Thank you, you've been a wonderful audience! Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go home and participate in whatever experiment my cats have planned for tonight!

0/500