Every morning, my cat holds a staff meeting. Attendance is mandatory, especially for me. The meeting begins at exactly 6:01 a.m. with a loud “MEOW!” directly into my ear. Apparently, sleeping past sunrise is considered poor workplace ethics.
My responsibilities are simple:
- Fill the food bowl.
- Refill the food bowl because it was “not fresh enough.”
- Open the door.
- Close the door.
- Open the door again because someone changed their mind.
Performance reviews are brutal. If I provide breakfast two minutes late, I receive a disappointed stare that says, “I’m not angry. I’m just reconsidering your employment.”
Coffee breaks? Forget it. The moment I sit down with a hot cup, the cat appears from nowhere and parks itself on my keyboard. Emails become mysterious messages like:
“Dear Team,
asdjkl;;;;; meow qwerty.”
Oddly enough, people still reply with, “Sounds good!”
The cat also believes every Zoom meeting is about it. The second my camera turns on, a furry tail waves across the screen like it’s accepting an award for “Best Supporting Mammal.”
Despite contributing absolutely nothing to the household income, the cat walks around like it owns the building. Technically… it does. I pay the bills, but everyone knows who’s really in charge.
So if you ever think you’re the boss of your home, try negotiating with a cat. You’ll discover an important life lesson: you don’t own a cat. You merely work for one—and the salary is paid entirely in scratches, judgmental looks, and the occasional permission to pet the CEO.
Now if you’ll excuse me, my manager is staring at an empty food bowl that’s only 98% full. Apparently, this is an emergency.
