Observer. Chronicler. Reluctant Caretaker.
I was not meant to be the anchor of this household, and yet, here I am. Balancing between two homes, two humans, and one overly theatrical sister, I exist in the quiet spaces—the pause between distractions, the breath before action. I watch. I listen. I document.
Some call me a caretaker, but I prefer curator of stability. When Mum loses herself in art and forgets time, I remind her that reality still exists (and that I require snacks). When Dad wrestles with unspoken worries, I settle beside him, a silent reassurance that not all things need words. And Schmutz—well, Schmutz performs. I let her have the spotlight while I linger at the edge, content in the knowledge that not everything needs to be seen to be real.
Here, in this curated digital space, I offer my reflections—a feline perspective on a world spinning between chaos and curation. I question the rituals we mistake for freedom. I analyze the absurdity of performance culture, from influencer cats to political spectacle. I expose the gentle tyranny of emotional labor, the weight of being “the responsible one.”
I do all this with a keen eye, a sharp mind, and—on occasion—a well-fitted sweater.
You are welcome to observe with me. Just don’t expect me to pose for the camera.