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Some call it routine—I call it survival. Between two homes, shifting sunbeams, and the never-ending absurdity of human behavior, life demands constant adaptation. Food schedules are negotiated, perches are defended, and certain injustices (like a closed door) must be addressed. This is where I document the balance between comfort and quiet defiance—because even the most predictable days deserve a little rebellion.
A cinematic kitchen scene blending nightmare and waking reality. On the left, a warped, dreamlike vision: a monstrous sourdough jar looms in fog, Mum and Felix partially fused into dough, and Schmutz perched above, haunting and flour-dusted. On the right, the kitchen returns to morning calm—clean counters, soft light, and the sourdough jar quietly in place. Two versions of Franzi appear: one dream-bound in the shadows, the other fully real, seated in serene control. Her tail is curled. Her gaze is steady. She has bent the world to her will.

Epilogue – The Ghost of the Dough

The nightmare comes first. I am in the kitchen, but it’s not right. It’s stretched impossibly long, the walls curling like soft dough, and the floor sticky beneath my paws. The air is thick with a sour, yeasty fog. And at the
April 5, 2025
A dramatic, noir-style portrait of a black Oriental Shorthair cat with large, expressive ears, holding a tiny bat-like puppet on strings. The image has a dark, moody background, with a "The Caretaker" logo in the upper corner, styled like "The Godfather" movie title. The cat’s gaze is intense, exuding authority and quiet control.

The Playtime Gambit: A Tale of Delegated Mischief

It begins with a single, well-placed whine. A chirp, if you will. The sound of a cat who has been gravely neglected in the department of recreational stimulation. Felix, predictably, looks up from whatever mundane human activity he’s performing (typing, eating, existing)
February 15, 2025
A sleek black Oriental Shorthair cat, Franzi, sits proudly in the foreground wearing a colorful birthday hat, looking smug and victorious. In the background, a dramatic feline scene unfolds: another Franzi perches regally on a chair, bathed in golden light, while Schmutz flops on the floor in exaggerated defeat. Scattered birthday hats and treats hint at a recently concluded feline coup

The Birthday Coup: Franzi’s Rise to Power

For years—which, given my tender age of two, is impressive—I have suffered a great injustice. Every birthday, the humans celebrate us, yet somehow, Schmutz always takes center stage. The crooked tail. The dramatic leaps. The way she effortlessly commands attention just by
October 4, 2024
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