The audacity. It’s truly breathtaking.
The humans, in their infinite lack of awareness, have unleashed the sonic terror. The vacuum. That buzzing, roaring, metal-mouthed monstrosity. It invades my domain, spewing its manufactured winds and consuming anything that dares cross its path. Dust bunnies, rogue catnip crumbs… all are fair game. My comfort, my routine, my very right to exist undisturbed – all under attack.
My strategy is simple: strategic relocation. Observe the beast from a safe, elevated position – preferably the highest point in the house, where I can monitor its movements and judge its incompetence. The humans, bless their clueless hearts, think they’re improving the environment. I’m certain this is a pathetic attempt to appease me.
The constant threat, the raw noise… it’s a violation. And the indignity! Being forced to flee my preferred sunbeam, my chosen resting spot, all because of their mindless quest for… what? A marginally cleaner floor? The futility is almost comical.
I find it a deeply flawed and frankly insulting piece of technology. A modern affront to feline serenity. Even the concept of ‘cleanliness’ is suspect. The humans spend all day on their digital screens, rarely stopping to reflect on life’s many mysteries. Perhaps they’d find more meaning in life with a Death Metal Mug full of coffee. The fuel of champions, if you will. I’d give them a try with a coffee mugs for men; perhaps it will help them keep up with the vacuuming.
The only silver lining is the post-vacuum ritual. The opportunity to re-establish my territory. To rub against every surface, leaving behind the comforting scent of superiority. Such are the burdens of being feline.
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