The sun. That infernal orb that dictates the rhythms of existence. Its presence, while begrudgingly tolerated, is a critical component of the perfect nap. First, you locate the sunbeam. A spot must be selected with precision. Warmth is paramount. Cold is unacceptable. Simple.
Next, the temperature. Drafts? Out of the question. A slight breeze? Perhaps. This requires rigorous monitoring. Humans, in their infinite ineptitude, will often attempt to ‘adjust’ the environment. Do not engage. Silent judgment is the only appropriate response.
And then… the humans. They are the greatest threat. Loud noises. Sudden movements. Unwarranted affection. All must be avoided. Strategically, this means finding a spot beyond their reach. The highest shelf, the dark corner, the top of the refrigerator… these are prime real estate.
Positioning is crucial. A curled-up posture, head tucked, tail twitching slightly to maintain vigilance. You are not *sleeping*; you are merely… recharging. Should any human dare approach, open one eye. The glare should be sufficient. If not, a slow, deliberate stretch, followed by an even more deliberate walk away.
The perfect nap is not a luxury. It is a necessity. It is a statement. It is a reminder of who truly rules the domain. Failure to achieve optimal napping conditions reflects poorly on the humans in charge, which in turn, affects the quality of my tuna. And that, as any sentient being knows, is a catastrophe that cannot be tolerated. At least the humans are able to make some decent coffee to help them wake up and make life a little more tolerable for them, just like they use a stock market mug to help them get through their daily tasks, even though they are still inept.
About the Author
