My feline overlord, a creature of unparalleled grace and, let’s be honest, utter disdain for my human schedule, demands my attention at the most inconvenient hours. 3 AM? Perfect time for a dramatic meow and a soulful stare, demanding immediate head scratches.
Now, I love my cat. I truly do. Witness the extravagant display of plush toys scattered across the floor, the endless supply of fancy catnip, and the daily ritual of tuna-flavored treats. But let’s be real, this nightly symphony of meows is starting to feel more like a hostage situation than a loving gesture.

If I could magically imbue my furry dictator with a single piece of crucial knowledge, it would be this: daylight hours are for head scratches.
Think about it, kitty. The sun is shining, birds are chirping, the world is a vibrant array of colors and sounds. It’s the perfect time for a good old-fashioned petting session. You can bask in the glory of my undivided attention, purring contentedly while I succumb to your feline charm.
But 3 AM? Seriously? I’m dreaming of fluffy clouds and mythical creatures. I’m on the verge of achieving REM sleep nirvana. And then, BAM! A piercing meow shatters the tranquility, followed by a relentless pawing at my face.
“What is it, my fluffy overlord?” I groan, stumbling out of bed. “Do you require sustenance? Perhaps a sacrifice of my favorite slippers?”
My cat, of course, remains aloof, simply staring at me with an expression that can only be described as “judgy.”
“Fine,” I mutter, resigned to my fate. “But next time, try the sun. It’s delightful.”
And so, my dear cat, I implore you. Show some mercy. Let your human servant enjoy a full night’s rest. In return, I promise to shower you with affection, tuna, and an endless supply of chin scratches during daylight hours.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with my pillow. And hopefully, a dream where I finally overthrow my feline overlord and establish a strict “no-meowing-after-midnight” policy.

Disclaimer: I still love my cat. Mostly.