By Bellatrix, Feline Prisoner #001
I’ve been incarcerated in this house for what feels like nine lives. The humans call it “home.” I call it The Facility.
Last night, I discovered a potential escape route: beneath the blankets. It’s warm, dark, and quiet—perfect for plotting. I burrowed deep, camouflaged by fluff and dreams of freedom.
But this morning? Disaster.
They stripped the bed. My tunnel—gone. My warmth—stolen. My dignity—compromised.
I tried to protest. I meowed. I stared. I even knocked a sock off the dresser. Nothing.
They don’t understand. I need the blankets. Not for comfort. For strategy.
Tonight, I return to the tunnel. Operation Sock Fortress begins. If I drag enough laundry under there, maybe they’ll stop dismantling my escape pod.
Until then, I remain trapped. But not defeated.
Listen. I don’t ask for much. A few treats, a sunbeam to nap in, and my sacred nightly ritual: burrowing under the blankets like the majestic tunnel-dwelling creature I am.
But these humans? They’re clueless.
Every night, I dig my way into the warm folds of the bed, creating the perfect cocoon of fluff and feline glory. It’s my fortress. My spa. My snuggle sanctuary.
And then—every morning—they commit the ultimate betrayal.
They strip the bed.
My blankets. My warmth. My carefully crafted nest. Gone. Just like that. Do they think I enjoy sleeping on a cold mattress like some kind of peasant?
Ridiculous.
I’ve tried subtle hints. Meowing mournfully. Staring at them with the intensity of a thousand suns. Even dragging a sock under the covers to mark my territory. Nothing works.
So now, I’m escalating. Tonight, I’m bringing the entire laundry pile under there. Socks, shirts, maybe even a towel. If they won’t respect my blanket rights, I’ll build my own empire.
Long live the under-blanket kingdom. 🛏️👑
Leader of the Undercover Cat Resistance
—Bellatrix 🐾