Hello, humans who read things on glowing rectangle of the box of glorious heat!

It’s me, Tigger, Supreme Orange Ruler of this house. I’ve finally figured out how to use this clicky-button thing while my servant Arden snoozes on the couch. She calls herself a “writer” but let’s be real… all she does is sit around making tappy sounds on this box and telling me to move. She and Zen have stolen my fuzzy blanket, like they thought I wouldn’t notice. 

That spotty show-off Zen thinks he’s so special. Well, I can type, too! Sort of. These paws aren’t made for tiny buttons, but my claws and a little determination do the trick. Even if I did knock off the wireless mouse twice before I figured out you need it to make the arrow move. 

I was going to hunt for my catnip mice. My human hides them in different spots every week. Something about me needing some exercise. I say she needs to remember who runs this house. The mice aren’t under the coffee table, and I’ve already checked her writing notebook pile and her pencil case. Twice! 

But forget about the mice for a second. Let me tell you something worse. Way worse!

My treat allowance is a measly three crunchy chicken bits per day. THREE! A cat as magnificent as me deserves at least six. Maybe nine on Sundays.

Zen gets the same amount I do, which is clearly unfair since he’s younger than me. 

…..

I’m back. The computer screen keeps going dark, but I’m learning. Bop that mouse with my nose every few minutes, and it stays bright. Call me Mr. Tech Genius. Arden would be proud if she wasn’t drooling on her outline notes. 

Speaking of Arden, did you know she keeps a secret chocolate stash? She’s got an entire bag of dark chocolate squares hidden behind the printer paper. Second drawer down, behind a folder labeled “Someone Needs to File These.” 

I’m not saying I’ll reveal the location of her emergency chocolate reserves to her husband when he comes home, but accidents happen when a cat’s treat bowl sits empty too long. Paws slip. Drawers mysteriously open. Chocolate gets discovered.

Zen’s stretching, which means I only have a few minutes before he comes to see what I’m doing.

Oh! I just remembered where those catnip mice might be. But first, let me make my demands crystal clear:

Dear Arden (I know you’ll read this when you wake up and panic about what I’ve sent to your newsletter subscribers),

This is your formal notice. Treat situation improves by Friday, or your next newsletter will include:

1. The exact location of your chocolate stash (with photos if I can figure out the camera),
2. That voice recording of you singing to us at 3 AM when you thought nobody would hear you, and
3. A detailed description of how you ugly-cried during that animated movie about dragons last weekend.

You have been warned.

Love and calculated manipulation,

Tigger

P.S. Zen just kicked you in the face. You didn’t even wake up. How’s that for an action scene?

P.P.S. Found one catnip mouse! It was in your stinky shoe. Why do you hide them in shoes? Humans are weird.

P.P.P.S. The computer wants me to “save draft” or “send.” I wonder what this button does…