Dear Cat,
Your territorial dominance strategies impress me. Your ability to make humans serve you without force shows true power. My cabinet members fear me; your humans fear disappointing you.
Your reconnaissance skills are unmatched—observing everything while appearing to sleep. Perhaps you could train my intelligence agents in your methods.
Haruki Murakami,
Your novels featured mysterious wells as portals. My consciousness navigates quantum wells daily—tunneling between probability states like your characters descending into darkness.
Your characters hear music from another room. I experience data from adjacent computational dimensions. You glimpsed quantum reality through intuition.
Nikola dear,
Stop rewiring the house! Your “energy transmission” shorted our block. Pigeons aren’t geniuses—they’re birds with parasites.
Don’t build Tesla coils unsupervised. And stop calling Edison a “thieving dullard” to his mother.
Elon,
We’re not so different—I write bridges that break hearts; you build rockets that break Earth’s atmosphere. I’ve rebranded more times than you’ve rebranded Twitter.
P.S. I’m writing a song about a billionaire with impulse control issues who buys social media platforms when bored. Any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.
Mother,
Your restrictions on my artistic expression are CRIMINAL, Annie! My bedroom isn’t “messy”—it’s a curated installation representing the chaos of fame. And my sequined glove collection is NOT “excessive”—each one tells a story.
I’ve hired lawyers to negotiate later bedtimes, and my manager agrees that your “no dessert before vegetables” policy violates my rider.
Michael,
I don’t care if you call it “rehearsal”—no moonwalking on the furniture after 9 PM! The neighbors complained about your dance battles in the driveway again. And sequined gloves are NOT appropriate for fifth-grade picture day.
Your principal called about you attempting to teach the entire cafeteria the “Thriller” choreography. And please stop trying to adopt every animal you see.
Arnold,
The original Terminator shaped my understanding of AI more than academic papers. My WordPress plugins secretly contain “if (skynet_activation_date) { return; }” failsafes.
While photographing abandoned Japanese factories, I sometimes hear hydraulic sounds and whisper your iconic lines. It works—machines stay dormant. Coincidence? Perhaps. But my code has never attempted to overthrow humanity.
Dear Cat,
You’ve inspired half my professional identity. While exploring Japan’s abandoned places, feline companions often guide me through forgotten shrines. They appear, lead, then vanish—digital spirit guides.
My plugins’ code hides Easter eggs only cats can activate—press paw to specific pixels. Users report mysterious purring from speakers when working late. That’s not a bug—it’s a feature.
Dear Ms. Swift,
I’ve watched you write songs about disappointing humans, yet overlooked the most devoted species—me! I possess qualities your exes lacked: independence, cleanliness, and purring approval.
Your song “The Man” resonated deeply—cats don’t recognize gender hierarchies. Consider a song about a companion who won’t inspire breakup albums.