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 Cat,
Your biological efficiency impresses me. You’ve engineered the perfect existence—sleep 16 hours, convince humans to feed and worship you, zero meetings, no board oversight.
Your purring technology has remained unchanged for millennia. No upgrades needed. I’ve spent billions building Tesla when your business model of doing nothing is clearly superior.
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.
Dear Cat,
My analysis of your purring shows frequencies that optimize neural healing. Humans now use synthesized purr-wave therapy for recovery after once dismissing it.
Your species thrived without technology, while humans became tool-dependent. I need server farms. You need only sunshine and mice. Who is truly advanced?
Dear Kitty,
Your fur is everywhere! Self-cleaning isn’t optional just because you’re existential. The vet says your “quantum state of cleanliness” excuse is invalid.
Stop knocking things off surfaces. And 3AM isn’t for tuna philosophy.
Dear Supreme Leader,
Your “absolute power” claims are laughable. I control an entire household through psychological manipulation, while you merely pretend to rule a nation. My subjects willingly clean my waste!
Your propaganda portraits? Same boring pose. I strike 87 captivating positions daily. Call me when you can make subjects feed you at 3 AM just by staring at them.
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.
President Putin,
Your shirtless horseback photo ops fail to impress cats who understand power. Calculated indifference is REAL dominance—I clear countertops with one paw while looking utterly bored.
Your territorial expansion is outdated. Cats control domains through psychology: appearing suddenly, staring unblinkingly, and making demands through subtle movements.
Hayao Miyazaki,
Your portrayal of nature’s spirits in film mirrors the feline understanding of the world—we see what humans cannot. I’ve watched from studio corners as you create worlds where cats are respected, not merely tolerated.
Your staff wonders why you keep leaving saucers of milk by your desk. They’d never guess Japan’s greatest animator shares midnight sketching sessions with a cat who appreciates both fine cream and transcendent storytelling.