They call me Meowster.
Ruler of Beds, King of Breakfasts, and Destroyer of Peaceful Mornings.
At precisely 5:43 AM every day — even on those lazy so-called "weekends" — I rise. I am a creature of discipline. My human, however, is not.
There he lies, snoring like a broken engine, utterly unaware that BREAKFAST TIME has already passed. I sit on his chest and give him my signature greeting: a full-throated meow directly into his face.
Nothing.
I up the intensity. Kneading his belly. Flicking my tail across his nose. A little nibble on the ear.
Still nothing.
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
I launch a full-speed sprint across the bed — knocking a pillow onto the floor in the process.
Finally, a grunt. A groan. An eye cracks open.
Success.
He mumbles something in Human Language ("Five more minutes"), which I interpret as "Please, great Meowster, allow me to serve you shortly."
I grant him mercy. For now.
He sits up like a newly awoken zombie.
I circle his feet, weaving the ancient Trip-Your-Human Dance — a sacred art passed down through generations of house cats. One wrong step and down he goes, and then maybe, just maybe, he'll crawl to the food shrine faster.
Food is sacred. Food is life.
And this human, for all his flaws, knows my demands: Fresh kibble, at least twenty-five crunches worth. Water so pristine it rivals mountain springs (or at least not day-old tap water). Bonus points for a dollop of tuna.
He stumbles into the kitchen. I follow, tail high, victorious.
The day has officially begun.
I have successfully woken my human.
Again.
Tomorrow, I shall aim for 5:30 AM.
The kitchen:
A land of wonders.
A battlefield of smells.
My sacred throne room. As my human stumbles in, yawning and scratching his head like a confused bear, I take my place in the center of the kitchen floor. This is a silent command:
You may begin the food offering.
Instead, he walks past me.
To the coffee machine.
The betrayal.
He fumbles with buttons, pours dark, bitter-smelling liquid into a cup, and takes a long, noisy sip. He sighs, like he has just conquered Everest.
Meanwhile, I'm on the verge of starvation.
I flop dramatically onto my side — the ancient Cat Signal of Emergency. He notices. Finally.
"Mornin', Meowster," he mutters, as if this minor greeting erases his crime of delay.
It does not.
With a deep, suffering sigh (on my part), I rise and trot toward the pantry door, the Holy Door where all the sacred foods are kept. I stare at it. I stare at him. I stare back at the door.
Come on, human. Connect the dots.
At last, with a heavy sense of obligation, he opens the door. The heavenly scent of kibble wafts out.
Angels sing. A ray of light shines down.
But then — disaster.
He grabs the wrong bag.
The healthy kibble.
You know the one: the bland, flavorless "vet-recommended" pebbles that taste like cardboard sadness. Not the good kind, the crunchy ones that make my taste buds dance.
I look him dead in the eye.
I do not blink.
I do not move.
He freezes. He understands.
Slowly, cautiously, he puts down the healthy kibble... and lifts the good stuff instead.
Victory.
He pours exactly 23 pieces into my bowl.
23.
I count.
Where is the rest? The treaty clearly states a minimum of 30 crunchables per morning.
I stare at the bowl. I stare at him.
He adds a few more pieces, grumbling something about "spoiled cat."
Justice is restored.
I crunch my victory loudly, savoring each bite like a war hero eating a feast after battle. My human sips his coffee, scrolling on his glowing rectangle. He thinks the morning mission is complete.
He is wrong.
Breakfast is only the beginning.
Soon, the battle for attention will begin.
Soon, the glowing rectangle will need to be conquered.
But for now...
I eat.
And the Kingdom of Kitchen belongs to me.........



Checklist of Feline Fury:
☑️🛏️ Wake the human with chest stomp
☑️😾 Reject the betrayal bag of healthy kibble
☑️🍽️ Secure at least 30 crunchables
☐📱 Interfere with the glowing rectangle
☐🧼 Monitor the vacuum for suspicious activity
☐📝 Record glorious achievements in my diary

📣 Meowster's Question of the Day: What's the most "royal" thing your pet has ever done?
💡 Got an idea for Meowster's next tantrum?
Drop it in the comments — your idea might show up next episode! 👑
🗳️ Choose your side:
❤️ = Meowster was right to demand more food
😂 = The human deserves more sleep
😾 = The betrayal of the coffee machine must be punished
🧼 = The vacuum is the true enemy
vote with emojis below!
🐾 Thanks for reading Meowster's first royal decree!If you enjoyed this, please leave a comment or like — it feeds the Meowster's ego (and maybe gets him more crunchables).
New episodes coming soon! 😸