Household physics confirms it: cats act like liquids[1] with audacious surface tension. One minute they’re a dignified loaf, the next they’ve poured through a whisker-width gap into a cabinet, tote bag, or cereal box labeled “Do Not Enter.” If it says “If I fits, I sits,” they treat it like statute law and file in purrson.
Liquid logic creates situations. Blinds become lasagna noodles. Laundry hampers turn into submarines. Sofa springs host unauthorized spelunking. Someone discovers the “impossible” space behind the fridge and announces it with a muffled mrrrrp. The home Meowntain Rescue Team mobilizes: treats as grappling hooks,[2] a chair shifted two inches, gentle reverse-beeping for morale. After extraction, the cat blinks like, “I meant to do that,” then promptly oozes into a shoebox the size of a sandwich.
Prevention helps, but curiosity has excellent flow rates. Close the washer, cap the trash, block the voids, and stock patience, snacks, and a towel for dignity wraps. Cats may be liquid, but they’re buoyant in love.[3] Every rescue ends with a relieved laugh, a slow blink, and a promise to patch the next portal.
Is your inbox feline too professional? Add some cats falling off counters. Subscribe here![4]
References
- ^ cats act like liquids (cheezburger.com)
- ^ treats as grappling hooks, (cheezburger.com)
- ^ they’re buoyant in love. (cheezburger.com)
- ^ Is your inbox feline too professional? Add some cats falling off counters. Subscribe here! (icanhascheezburger.beehiiv.com)