Chapter 7: The Mouse Incident and Other Workplace Failures

I, Pookie Whiskerstein III, am the Chief Executive Napper of this household. My office? Ashley’s desk. My mission? To oversee productivity, enforce lap availability, and ensure that all workplace snacks are shared equitably (read: with me).

Today’s fiasco began when I attempted to conduct a routine desk inspection. I leapt gracefully onto my designated throne—Ashley’s keyboard—and was immediately confronted by a rogue device: the mouse. It was in my way. I nudged it gently, as any seasoned manager would, and Ashley had the audacity to move it herself. Without a formal request. Without a treat offering. Without even a chin scratch.

Labor Review:

• Ashley continues to type without consulting me first.
• She prioritizes “deadlines” over my tail placement.
• She refuses to acknowledge that her Zoom meetings are actually my performance reviews.

Improvement Plan (for Ashley, obviously):

1. Mouse Relocation Protocol: All desk items must be cleared before my arrival. I don’t care if it’s a spreadsheet or a sandwich—if it’s in my way, it’s gone.
2. Lap Availability Schedule: I require a minimum of 3.5 hours of uninterrupted lap access per day. Meetings must be rescheduled accordingly.
3. Snack Redistribution Act: All crunchy items must be shared. If it crinkles, I get first dibs.
4. Nap Zone Expansion: The desk is mine. The chair is mine. The floor is mine. Ashley may occupy the airspace above her head, pending approval.

Final Note: Ashley may think she’s the one with a “career,” but let’s be honest—who’s really running this operation? I hold meetings with my eyes. I delegate with my tail. I enforce compliance with a single, judgmental stare.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a 2:00 p.m. nap and a 3:15 p.m. sunbeam appointment. Ashley, please submit your revised behavior plan by end of day. Or just leave it next to the treats.

Sincerely,
Pookie the Cat, Feline-in-Chief