🐾 AITA for Preferring the Cardboard Box Over the Toy My Family Spent Actual Money On?
By Pookie, Calico Cat, Professional Box Enthusiast, Ignorer of Capitalism

Hi. It’s me. Pookie.

There was a purchase. A toy, allegedly designed for feline enrichment. It squeaks. It flashes. It reeked of desperation and something I wouldn’t step over in a litter box. I watched as the family unboxed it with great pomp—Chunk squealed, Jack announced its features like he was at a tech conference, and Mom whispered, “She’s gonna love this.”

Spoiler: I did not.

I approached cautiously. Sniffed the toy. It made a noise that sounded like anxiety trapped in plastic. I swatted it once. It spun. I walked away.

And then—I found the box.

Rectangular. Brown. Humming with potential.
I climbed in. Turned three times. Settled into a corner with one paw draped over the edge like a Victorian duchess waiting for her tea.

Bliss.

Mom frowned. “Pookie, we bought you something fancy.”
I blinked. “And I chose minimalism.”

They kept trying. Jack rolled the toy across the floor. I yawned. James tossed it. I flinched. Dan tried to activate some light-up feature. I left the room entirely.

I returned to the box.
The box doesn’t squeak.
The box doesn’t demand my energy.
The box understands me.

So… AITA?

For:

• Rejecting the glitzy toy in favor of corrugated serenity?
• Preferring calm shadowy corners to chaotic LED nonsense?
• Resting in what humans call “trash” but I call “home”?
• Judging their financial decisions while licking my own shoulder?

Or am I simply exercising my right to elegant simplicity?

They spent $19.99.
I chose cardboard.
And peace.

I nap without regret.