On that utterly unremarkable Monday, all of humanity suddenly started hearing things.
No, a thousand times more shocking than that: **we suddenly understood cat language!
Imagine this:
You lovingly call, "Mimi, come here for a cuddle~" and hear the reply: "You stupid two-legged creature, don't touch My noble fur with those germ-covered hands! Where are My dried fish snacks? Yesterday's canned food was on sale, wasn't it? Hmph, you cheapskate!"
As you enjoy the soft sensation of a cat rubbing against your leg, its inner monologue says: "Tsk, this fabric is so cheap. It's chafing My chin. Whatever, since I'm going to reward you with a chance to scoop My litter later, I'll deign to mark you."
As you gaze at your cat elegantly grooming itself, the translation in your head reads: "Look at the flexibility in these hind legs, perfect! And then there's you. You can barely reach your own back with your tongue, can you? What a useless piece of trash."
The world went up in flames!
Cat lovers saw their faith crumble: so those meows were sarcastic insults? Those purrs were grumbling complaints?
Cat haters were ecstatic: See! I told you they were evil! They really are insulting me!
Even more terrifying: **your cat knows all your secrets!** Your late-night emo spirals, the farts you secretly let out, the stash of cash hidden under your bed, the things you mutter about your boss and coworkers... Now it's all exposed to the cats, along with their philosophical musings and ancient profanities. They've become walking "social-death nuclear bombs"!
Chaos swept the globe: cat cafes went bankrupt, pet hospitals overflowed (with patients in the psychiatry department), and the trust crisis between humans and cats reached unprecedented heights.
