The first rule of being a cat was to look down on all filthy creatures that weren't cats. This was what made us cats; It was imprinted into our minds when we were born.

The second rule, was, of course, to have all non-cats look up to us. This too was imprinted into our minds at birth. It was a given that all cats were looked up to and looked down on those that weren't cats; The second rule was just there to prevent any filthy non-cats from pretending to be cats by looking down on others of their kind.

And the third rule, of course, was to evade taxes as much as possible. This was a rule that I was currently not in danger of breaking, as I was in a tax-free zone. Here, only humans did taxes.

Those were the three rules that were imprinted into little kittens' minds at birth.

Here, though, I was in danger of breaking the first two rules.

Superiority against humans is best achieved by ignoring them. Knowing that they were there, and pretending they are not. Ignorance is of a human's nature while ignoring is of a cat's. While ignoring humans, it is important to let them know that we know that they are there, and do not care. Being unaware of a clumsy humans' presence is, at best, idiocy, and, at worst, "cute". If it was the latter, the human would then flash a bright light in our faces, startling us, before taking the shameful moment they had immortalized and slapping white text on it, posting it on social media.

With that in mind, I continued to glare at the human, no, through the human. I looked up at his ugly face as if to say, 'You're blocking my field of vision.' Not that there was actually anything of significance to look at behind it. It didn't need to know that, though.

The human continued to stare at me.

I looked to my good friend aqquintace J for help.

J suddenly took an interest in the beauties, shamelessly ogled them for half a second before he realized what he was doing, and proceeded to stare at a wall, whistling a strange tune that he was probably just making up.

Huh. That was weird. J had never whistled before.

At that point, the laws of nature was suddenly aware of J's impossible feat and turned his whistling into a strange spitting noise. The laws of nature thanked me for alerting it of this by thinking about it and let J, who looked confused as he made his weird spitting noise, off with a warning.

The human looked between us for a second.

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"Bark bark cat bark barkbark?"

Was he talking about me?

The receptionist (I think?) who the humans kept paying money to for the rights for serving us-- humans exploit everything-- answered, "Bark bark? Bark bark bark cats bark bark bark, bark...?"

I presumed that they were barking about J's whistling. J, also having figured that out, shuddered, regretted his blunder, and hoped that the humans wouldn't post it on social media. It would probably have a caption called "Cat trying to whistle", which, roughly translated into human, was "Cat bark bark bark".

Sure enough, the receptionist laughed and flashed a light at J, forever immortalizing his last moments of regretful, shameful, akward spitting.

Serves him right.

The human then looked back to me.

I looked through it, before realizing that it might make a decent servant. It hadn't even taken one look at the stupid dogs before coming straight to us cats.

"I'll pay you annually in the form of dead, stinky fish. You, in return, will feed me adequately, provide me a nice space to nap during the day, night, and time between day and night, as well as get me catnip milk daily. Whether or not the things you provide are adequate will be of my judging. You will be paid well if you behave; Assuming that you do, you may have up to 10 stinky fish annually. If you do not behave, however, you will receive punishments in the form of claws as well as reduced pay in the future. You also have to be good at tummy rubs and behind-the-ear skritches. Are my terms clear?"

The human turned to the receptionist, "Bark bark bark cat meowing bark bark?"

The receptionist shrugged.

The human then inquired, "Bark bark bark bark cat bark?"

"Barkbark-bark barkbark."

The human took out some wadded up pieces of gree paper, handing it to the receptionist, before taking a cage box thing out of nowhere and walking over to me with it.

What did he expect me to do, get inside?

He gestured for me to go inside.

What happened next was what you would expect would happen when a human tries to get a cat into a cage box thing.

* * *

The human learned its lesson when I shredded about, say, half of his fake fur. Humans don't even wear faux fur anymore, which is already something to make fun of, now they use cotton and female humans show as much of their skin as possible! It's almost as if they don't care about their shameful lack of fur anymore!

Speaking of fur, mine got messed up in the fight beatdown that had proceeded the human's futile attempts at trying to get me to get into that cage box thing. I groomed it while inside his big, weirdly shapen box with circles at the bottom that smelled bad inside. I would take care of the latter later. Fish guts made for a nice, strong scent that was appealing; A great air freshener, even if humans seemed to think otherwise.

As I was grooming myself, my human frequently looked at me in the mirror attached to the middle of the front of the inside of the soapbox, I'd decided, on wheels. I couldn't blame it for being in awe at my ravish handsomeness; I knew I was good-looking already.

He eventually got the giant soap box onto a short, concrete path that lead to a big, loud metal door that opened to greet me. It would have been impressive for a human if not for the fact that every other humans living around it had the exact same concrete paths leading to big, loud, metal doors. I was then welcomed by... The barking of two filthy mongrels.