How My Boss's Cat Is Way Higher On The Chain Than Me

April 1st

Here, I'd have my own office, be my own person, have a real name, and not just "you there". Here, making coffee and copies will be a distant memory. Here, there will be no more humiliation. No longer an intern but an account executive-oh, the promissed land.

I squared my shoulders and smiled broadly at the receptionist. Go time. Head up, maintain eye contact, don't fidget. You've got this.

"Hello! I'm..."

My witty opening line was cut short when my left foot made contact with the plushy beige carpet, eliciting from it a vicious and unexpected reply that upset my balance and made me careen to the floor in a heap, taking a ruby-red vase with me. Rubbing my sore butt cheek and cautious of the shards scattered everywhere, I looked bewildered at the source of the commotion, only to realize that the "carpet" was, in fact, a Birman cat. Unimpressed by my clumsiness, it pierced me with clear blue eyes that could cut glass, its luscious sandy coat standing on end. I must have barely grazed its tail or something because there were no signs of damage apart from its raising fury.

"Now look what you've done. You've upset Chipi!" the receptionist was quick to scold me.

"Umm, my apologies. I didn't see him there," I replied while getting up and brushing my now wrinkled clothes, flexing my legs to smoothen out the creases. Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, an ominous crack reverberated from my neither regions. No, not a fart. It was the sound of my formerly pristine pants ripping. It seemed the stress was too much for them.

Oblivious to my new drama, the receptionist pinned me on the spot with a look full of contempt.

"You should apologize to him."

Come again? Don't get me wrong, I loved cats, but this was something else. 

"Now."

A minute passed by in silence, while I came to terms with my new situation. Swallowing a bunch of retorts that would have made my mother blush with embarrassment, I turned to the cat in question and cleared my throat.

"Dear Chipi, I am very sorry for upsetting you. It will not happen again."

My barely concealed sarcasm worked because the receptionist relented and lead me to my new manager after I finally explained who I was.

Parading in a new firm with a hole as large as China between my legs was no easy feat. It required a tremendous amount of effort and dare I say talent, to keep ramrod straight and always face my back to the wall. Okay, so not a great start, but I refused to be discouraged. I would just have to soldier through and prove how valuable of an asset I was.

The manager seemed nice enough, despite his oily hair (how much product does a guy need, seriously now), beady eyes, and bulldog walk. At least he knew my actual name. After a quick tour around the office, he left me at my desk with a bunch of manuals to read. Before I could figure out how to insert myself on the chair without flashing anyone, he casually turned his head and said:

"One more thing. I understand there was a situation with Chipi. I strongly urge you to be careful. Everyone needs his stamp of approval if they want to succeed here."

April 7th

After the train wreck that was my first day, the remainder of the week passed by without major incidents. Almost. Probably because I avoided Chipi like the plague. Fresh intel. He was the CEO's cat and mascot of the firm since its establishment, 14 years before. Basically, he was the oldest employee (or emPAWyee, according to the inscription on his collar), ruler of all within his sight, higher on the "food chain" than any biped apart from his owner (although I use this term loosely. One does not simply own Chipi).

I thought it was all a big joke until someone was literally fired after his majesty hissed at them. The why is unclear, but it seemed there was no "innocent until proven guilty" when it came to Chipi.

So I tried to stay off his radar altogether, no small deed considering he was EVERYWHERE! I even took to checking the bathroom stalls. Could you imagine the scandal if I accidentally peed on Chipi? Losing my job would have been a given, but they would no doubt slap me with some mind-boggling charges as well.

So yeah, evasion seemed the best option, which worked perfectly until Friday, when I was due to finish a big presentation for my beady-eyed manager. I'd worked all week at it, excited to prove my worth. Only the final recommendations remained, the trickiest part because of all the cross-references I needed to check. Fueled by a quick bite at the office kitchen, the conclusions would basically write themselves. Unfortunately, after my frugal lunch, I was met with this scene.

At first, I tried a friendly approach. I've always had cats. They liked me, damn it! But noo, not Chipi. I managed to move my hand a few inches in his direction, palm up and hopefully placating, before he snapped his teeth at me, grazing my skin. At that moment, my manager popped his head in the office I shared with three other people, and blanched, sweat coating his brow.

"You go clean yourself right now. Chipi hates the sight of blood."

Chipi hates the sight of blood. For fuck's sake. I did too and was even more opposed to piercing pain, but that was life for you.

"Fine," I said while hiding my hand at the back. Jeez. "But what about the presentation? I still have to write down the conclusions. The meeting is in an hour."

"That's easy. You can use that nice notebook the firm provided on your first day. Just be careful to be legible—I have a hard time discerning handwriting. See you in an hour on the dot."

Needless to say, the week wrapped just how it started—horribly. Chipi grazed my right index finger, which greatly impacted the legibility of my writing. But more importantly, the content per se was lousy, because I had to recreate it from memory. After the meeting, my livid manager announced that 10% of my first salary would be deducted for my sloppy work.

April 14th

I started to get into a groove. Do my job, avoid Chipi, repeat. The silver lining was the newly instated work-from-home Wednesday. Why Wednesday, I had no idea, maybe to make hump day more attractive, dunno. On Thursday, I was away on meetings, which left only Friday to conclude my first fiasco-free week. The problem was that upon reaching the office a foul smell assaulted my nostrils. It wasn't me, I had just showered and was wearing brand new Nike's that set back my already modest bank account. And no, I hadn't stepped in poo. I checked.

Not able to address the cause, I focused on the effects and doused the whole desk in perfume. In the end, it smelled like dead fish in a rose garden. My colleagues started to wrinkle their noses and whisper like crazy behind my back, undoubtedly about the new girl that stinked. But it wasn't me! Two hours later, I finally spotted a hardly noticeable stain on the carpet, directly below my desk. Upon closer inspection—that involved crawling on my hands and knees—I had my answer. It was pee. Raged filled me as I could see in my mind's eye Chipi desecrating my space. In my absence!

You know how fury clouds your judgment? Well, in the state I was in, I naively thought this time I would find a sympathetic ear in my manager, who would come to the rescue and help me remove the repugnant piece of carpet. Not by himself, of course, but I couldn't just rip it apart with no prior approval. So I tracked him down and pleaded my case, as calmly as possible.

"Ah, but that's marvelous news. It means that Chipi is warming up to you. He only marks his territory in spaces with good vibes."

"But, but..."

Words had failed me at that point.

"Indeed, I would be speechless too. To be here for such a short time and receive Chipi's blessing? Just wonderful. Good job, sport."

Good job, sport. The office cat peeing all over my space was my crowning achievement, the only one that warranted congratulations in two weeks. Not my work. Nooo. Not my dedication. No. Being Chipi's chosen toilet was what elevated my status. And to think I foolishly believed this job would be the promised land, a space free of constant humiliation. How wrong I was... This, this right here was true humiliation. On the plus side, maybe if Chipi crapped on my lap I would become office president or something.

April 21st

Chipi vomited in my bag today. I was given a raise.

April 28th

After stewing in misery for over a week, I decided to use the lemons life gave me and make a kickass margarita. So Chipi allegedly liked me now, did he? Well, I was going to use that half-assed notion to my advantage. Evasion became a thing of the past. Now I was the one seeking him out (but always in private, mindful of a hissing fit), to test the boundaries of our new "friendship".

Ironically, he didn't like it when people followed him around, so now he was the one giving me a wide berth. But occasionally, he did approach me. If this was a power play, he could not be left behind.

Slowly, the unfathomable happened.

June 1st

I can't deny it any longer. As much as I tried to hold out, and despite the utterly bizarre circumstances, Chipi grew on me. There. I said it. I like the vomit spewing, pee diffuser, terror-inducing, blue-eyed furball.

All those late nights at the office, when he invaded my personal space with no regard for propriety, chipped at my defenses. I remembered who much I actually liked cats and realized something shocking. I was jealous of him. I too wanted to do as I pleased, nap any time I felt like it, even empty my bladder without fear of ridicule. Not to mention, be adored and spoiled rotten. I couldn't do all that, of course, considering my humanity, but there's no denying that we all have an animalistic side. It's in our DNA. So, I endeavoured to lean on all those dormant genes, find balance and live a well-rounded life. Mighty poetic, right? But also true.

Humiliating moments aside, Chipi ended up being a catalyzer for change, an inspiring force of nature that brought much more than just joy. He was an instrument of self-awareness and development. EmPAWyee of the decade. (Just don't let him know I said that. He'll be insuferable for months.)

By Ana Maria Radulescu

Author's note: this is a pamphlet and should be treated as such, the story being loosely based on true events. But Chipi really was a great cat, who brought much to the office.