My Cat Hates My Wi-Fi

I always thought pets hated vacuums, loud music, or maybe the mailman. My cat? He declared war on the Wi-Fi.

It started subtly. Whiskers, my orange tabby, would perch by the router and stare at it like it owed him rent. At first, I thought he was just curious—cats do weird things. But then he started knocking it over.

One morning, I woke up to find the router unplugged. I blamed myself. Maybe I tripped on the cable. The next day, the router was missing altogether. I found it under the couch with a suspicious amount of cat hair around it.

“Whiskers,” I said, picking it up. “What are you doing, buddy?”

He blinked at me, innocent as ever, then casually sauntered over to knock over my phone, which was charging nearby.

That was when I started putting the pieces together. Whiskers didn’t like my phone either. Or my laptop. Every time I was online, he’d hop onto the keyboard, meow aggressively, or knock things off the desk.

Still, I thought it was attention-seeking behavior. I bought new toys, upgraded his food, gave him more playtime. But nothing worked. The more I used the internet, the more chaotic he became.

One night, as I was on a video call for work, he jumped onto the desk and sat directly in front of the webcam. Just sat there, glaring.

"Is that a cat?" my boss asked.

“Yes, sorry—he’s been a bit clingy lately.”

“He’s… really staring.”

“I think he hates the Wi-Fi,” I said, half-joking.

But it wasn’t a joke anymore.

I started documenting the incidents. Every time I streamed a movie, tried to upload something, or joined a Zoom meeting, Whiskers would appear. He’d unplug things, sit on devices, and once he even knocked my entire mug of coffee onto the router. I had to buy a new one.

The vet said he was healthy. The behaviorist said he was probably stressed. My mother said I should just get off the internet more often and pay attention to him.

So, I decided to test that.

I went a full day without using any device. No phone, no laptop, no TV. Just me and Whiskers.

He was… delightful. He cuddled, purred, and even brought me one of his toys, which was a rare sign of affection. He acted like a completely different cat.

The next day, I opened my laptop to check emails, and bam—he jumped onto the keyboard and pressed his paw on the power button until the screen went black.

That’s when it hit me.

Whiskers didn’t hate the Wi-Fi. He hated what it took from him: me.

He missed the mornings when I wasn’t scrolling while drinking coffee. He missed the quiet evenings on the couch without my phone glowing in my face. He missed attention, warmth, time.

Feeling guilty, I made a schedule. Mornings were for devices, afternoons were for chores, and evenings were for Whiskers. I turned off the Wi-Fi after 7 p.m. and stuck to it.

At first, he was skeptical. He sat by the router, waiting for the glow. But eventually, he accepted it. He even started purring when I turned the switch off, as if he knew: this was our time.

We found balance.

But the final test came when my friend asked me to catsit her kitten, Luna, for a week. Luna was small, energetic, and obsessed with chasing shadows. She also didn’t care about the Wi-Fi.

Whiskers, on the other hand, glared at her every time she batted at the blinking router lights.

On day three, I caught him trying to teach her to unplug the router. He had nudged the plug out just enough so the signal flickered. Luna clumsily pawed at the cable while Whiskers sat nearby like a tiny feline professor.

I couldn’t stop laughing.

In the end, Whiskers didn’t hate the Wi-Fi. He just wanted to remind me that connection—real connection—was more important than being connected.

So now, every night, when the clock hits seven, I flip the switch. The router goes dark. Whiskers curls up in my lap. And for a few hours, the world goes quiet, except for the soft sound of purring.

Sometimes, I think he’s the smartest one in the house.