The Reign of Miso

I didn’t plan on having my life ruled by a tiny tyrant. Truly, I thought I was signing up for a little companionship, some purring, maybe a few gentle head-butts on the sofa. But then Miso arrived. A rescue kitten with the energy of a hurricane, the charm of a Broadway star, and the strategic mind of a general. And just like that, my life became hers.

Miso has a new obsession lately: hide-and-seek. She used to prefer tag, but like any true diva, she got bored. Hide-and-seek, however, is not a game for her—it is an institution. A full-time occupation. And with our new apartment full of boxes from moving, she has hundreds of potential hiding spots. Boxes, closets, under tables—if she can vanish behind it, she will. And I will find her, only to be poked with a swift paw as a reminder that playtime is mandatory.

Ignoring her is not an option. I have tried. I have failed. The consequences are immediate, and usually involve loud, sustained purring in my ear, dramatic stares, and a heartfelt complaint about how lonely she is without a proper co-conspirator—or worse, a lengthy lecture on how terrible a person I am for not giving her the attention she deserves. Trust me, I have endured the guilt before. Never again.

So yes. This is my life now. I live under Miso’s reign, and I would not have it any other way.

Hosting friends? Forget it. Miso transforms every gathering into a one-cat show. Snacks, wine, carefully curated playlists—all rendered irrelevant. The moment she senses admiration in the room, she steps into the spotlight. Head-butts first—intimate yet commanding. Next, a display of athleticism: leaps across shelves, wall-mounted stairs, and tables, stopping mid-jump to stare at her audience as if to say, “Did you see that?” And the finale, of course, is the upside-down pose: paws bent, eyes wide, complete surrender to the collective awe.

Nothing I do competes with her. Fancy hors d’oeuvres? Ignored. My charming stories? Overlooked. I am simply the backdrop for her performance. Weeks later, friends call—not to ask about me, not to ask about my life—but to check on her well-being and marvel at her latest tricks. I should be insulted. I am not.

Cats are not pets; they are philosophers disguised as freeloaders. Miso is not playing games. She is conducting experiments. She teaches patience through interruption, attention through mischief, and love through gentle tyranny.

Sometimes, I swear she was royalty in a past life. Cleopatra, perhaps. It would explain the entitlement, the dramatic entrances, and the expectation of tribute—preferably tuna or chicken treats. I was prepared.

Even quiet evenings are dangerous. Watch TV with her, and if a cat appears on screen, Miso notices immediately. There are no meows, no obvious gestures—just a long, low, insistent purr, vibrating through the room like some ancient, mysterious message. She sits there, staring, reminding me that life is about observing, participating, and occasionally surrendering to the unexpected.

And she is a strategist. Once, we tried introducing a companion for her to play with. Together, they plotted a daring escape to the city below. We had to climb the fire escape eleven stories up like untrained superheroes to retrieve them. Miso was unimpressed by the rescue and furious at the interruption. Still, it was thrilling. And yes, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Some things enter your life disguised as burdens. Miso arrived as a rescue, tiny and needy. But she turned out to be a mirror, a teacher, a queen. She reminds me daily that joy is not something you schedule or plan—it ambushes you. It taps you from behind. It hides between boxes and waits for the perfect moment to leap into your heart.

Miso’s rule comes with certain realities: life under her gaze is unpredictable, exhausting, and fur-covered. But it is also spectacular, joyful, and completely unforgettable. Every box she hides in, every leap she takes, every dramatic stare reminds me that happiness isn’t something you chase—it pounces on you when you least expect it.

Yes, my life is governed by a tiny, purring tyrant with acrobatic flair and zero boundaries. But that’s the price of love. And fur. Endless, glorious fur.

And I pay it gladly.

Because Miso, in her quiet, mischievous, and utterly commanding way, has taught me what few humans can: how to surrender to joy, how to live in the moment, and how to love unconditionally—even when that love comes with claws and acrobatics.