Cogs can think.

Having a cat is pretty much fun.

Despite what many cat lovers will tell you, they are fairly stupid, and desire little to nothing (with little being food, sleep, and in case of my Lucifer, some vital arteries to severe). When your cat is not my Twiek Lucifer Damien, you can teach it stuff in a very simple, yet effective way: whenever it does something it shouldn’t, just give them a hard but gentle (what?) tap on the head, and soon enough, the creature will lower its ears in fear whenever you raise your hand, promptly stopping whatever it is doing.

Crude, but effective. I raised three cats well with this technique, and Twiek will be the fourth. Sort of. Twiek is a special case; he’s possessed, and I’m still waiting for his little head to start doing 360s while miauwing Marilyn Manson’s “Posthuman” (“God is just a statistic”, that sort of stuff). It will take a while before Twiek realises that when I am in the house, he’ll get a tap on the head whenever he is doing stuff I don’t want him to. Of course, he can do whatever he wants when I’m not there (you know, tree falling in the forest, nobody heard it, did it fall?).

In the hope that Twiekie will ever take me off his death list (on which you’ll find things like that pretty plant my parents gave me, the couches, anything that happens to be on my desk, and of course my wrists and neck), I gave him a climbing tower covered in black pluche (vulgar alert). He is still indifferent towards it, but as soon as he finds out it has a nice little cozy hole where he can breed evil schemes to kill me, I’m sure he’ll love it.