Hey, thanks for reaching out. I get that you are having an existential crisis of self, facing the realities of aging, and accepting your social and economic circumstances, but listen, there is nothing I can do; I’m just a cat stretching in a bodega.
And no, it doesn’t matter that it’s a BIG stretch either.
I can’t do anything about your unaffordable rent or exorbitant student loans; I have no expenses in my life. I live in a potato chip display and sleep twenty-three hours a day. I can’t fix your general lack of purpose. The most I can offer is startling you as you reach for a bag of Sun Chips, but that’ll only make you feel alive for a split second. Then it’s back to pondering the pointlessness of everything.
That tuxedo cat, spending her days crawling into the fresh vegetable display? She can’t help either. She spends most of her time licking the broccoli florets, so she can’t explain how your deductible works. When the insurance company tells you to call the doctor, who then tells you to call the insurance company in an endless cycle where all parties involved are just waiting for you to die so they don’t have to deal with you, the momentary gratification of seeing a bodega cat look up at you will not help. If anything, she might be the cause of further health complications.
There’s a slight chance she might let you pet her for a few seconds before hissing and scratching at you, but I don’t really see how that helps.
And I think you already know the overweight orange cat by the buffet station that fully just fell into the lasagna chafing dish can’t do anything helpful either. Look at him: He can’t even get out of the lasagna. He might be trapped in there forever now.
At night is when we do actual work. If fixing your life involves catching mice, I got you. If your landlord is willing to barter for dead rodents, come find me. If your horrible boss at work is literally a rat, then I’ll take care of it. Otherwise, there’s not much we bodega cats can do to help your situation.
And please don’t steal any of us, it would be both unhelpful AND expensive for you. Don’t try to help the overweight orange cat either; he has since given up trying to eat his way out of the lasagna and has resigned himself to being permanently trapped under melted cheese in a warming tin.
So, no, while my friends and I may provide a few seconds of relief, if you’re searching for meaning and direction in your life, I’m sorry, I’m just a cute kitty stretching at your local bodega, and my friends and I can’t fix your problems.
Wait, actually, that Sphynx cat up on the top shelf, watching over us like an Egyptian pharaoh, wields the Amulet of Horus and thus has the power of the gods to fix all your problems. She just chooses not to.
