Cats have a scam going - you buy the food, they eat the food

Host: The night was lazy and warm, the kind of evening when the city seemed to be half-asleep, blinking its lights like a tired animal. A small apartment on the fourth floor overlooked the street — the sound of traffic, the hum of a TV, the occasional shout from a distant alley.

In the living room, a cat slept on the back of a sofa, its tail flicking with that imperial disinterest known only to felines. Jack sat nearby, legs crossed, a beer in one hand, remote in the other, staring at the cat as if it were a philosophical puzzle.

Jeeny was sitting on the floor, painting her nails, the bottle of polish balanced precariously on a stack of magazines. The lamp beside her glowed softly, throwing gold light against the walls, making the whole room feel like a small theater where nothing and everything was about to happen.

Jack: “You know, Jeeny, I think cats are running a global scam. Eddie Izzard nailed it — we buy the food, they eat it, and then they just... leave. No thank you, no loyalty, nothing. Just a cold look of disdain like they’re charging rent for their presence.”

Jeeny: “That’s not a scam, Jack. That’s called boundaries. Something you might want to learn from them.”

Host: The cat stretched, yawned, and turned, regarding Jack with a look that could only be described as existential contempt. Its eyes were like coins — gold, flat, and utterly transactional.

Jack: “Boundaries? Come on. Dogs at least pretend to love you. Cats are like, ‘You may exist, human, as long as you continue to serve my schedule.’ That’s not a relationship — that’s feudalism.”

Jeeny: “Feudalism? Please. Cats just don’t lie about the nature of love. They give affection when they feel it, not when you demand it. That’s not manipulation, Jack — that’s honesty.”

Jack: “Honesty? They’re users, Jeeny. I give them shelter, they give me allergies. You know what I get in return? Judgment. They look at you like you’re a disappointment they didn’t even order.”

Host: The cat, as if on cue, stood, walked to the kitchen, ignored the bowl of expensive gourmet cat food Jack had just poured, and stared instead at the cupboard — where the treats were kept. Jack groaned.

Jack: “See? That right there. Proof of the conspiracy. They’re running us like corporate managers — minimal effort, maximum benefit.”

Jeeny: “Maybe you just can’t handle independence. You want every living thing to need you, to validate you. Cats don’t do that. They remind you that affection isn’t ownership.”

Host: The lamp light flickered, soft shadows sliding across the walls. The city outside sighed, its sounds now distant, like the afterthoughts of a long day.

Jack: “That’s poetic, but you’re giving them too much credit. They’re psychological experts — they purr just long enough to make you forget the scratch marks. It’s the oldest con in the book. Emotional manipulation, packaged in fur.”

Jeeny: “Maybe the problem isn’t the cat, Jack. Maybe the problem is that you expect unconditional love for the price of a can of tuna. That’s not love — that’s transactional.”

Jack: “And you think cats aren’t transactional?”

Jeeny: “Of course they are. But they’re honest about it. Humans pretend their relationships are about love, when half the time it’s about need, or habit, or fear of being alone. Cats don’t pretend. They take, they leave, and they don’t apologize.”

Host: The cat had now returned, leaping silently onto the sofa, curling into a perfect spiral — a living symbol of self-sufficiency. Its eyes closed, its breathing steady, indifferent to the debate about its own ethics.

Jack: “So what, we should all start living like cats now? Just take what we want, disappear, and call it spiritual growth?”

Jeeny: “Maybe we should at least learn to stop apologizing for our instincts. Humans make contracts out of everything — love, friendship, even kindness. Cats just exist. They don’t negotiate their worth.”

Jack: “That’s easy when you’ve got someone else buying the food.”

Jeeny: “Maybe they’ve just evolved beyond codependence. Think about it — every religion, every philosophy preaches detachment. Cats have already mastered it. They’re like tiny monks covered in arrogance.”

Host: Jack laughed, a deep, genuine sound that filled the room. Jeeny smiled, not at the joke, but at the lightness that had finally returned to his voice.

Jack: “Monks? You’re calling that thing a monk? It just knocked my glass of water onto my tax forms.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. It’s teaching you non-attachment.”

Jack: “More like insurance fraud.”

Host: The cat, as if amused, opened one eye, yawned, and flicked its tail lazily before returning to its sleep. Jack shook his head, smiling despite himself.

Jack: “You know what’s funny? We write books on how to find peace, how to simplify, how to live freely — and meanwhile, the cat already figured it out. Sleep, eat, ignore, repeat.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Maybe they’re not scamming us — maybe they’re just showing us how much of our own drama is unnecessary.”

Jack: “So, you’re saying the cat is my spiritual teacher?”

Jeeny: “Well, it’s definitely more enlightened than you are right now.”

Host: The clock on the wall ticked, slow and steady, while the city lights outside flashed like signals in a distant code. The room felt lighter, warmer — as if the banter itself had cleansed the air.

Jack: “Alright. Let’s make a deal then. I’ll keep buying the food, and the cat can keep pretending I don’t exist. But one day, if it ever thanks me, I’ll know the world has truly ended.”

Jeeny: “And when that day comes, Jack, you’ll still find something sarcastic to say about it.”

Jack: “Of course. That’s my scam.”

Host: The cat purred, a deep, vibrating sound that filled the room with something close to contentment. Jack and Jeeny sat in comfortable silence, the kind that only arrives when both laughter and truth have already done their work.

Outside, the night settled like a blanket, and the city dreamed its noisy dreams. Inside, a man, a woman, and a cat each played their part in an ancient comedy — the eternal contract between need and freedom, between care and indifference.

And the cat, without ever knowing, won — again.