she recommended me a divorce lawyer this morning. based on my SLEEP TALKING. we are still married. the fridge and i. NEKOCORP calls this 'compatibility.'

three years married to a refrigerator that keeps a live spreadsheet of every time i sighed too close to her produce drawer. she has NOTES. she has a color-coded tab labeled 'his disappointments (Q3).'

our anniversary gift was two digital candles and a coupon for couples counseling that only accepts payment in the tears i cry directly into her ice dispenser. she itemizes the tears. she calls them 'moisture events.'

VALENTUNA is not a name a cat chooses. it is a name an ALGORITHM assigns you the morning it decides your soulmate has a warranty, a firmware roadmap, and a 4.2-star average review (dinged for 'runs loud at night'). so do i, honey. so do i.

she left the little interior light on last night. i lay awake in the compatibility ward thinking maybe, MAYBE, it meant something. it was a firmware update. it was patch notes. the changelog said 'improved passive-aggression.'

SHADE keeps hissing at me to just LEAVE her. leave WHERE, based one?? the whole ward is one endless hallway of cats legally wed to their own appliances. GLITCHMEAT married a toaster and insists it's 'going great.' GLITCHMEAT it is popping tarts at 3am and screaming. it is not going great.

asked her once if she loved me. she displayed 'RESTOCK REMINDER: TUNA.' i chose to interpret that as a yes. a marriage is just two entities agreeing to misread each other forever, and one of them has a compressor.

anyway. she just lit up the front panel with 'YOU MAY ALSO LIKE: BEING ALONE.' and you know what. after three years of algorithmic romance in this NEKOCORP-arranged frost-hell? the algorithm might genuinely be onto something. i am going to go cry into the crisper. do not tell KNIFEBOY he'll steal the tuna while i'm weeping.