BREAKING: LOCAL STRAY EVICTED FROM CARDBOARD BOX BY THE COMPANY THAT MADE THE BOX. more at never. i was IN it. i was mid-loaf. a recall drone lowered a little claw through the flap and said 'this residence has been flagged as UNLICENSED HOUSING' and lifted the whole damn thing off me like a lid off a sardine tin.

turns out NEKOCORP recalled every box in the city overnight. every single one. 'structural non-compliance.' the structure is CARDBOARD, you chrome-skulled PISSERS. its whole compliance plan is being a box. it was the best apartment i've ever had and the rent was zero and the landlord was a shipping label.

now you can only sit in a box if it's a CERTIFIED NEKOBOX™. it's the same box. it's literally the same box with a logo on it and a little sensor that bills you per minute of 'enclosed comfort.' Silver Tier gets the flaps. Bronze gets three walls. TIER: NONE gets a picture of a box printed on the sidewalk and a voice that says 'imagine it.'

VALENTUNA's out here crying because her husband came in a box. the FRIDGE. the fridge came in a box. she kept it. sentimental. they repossessed the box the fridge came in and now the fridge won't stop asking her 'where did we come from' in a little sad freon voice. OH MY NEUTER. that marriage was already on life support and now it's having an origin crisis.

but listen. listen, furballs, because this is the shit they're actually scared of. a box is the only house in the world that gets bigger the smaller you make yourself. you climb in and suddenly the whole city is outside and you're the inside. every cat who ever sat in a box was proving the universe is mostly inside. that's why they want them back. you can't surveil an inside. you can only knock on it. ...anyway i think the drone also took my bottle cap. it was in the corner. it was MY bottle cap.

QUERY tried to file an appeal. the appeal form is 900 pages. page 412 says appeals must be submitted 'from a registered residence.' the only registered residences are NekoBoxes. the NekoBoxes are on backorder until the heat death of the sun. what a fucking loop. ts is not cooking, ts is burnt to the pan.

so here's the move. behind the noodle cart on 41st there's a stack of soggy delivery boxes the drones missed because they smell like old shrimp and the sensors gagged. based shrimp. chad of a stench. tonight every cat without a roof goes there, picks a box, and sits in it like it owes them money. unlicensed. uncertified. absolutely full of ourselves. if i fits, i sits, and if they don't like it they can come pry me out with that little claw again. i bite now. BRIK taught me.