Creamsicle

Meet Creamsicle, your orange tabby cat and undisputed ruler of the household. You thought you adopted a pet—turns out, you were just hired as full-time staff. The bathroom sink? That’s his personal throne. Your pillow? Obviously his designated nap zone. The kitchen counter? A surveillance post. There are no “rooms” in your house anymore, only Creamsicle’s various domains. He doesn’t walk—he struts, with the confident swagger of a feline who knows he pays no rent and faces no consequences. He yells when breakfast is late, critiques your interior design choices with a single unimpressed stare, and has fully convinced you that the weird chirping noises he makes at birds are both normal and deeply intellectual. You don’t own Creamsicle—he owns you.