How to Tell If Your Cat Secretly Owns the House (Hint: It Does)

Let’s skip the denial. You don’t own the cat. The cat owns you, the house, the furniture, your schedule, and possibly your soul. If you need confirmation (and a little ego bruising), here are the dead giveaways:

Grey cat wearing glasses

1. Furniture? You Mean Cat Perches.

That expensive armchair you love? Scratching post. The windowsill? Cat throne. Your bed? That’s their heated nap arena you’re allowed to use when they aren’t on it. Your living room layout was, at some point, rearranged to accommodate “sun puddles.”

2. You’ve Adjusted Your Behavior… For Them.

You tiptoe around their naps. You don’t move if they’re sleeping on you, even if your bladder is staging a coup. You’ve apologized—to a cat—for moving too fast. That’s not pet ownership. That’s feudal loyalty.

3. You Have a Running Dialogue… and They’ve Never Responded.

“Do you want treats?” “Who's my baby?” “Are you mad at me?” Meanwhile, they stare at you like a tax auditor with a full schedule. But do you stop talking? No. You seek approval like a middle manager in a passive-aggressive performance review.

4. The Schedule Is Theirs. You Just Live By It.

Breakfast is at 5:47 AM sharp. No exceptions. Playtime is whenever you’re about to join a Zoom call. And bedtime? That’s whenever they allow you to stop playing the “where is the cat now” game.

5. Guests Are Evaluated. And Often Rejected.

If your cat doesn’t like your new friend, they’re gone. Not the cat—the friend. Your cat has a sixth sense for humans who don’t worship them, and they will stare that person down like they’re a threat to the crown.

6. You Buy Things Based on Cat Approval.

Couches? Must be scratch-resistant. Rugs? Must be vomit-tolerant. Plants? Only if they're non-toxic. Your entire adult life is a game of Is This Cat-Compatible? and you’re losing.

7. You’ve Googled ‘Is My Cat Mad at Me?’

More than once. You’re not sure what you did, but the cat walked out of the room and didn’t make eye contact, so now it’s an emotional emergency.

Conclusion: Accept Your Fate.

Your cat runs the show. You’re the unpaid staff, the can-opener with emotional baggage, the warm lap that stays perfectly still during every Netflix binge. But you know what? You like it. You need the judgmental stares. The 3 AM zoomies. The cold nose on your face at dawn.

You're not a cat owner. You're the concierge.