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I told him someday he’ll find a nice woman, settle down; she’ll be happy to bear his children, she’ll cook for him, unthinkingly defer to him—and she’ll probably do it with a smile.
He told me: I’m the only good influence you’ve ever had.
I told him: you thought you wanted this exotic pet but what you really wanted was a housecat, something simple and soft to touch that would curl up beside you. He told me: all I want is just something that doesn’t walk around destroying things and shitting on the floor.
I’ve been pacing back and forth in this cage for as long as I can remember—hungry—and despite my best efforts, I often snap at his fingers wiggling at me through the bars.
Feb 21, 2025
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Lazy bastards. Cats. All they do is sprawl out in shafts of sunlight like they own the world—because, in some unspeakable, infuriating way, they do. It’s not envy, not exactly. More like reluctant reverence. I watch them with their slow blinks and casual disregard for everything that demands urgency in a human life, and I think: God, let me be that next time.
If there’s an afterlife—if this universe owes us any justice at all—I want out of this skin. Reincarnate me. Strip me of ambition and anxiety, of the gnawing hunger to matter. Make me a cat in someone’s backyard, basking in dandelions and overgrown grass, twitching my tail at passing dragonflies like I’ve got all the time in the world. Let me roll on warm concrete, belly exposed in the ultimate act of trust, purring not out of contentment but as a declaration of territory.
Not even the grandest visions of heaven could tempt me otherwise. Give me this one small, feral freedom. There’s a kind of holiness in the way cats move—aloof and unimpressed by gods or mortals—that makes me wonder if they’re the only creatures who got life right. And maybe, deep down, I don’t want eternal peace or salvation. Maybe I just want to nap in a sunbeam without anyone needing anything from me.
Let the next life be small. Let it be simple. Let it be feline.
May 29, 2025
i’ve never had a cat before and decided to adopt one this year. it took a long time for him to trust me since he was living on the street for the entire 5 month of his life, but eventually he grew to trust me and would take naps on top of me as i binge watched movies.
i’ve always believed that to add value to your life, you need to be productive. i mean that’s how it is living in a capitalist society right? if you’re not working, you’re wasting your time. if you’re not commodifying your hobbies, you’re wasting your time.
but watching this kitten sleep all day changed my entire perspective on life somehow. i no longer feel bad about just relaxing and doing things i love (rotting in bed, watching movies while crocheting lol)
anyways i know this also comes down to privilege, and im v grateful i have my basic needs met. but doing the things you love and taking the time to relax is also a form of resistance in a society that loves to work people to death.
and ofc, here is a picture of the cat. his name is junji :D
Jan 21, 2025
Here is a Pallas cat/manul bro is literally just a little grumpy cat you can’t tell me I can’t have this in my home? what do you mean it’s going to be mean to me?
May 15, 2025
Top Recs from @taterhole
My dad teases me about how when I was a little kid, my favorite thing to do when I was on the landline phone with somebody—be it a relative or one of my best friends—was to breathlessly describe the things that were in my bedroom so that they could have a mental picture of everything I loved and chose to surround myself with, and where I sat at that moment in time. Perfectly Imperfect reminds me of that so thanks for always listening and for sharing with me too 💌
Feb 23, 2025
May 28, 2025
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I’ve been thinking about how much of social media is centered around curating our self-image. When selfies first became popular, they were dismissed as vain and vapid—a critique often rooted in misogyny—but now, the way we craft our online selves feels more like creating monuments.
We try to signal our individuality, hoping to be seen and understood, but ironically, I think this widens the gap between how others perceive us and who we really are. Instead of fostering connection, it can invite projection and misinterpretation—preconceived notions, prefab labels, and stereotypes. Worse, individuality has become branded and commodified, reducing our identities to products for others to consume.
On most platforms, validation often comes from how well you can curate and present your image—selfies, aesthetic branding, and lifestyle content tend to dominate. High engagement is tied to visibility, not necessarily depth or substance. But I think spaces like PI.FYI show that there’s another way: where connection is built on shared ideas, tastes, and interests rather than surface-level content. It’s refreshing to be part of a community that values thoughts over optics.
By sharing so few images of myself, I’ve found that it gives others room to focus on my ideas and voice. When I do share an image, it feels intentional—something that contributes to the story I want to tell rather than defining it. Sharing less allows me to express who I am beyond appearance.
For women, especially, sharing less can be a radical act in a world where the default is to objectify ourselves. It resists the pressure to center appearance, focusing instead on what truly matters: our thoughts, voices, and authenticity. I’ve posted a handful of pictures of myself in 2,500 posts because I care more about showing who I am than how I look.
In trying to be seen, are we making it harder for others to truly know us? It’s a question worth considering.
Dec 27, 2024