Morning began peacefully. Suspiciously peacefully.
No strange boxes. No jingling keys. No cries of “Mittens, no!” echoing through the house like a warning siren. Just sunlight, breakfast, and Ben humming cheerfully which, in my experience, means something terrible is about to happen.
I watched from the kitchen table, narrowing my eyes. Ben was holding papers. Big ones. The kind humans spread out dramatically before doing something unnecessary.
Blueprints. Nothing good ever starts with blueprints.
He caught me watching. “You’re going to love this,” he said, with far too much enthusiasm. That’s what he said before bath day.
He tapped the papers and grinned. “We’re building you something,” he said. “Something that lets you go… outside.”
Outside.
Every ear in the room shot up like antennae tuned to chaos frequency. Outside. The legendary land. Home of birds, bugs, and forbidden grass. The place we were always told no, usually followed by “don’t even think about it.”
Ben smiled like some kind of benevolent dictator. “You’ll finally get to enjoy the garden,” he said, pausing. “Safely.”
Ah. There it was. The safety clause. Humans can’t let you have real fun. They have to wrap it in bubble wrap, add supervision, and call it enrichment.
A few hours later, a van arrived and three humans jumped out carrying boxes, poles, and enough tools to wage a small war.
My siblings and I took our stations at the patio window.
“I call top perch,” I declared, leaping onto the sill. “You two handle secondary observation.”
My sister’s nose was already pressed to the glass. “What are they doing?”
“Clearly building something,” I thought. “Clearly wrong.”
Ben was outside pointing at the grass, nodding like he knew what he was talking about. He didn’t even have a clipboard. Amateur. They were building it right up against the patio door, pressing poles and panels into place like the garden itself was being politely fenced off for our benefit.
The workers started hammering.
BANG!
My brother jumped so high he achieved temporary flight. I remained steady, of course. Purely for morale reasons. Supervisors must maintain composure.
I squinted at the scene. “They’re measuring the wrong way. That bit should align with the sunbeam. Honestly, do they not consider afternoon nap angles?”
Ben appeared to be helping. Helping, in this case, meant holding one end of a pole and pretending to understand levellers.
I sighed. “He’s really trying. Bless him. He thinks he’s contributing.”
Then came the drill. That infernal whirring thing screamed to life, and all three of us vanished from the windowsill faster than snacks at breakfast. We reappeared a few seconds later, of course. Abandoning one’s post is unprofessional.
My sister tilted her head. “They’re… putting up walls?”
“We are witnessing the creation of a containment zone,” I thought. “A very fancy one.”
Hours passed. We rotated shifts - I took Lead Observation Duty (obviously), my sister handled Tail Flick Coordination, and my brother… snored through half of it.
The workers came and went, dropping things, muttering about “measurements being off.” I’d have done it better myself if I had opposable thumbs and slightly more patience for humans.
At one point, Ben stepped back, hands on hips, and said, “Looks good!”
It didn’t. It really didn't. One corner was crooked. I could see it from here. Unacceptable.
“Humans,” I muttered. “So quick to call things ‘done.’ No quality control whatsoever.”
Eventually, the noise stopped. The workers packed up. Ben came inside, covered in sawdust, grinning like a proud parent who absolutely did not build this himself.
“All done!” he said.
He opened the patio door. Sunlight poured in - warm and golden. Beyond it… the new world.
A mesh-walled paradise of wood, grass, and promise.
We stepped forward as one. Three tiny adventurers approaching destiny.
I went first, obviously. Someone had to ensure the safety of the operation.
For a moment, we simply stood there. The world beyond the patio door seemed impossibly big, bright, and loud all at once. My sister’s eyes went wide, sparkling with excitement, her mouth slightly open like she’d just discovered the meaning of life and it involved birds. I felt it too, that quiet awe, the kind you don’t announce because you’re busy memorising everything at once. My brother, however, expressed his amazement in his own unique way: he opened both eyes fully. Just for a second. Then, having acknowledged the situation, he slowly relaxed back into his usual expression of calm indifference, as if to say, yes, yes, very impressive, now where’s the sun.
The air smelled… different. Fresh. Wild. Real. Birds chirped above, utterly unaware of how close they were to their inevitable doom.
My sister darted to the mesh and pressed her nose against it. “We’re outside!” she squeaked.
My brother flopped into the nearest sun patch and immediately fell asleep. Typical.
I examined every inch - tested the floor with a paw, sniffed the posts, inspected the corners like a very serious professional.
“Solid construction,” I decided. “Acceptable airflow. Slight tilt to the west, but I’ll allow it.”
Ben leaned against the patio door, smiling. “So, what do you think?”
I sat proudly in the centre of the catio, tail curled neatly around my paws. It’s a fine effort, I thought. For humans.
He laughed. “You like it, then?”
“Like” is a strong word. Let’s just say I approve.
From my new post, I had the perfect view of the garden, the birds, and the mysterious bush that moved sometimes for no reason. I could see everything.
Supervision level: expert.
As the evening sun dipped low, my sister stretched beside me. “Think we’ll get to chase anything out here?”
I glanced at the mesh. “Unlikely. But we’ll look incredible pretending to.”
My brother yawned from his sun spot. “Best. Nap. Ever.”
He wasn’t wrong.
I looked around one more time - our new kingdom, enclosed yet glorious. “Not bad,” I decided. “Could use a few improvements, though. Maybe a snack dispenser. A heated bed. A sign that says ‘Supervised by Mittens.’”
Ben smiled. “You look happy out here.”
I blinked slowly. “Purely professional satisfaction.”
He chuckled and went inside, leaving us to bask in the fading sunlight.
The wind rustled the mesh softly, birds sang just out of reach, and for the first time, I felt the world hum around me.
A new frontier. A kingdom secured.
I had a feeling this new space wouldn’t stay peaceful for long - after all, great kingdoms are rarely quiet once exploration truly begins.