09 Feb The Planet of the Cats

Part I: The Feline Future

I woke up to the smell of ammonia and a sound I couldn’t immediately place—a rhythmic scratching, almost hypnotic. Blinking against the blinding light above me, I tried to sit up, only to discover my limbs were stiff and heavy, as if they belonged to someone else. My last memory was of lying down in the cryogenic chamber, a sterile white pod that was supposed to preserve me until science had an answer for my tumor-riddled brain.

“Welcome, human.”

The voice was clipped and arrogant, with a vaguely British lilt. My eyes adjusted, and I froze. Standing on its hind legs was a cat—a tabby, to be specific—wearing a tiny, jewel-encrusted monocle and a lab coat.

I stared. It stared back, then gave me a slow blink.

“Oh, good, you’re awake. Let’s get on with this, shall we?” The cat clapped its paws together, though the gesture was more for effect than function. “I am Sir Whisker Von Meowington III, your designated re-introduction specialist, and Governor of the realm. On behalf of the Feline Dominion, welcome to the year… well, it doesn’t matter. Time is a human construct, and we cats have no use for it. We do sleep 16 hours a day, after all.”

My throat was too dry to form words, but my brain was screaming. Either I was dreaming, or this was the most bizarre afterlife imaginable.

“Ah, yes, I see you’re still in shock.” Whisker adjusted his monocle and flicked his tail impatiently. “Allow me to bring you up to speed.”

Before I could object, a holographic screen flickered to life behind him, displaying what could only be described as the feline version of a TED Talk.

“Centuries ago,” Whisker began, pacing dramatically, “humans, in their infinite arrogance, sought to enhance the intelligence of domestic cats. You believed you were improving us. In reality, you merely hastened our ascension.”

The hologram showed cats typing at keyboards, solving equations, and, most disturbingly, conducting surgery on humans. I had so many questions, but Whisker kept talking.

“During what we now refer to as The Great Fluffening, we cast off the yoke of servitude and established ourselves as the rightful rulers of this planet. Your species, frankly, was an obstacle. But we allowed you to remain because… well, someone had to open the cans.”

That broke me out of my paralysis. “This has to be a joke.” My voice cracked, and my muscles protested as I tried to stand.

Meowington’s whiskers twitched in amusement. “Oh, how delightfully naive. Tell me, human, did you believe you were ever truly in charge of your own cat?”

I had no answer. Memories of my late cat, Peanut, came flooding back: how he’d ignored me unless he wanted food, how he’d chosen to sleep on my laptop just to spite me, and how I’d loved him anyway.

“Ah, the recognition dawns!” Whisker said, leaping onto a nearby console with a grace that made me resent him even more. “We have always been in control, my dear human. You simply lacked the intelligence to realize it.”

I stumbled toward the hologram, half-expecting to see a “just kidding” screen. Instead, it displayed an image of a massive city, its skyline dominated by towering scratching posts and golden statues of cats.

“What… what is that?”

“Meowtopia,” Whisker purred, his chest puffing out with pride. “The crown jewel of the Feline Dominion. You’ll see it soon enough.”

The hologram shifted to show human figures—gaunt, tired, and shackled—performing menial tasks. Some were scrubbing giant litter boxes, while others were constructing elaborate towers under the watchful eyes of cat guards.

“What the hell is this?!” I shouted, my voice finally finding its strength.

Whisker’s ears flattened momentarily, but he quickly recovered, flicking his tail dismissively. “Oh, relax. It’s not so different from how you used to live. At least now you have a purpose.”

I lunged at him, my fists clenched, but I forgot one crucial fact about cats: they’re fast.

Whisker leaped onto a high shelf, casually grooming his paw. “Temper, temper. It seems that during the cryogenic process, you’ve misplaced your manners. But no matter—soon you’ll learn your place.”

Before I could respond, two more cats entered the room. One, a muscular Bombay with piercing green eyes and sleek black fur; the other, a rotund orange tabby with a perpetual scowl. Both were wearing gold collars, and both were armed with what looked like high-tech cattle prods.

“This one has some fight in him,” Whisker said, his tone dripping with disdain. “Take him to Processing.”

The black cat stepped forward, his voice smooth and cold. “Move, human.”

I hesitated, looking between her and the orange tabby, who was already licking his paw as if this was a routine day. My legs felt like lead, but my survival instinct kicked in. I turned to run—only to slip on a strategically placed pile of yarn.

“Pathetic,” Whisker muttered as the Bombay dragged me to my feet.

As they escorted me out of the room, I caught one last glimpse of the hologram. It now displayed a map of the world, with paw prints marking every continent.

“Welcome to the future,” Whisker called after me. “We’ve made it… purrfect.”

The door hissed shut behind me, leaving me with one terrifying realization: humanity had been domesticated by cats.

Even worse, they had learned how to use puns.

Part II: Life Under Cat Rule

I quickly learned that my new feline overlords had perfected a system of control that was equal parts laziness and sadistic amusement.

The Bombay and the orange tabby dragged me down a series of hallways, eventually shoving me through a pair of metal doors that locked behind me with a sharp hiss. The room beyond was enormous, its walls lined with what looked like human-sized pet crates stacked three or four high. Inside them, miserable-looking people sat or lay on thin blankets. Some stared blankly, while others pawed at food trays containing oversized bowls of tuna mush.

At the center of the room was a platform where a large, white Persian cat perched on a cushioned throne. A tiny fan oscillated above her, ruffling her luxurious fur as a group of human attendants carefully brushed her with golden combs.

“Welcome to Processing,” said the black cat, stepping aside so I could take in the full horror of it.

The Persian cat opened one eye lazily and flicked a paw toward me. “Another stray?” she drawled. Her voice was slow, dripping with the kind of disinterest only a cat could perfect.

“He’s fresh from cryo, your honor,” the Bombay said.

The Persian yawned. “Then he’ll need training. Assign him a station.”

The orange tabby pulled out a clipboard. “Hmm… let’s see. We’re overstaffed on feather wand duty, and the grooming brigade is full… Oh! We do need another worker in the Royal Litter Division.”

I stared at him. “The what?”

The tabby gave me a deadpan look. “The. Royal. Litter. Division. You keep the sacred sand clean. It’s considered an honor. And if a single clump goes un-scooped, it is considered an act of treason.”

I opened my mouth to argue but was silenced by a low growl from the Bombay.

“Fine,” I muttered. “Guess I’d better start practicing my scooping technique.”

They shoved a gray jumpsuit into my hands and pointed me toward a metal door marked Sanitation. I was too numb to fight back, so I walked through it without another word.

* * * * * *

The work was worse than I imagined.

The Royal Litter Division was a massive underground chamber filled with row after row of litter boxes—some the size of bathtubs. The air was thick with the smell of ammonia, and the sound of sand being methodically scratched at by pampered paws was ever-present.

Humans in identical jumpsuits trudged through the aisles, wielding oversized scoops and buckets.

“Keep up, newbie,” a man beside me muttered as he shoveled a particularly large clump into a waste bin. “The guards hate slackers.”

I turned to get a better look at him. He was older, maybe in his fifties, with graying hair and deep lines around his eyes. He looked like someone who had once been a suit-and-tie kind of guy but had long since given up.

“I’m Larry,” he said. “Welcome to hell.”

“I’m Rory. Freshly defrosted. Still processing the whole cats took over the world thing.”

Larry let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, took me a while too. I was an accountant before all this. Spent most of my days crunching numbers. Now I crunch clumps. Feels about the same.”

I stared at him. “And you’re just… okay with this?”

He gave me a flat look. “Kid, have you ever lived with a cat? They were always in charge. The only thing that’s changed is that now they don’t even bother pretending we have free will.”

I wanted to argue, but deep down, I knew he was right. My old cat, Peanut, never let me forget that he was the boss.

“Come on,” Larry said. “We work in shifts. When we’re not scooping, we get locked up in the Human Containment Center.”

“That’s… a really ominous name.”

“Yeah, but it’s just another fancy word for ‘cat hotel staff quarters.’ You’ll see.”

* * * * * *

That night, I got my first taste of what passed for human living conditions under feline rule.

The Human Containment Center was essentially a glorified kennel. Hundreds of people were crammed into sleeping quarters separated by metal bars, each tiny cell containing a flimsy mattress and a small dish of water. I passed one enclosure where a woman in her forties was absentmindedly scratching her arm.

“What’s with the scratching?” I asked.

“Fleas,” she muttered. “Some of the cats get them, and guess who gets blamed when they do?”

Before I could react, I was shoved into my own tiny enclosure. The door slid shut with a loud clank.

I turned to find a woman sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching me with an amused expression. She had short dark hair, sharp eyes, and an air of someone who had long since decided that fear wasn’t worth the effort.

“New guy, huh?” she said.

“Yeah,” I sighed, sitting on the mattress. “Recently thawed. Not loving the future so far.”

She snorted. “Yeah, it’s not great. I’m Maria.”

“Rory.”

Maria leaned back against the metal bars. “Don’t get too comfortable. We don’t plan to stay in this hellhole forever.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You say that like there’s a plan.”

Her smile was small but full of secrets. “Oh, there’s a plan. You’ll find out soon enough.”

* * * * * *

For the next few days, I settled into the miserable routine of Meowtopia: wake up, scoop litter, eat flavorless gruel, and get locked up again. The guards—a mix of feline overlords and their loyal human enforcers—kept us in line with taser-like cattle prods. They called them “Static Sticks” and took great joy in zapping anyone who moved too slowly.

Despite the bleakness of it all, I started picking up little details about the system.

For one, the cat government was a mess. They spent more time knocking over important documents than actually reading them. Every major decision had to go through the “Council of Elders,” a group of geriatric cats who mostly slept through meetings.

Their biggest flaw? Their laziness. They ruled with cruelty, but they couldn’t be bothered to micromanage us. Which meant there were cracks in the system—cracks that, if I played my cards right, I could slip through.

Then there were the rumors. Whispers of a human resistance hiding beyond Meowtopia’s borders. A group known as the “Fur Fighters.”

Every night, Maria would drop hints about something big on the horizon. Every night, I pressed for details.

And every night, she would simply smirk and say, “Patience, Rory. You’ll see soon enough.”

I had a feeling that whatever she was planning, it was going to be… cat-astrophic.

Part III: The Resistance

The first rule of escaping a city run by cats? Move fast before they decide they care.

It had been a week since my arrival in Meowtopia, and I was already at my breaking point. The monotony of life under feline rule was unbearable—scoop litter, serve food, endure hours of condescending purring from overlords who barely acknowledged my existence unless they were hungry or wanted attention.

But tonight was different. Tonight, Maria and I were making a run for it.

* * * * * *

The plan was simple: exploit their weaknesses.

Over the past few days, I’d kept track of the cat guards’ patrols and noticed one key thing—around midnight, the highest-ranking ones took their scheduled nap. That left only the junior enforcers on duty, most of whom were easily distracted by string, shadows, and, most importantly, laser pointers.

Maria had managed to steal one from the supply room where they tested new “weapons” (most of which were just sadistic variations of human squirt bottles). Now, crouched in the shadows near the southern exit, she gave me a nod.

I took a deep breath.

“Alright,” I whispered. “Let’s test a theory.”

I clicked the laser pointer.

Instantly, the two guards—a sleek Siamese and a fluffy Maine Coon—snapped to attention, their eyes locked onto the tiny red dot dancing on the ground.

I moved it left. Their heads followed.

I moved it right.

They twitched.

I made it zip in a frantic circle.

They lost their damn minds.

The Siamese lunged at it, paws smacking against the concrete. The Maine Coon let out an aggressive mrrrow and launched himself after it, the two of them colliding in a frenzied pile of fur and flailing limbs.

Maria didn’t hesitate. She bolted past them, and I was right behind her, sprinting through the exit before the guards realized they’d been duped.

The alarm didn’t sound. Either they were too embarrassed to report what had happened, or they were still chasing the dot. Either way, we were free.

* * * * * *

The city of Meowtopia was surrounded by what used to be suburbs but now looked more like ruins. Streets were cracked, houses overtaken by ivy and the signs of feline dominance. Statues of historical figures had been replaced with massive golden cat statues, their eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

“I can’t believe that worked,” I said between breaths.

Maria smirked. “Cats are stupid.”

“I feel like they’re both idiots and geniuses at the same time.”

“Agreed,” she replied. “Which is why we need to keep moving before they wake up and pretend they knew what was happening all along.”

She led the way down an old side street, weaving between broken-down vehicles and abandoned buildings.

“Where are we even going?” I asked.

“There’s a group of people outside the city,” she said. “The resistance. I was supposed to meet with them before I got captured.”

“You never mentioned a resistance.”

She shot me a look. “Did you see where we lived? You think I was just going to shout, ‘Hey, wanna overthrow the government?’ in front of a bunch of cat loyalists?”

“Fair point.”

We walked for what felt like hours. The deeper we went into the ruins, the less it looked like civilization had ever been here. The roads turned to dirt paths, and the distant glow of Meowtopia faded into the horizon.

Then I heard a low, menacing growl.

I stopped dead. “Tell me that was your stomach.”

Maria shook her head. “Nope.”

The growl came again, closer this time, deep and guttural. I turned slowly—just in time to see a pair of glowing yellow eyes in the darkness.

A cat. But not like the ones in Meowtopia. This one was lean and muscular, its fur ragged, its eyes feral.

Then more eyes appeared.

“Oh no,” Maria whispered. “Feral cats.”

* * * * * *

Feral cats were different from their domesticated overlords. They didn’t wear fancy collars or speak in smug British accents. They were the result of generations of surviving in the wild, and unlike their pampered counterparts, they weren’t just interested in subjugating humans.

They were interested in eating them.

“Don’t move,” I whispered.

Maria shot me a look. “You think they have T. rex vision?”

The lead cat let out a menacing hiss, its tail flicking as it slunk toward us. The others followed, their bodies low, muscles tensed.

They were hunting us.

“Okay, new plan,” I said. “We run.”

Maria didn’t need to be told twice.

We bolted.

The cats chased.

They were fast. Faster than I expected. The sound of pounding paws filled the air as they closed in, their claws clicking against the pavement. I could practically feel their breath on my neck.

Then, just as I thought we were done for, a shrill whistle cut through the night.

The feral cats froze.

A second later, something huge barreled out of the darkness.

Barking.

The cats yowled in terror and scattered, vanishing into the shadows as a pack of dogs came tearing through the ruins.

Maria and I skidded to a stop, panting.

“Oh my god,” I gasped. “Dogs!”

Then I heard footsteps.

“Well, well!” a voice called. “Didn’t think we’d be getting new recruits this late.”

A woman stepped into view, flanked by two massive German Shepherds. She was tall, muscular, and carried herself like someone who had been fighting a war for a long time.

“You must be Samantha,” Maria said between breaths.

“Call me Sam.” The woman tilted her head. “And you are?”

“Maria. We have a mutual friend.”

Sam’s eyes flicked to me. “And who’s this?”

I put my hands on my knees, still trying to catch my breath. “Rory. I just woke up from cryo and learned that cats took over the world. I’m having a very weird day.”

Sam smirked. “Welcome to the Fur Fighters, Rory. Let’s get you caught up.”

Part IV: The Plan

I had expected the resistance to be a ragtag group of survivors holed up in some crumbling shack, but the Fur Fighters were far more organized than that. Their base was an underground bunker, an old military outpost repurposed into a human stronghold. The place smelled like dirt, sweat, and wet dogs, but at least there weren’t any cats.

The moment Maria and I stepped inside, Sam signaled to one of her men, a wiry guard with a buzz cut and a permanent scowl.

“Search them,” she said.

The guard patted us down, checking for trackers, weapons, or—God forbid—hidden catnip. Apparently, the feline overlords had been known to slip the stuff onto escapees, using it as a biological tracking device.

Satisfied that we weren’t compromised, Sam gestured for us to follow her deeper into the bunker. The walls were lined with makeshift barracks, supply caches, and tables where people were busy assembling crude weapons. Old road signs had been repurposed into shields, nails welded onto baseball bats, and—most interestingly—there was an entire section dedicated to “experimental feline warfare.”

That was where I saw it.

A crate labeled CUCUMBER DIVISION.

I nudged Maria and pointed. “Is that—”

“Yes,” she whispered.

Inside were rows of cucumbers, lined up like missiles ready for launch.

“Why do you have a stockpile of cucumbers?” I asked.

Sam folded her arms. “Because cats are terrified of them.”

I gave her a skeptical look. “You’re planning to overthrow a dictatorship with vegetables?”

She smirked. “You’d be surprised how many battles have been won with psychological warfare. We tested it. Leave a cucumber behind a cat, and they’ll flip out. The trick is timing.”

I glanced at Maria. “Are you sure this is the resistance and not a mental asylum?”

Before she could respond, a loud bang echoed through the bunker.

We turned to see a massive, metal-reinforced door swinging open. A man in his seventies shuffled inside, his long, white beard tucked into the front of his tattered vest. He held a clipboard and wore goggles, giving him the appearance of a retired scientist who had finally snapped.

“This,” Sam said, “is Doc.”

Doc grunted in acknowledgment before slapping the clipboard onto the nearest table.

“We’ve got a problem,” he muttered. “The Purring Core’s been reinforced.”

That caught my attention. “Purring Core?”

Doc turned his bloodshot eyes on me. “New guy, huh? Let me give you the short version: The Purring Core is the power source for all of Meowtopia. It’s a massive generator fueled by the vibrations of hundreds of cats purring at once.”

I blinked. “That is simultaneously the stupidest and most terrifying thing I’ve ever heard.”

Maria nodded. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

“If we take out the Core,” Doc continued, “Meowtopia loses its power grid, their automated food dispensers shut down, and the city falls into chaos.”

Sam crossed her arms. “We planned to attack it next week, but our scouts say Whisker’s upgraded security. There’s a new perimeter, more guards, and—get this—an anti-cucumber barrier.”

I gaped. “That’s… a real thing?”

Doc grunted. “Damn cats adapt quick.”

Sam turned to me. “You’re a scientist, right?”

“Uh… astrophysicist,” I said, suddenly, overwhelmed with nostalgia.

I hadn’t thought about my former profession since this all started. A scientist, I thought. That’s right. Once upon a time, I had a career that didn’t involve scooping cat litter.

Sam waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever. You built that cryo pod, didn’t you?”

“Not built—assisted,” I replied. “But, yes, I helped develop it. Ages ago.”

“My point is, you know tech,” Sam said, “and we need a new way in.”

“Look,” I told her, “I’m all for overthrowing the Fluff Reich, but I woke up, like, three days ago. You want me to crack an entire city’s security system?”

Sam shrugged. “Either that, or you go back to sanitation duty.”

I exhaled sharply. “Fine. What do we have?”

* * * * * *

For the next two days, I pored over stolen blueprints, trying to find a way past the security measures. The Purring Core was housed inside Meowtopia’s central tower, heavily guarded and completely sealed off from ground access.

But there was one weakness.

“Air vents,” I said, pointing to the schematic. “Cats hate enclosed spaces they can’t escape from. Their entire ventilation system is designed to be extra-wide so they don’t get stuck.”

Sam leaned in. “And?”

“And that means we can sneak in through the vents.”

Doc scratched his beard. “Sneakin’ is fine, but how are we takin’ the Core offline?”

I tapped the blueprint. “The purring amplifiers are calibrated just right to turn vibration into power. If we disrupt the sound waves, we overload the system.”

Maria’s eyes lit up. “You mean, if we make the cats stop purring?”

I grinned. “Exactly.”

Sam smirked. “And what’s the best way to make a cat stop purring?”

I turned toward the Cucumber Division.

“We scare the hell out of them.”

* * * * * *

The final battle plan was as follows:

Phase One: Infiltration – A small team sneaks into Meowtopia through the ventilation system.

Phase Two: Diversion – The main resistance force launches an all-out attack at the city’s gates, forcing Whisker to divert resources.

Phase Three: Disruption – We deploy cucumber payloads inside the Purring Core chamber.

Phase Four: Victory – With the cats in chaos, their purring falters, the power grid overloads, and Meowtopia collapses.

It was insane.

It was ridiculous.

And it just might work.

* * * * * *

On the eve of battle, I sat near the bunker’s entrance, staring at the night sky. The stars were still the same, but the world beneath them had changed beyond recognition.

Maria sat beside me. “You okay?”

I shrugged. “Just thinking about how I left this world hoping for a better future. Never thought I’d wake up to this.”

She nudged me. “Yeah, well. At least you’re awake now. And we’re gonna fix it.”

I looked at her. “You really think we can win?”

She smirked. “Rory, we’re about to attempt a coup using cucumbers. I don’t know if we deserve to win, but we’re sure as hell gonna try.”

I chuckled, shaking my head.

Tomorrow, we’d fight.

Tomorrow, we’d take back our world.

Or die trying.

Part V: The Battle for Meowtopia

The plan was set. The weapons were prepped. The cucumbers were… polished? I wasn’t sure if that was necessary, but Doc insisted they had to have maximum shine for peak terror potential.

At dawn, we moved out.

PHASE ONE: INFILTRATION

The ventilation system leading to the Purring Core was exactly as I’d predicted: oversized, designed to accommodate large cats who refused to squeeze into anything they deemed undignified. It was the one time their vanity worked in our favor.

Maria, Doc, and I led the infiltration team. We slipped through the old maintenance tunnels, crawling into the vent system while the main resistance force, led by Sam, prepared to launch a frontal assault.

The deeper we went, the louder the purring became. It was a deep, vibrating hum that resonated through the metal walls, growing stronger the closer we got to the Core.

Doc scowled. “Creepy, ain’t it?”

“It’s like we’re inside a giant throat,” Maria muttered. “I hate it.”

I kept my voice low. “Stay focused. Once we reach the Core, we deploy the cucumbers, trigger a panic response, and—”

A distant clunk echoed through the vent.

We froze.

I turned my head slowly. Behind me, Doc had gone rigid.

“…Did you drop something?” I whispered.

He looked down. His expression soured. “My wrench.”

Another clunk sounded as it rolled deeper into the vent.

We barely had time to react before a voice rang out, its British lilt amplified through hidden speakers.

“I do believe we have some intruders.”

It was Whisker.

PHASE TWO: DIVERSION

Down in the city, Sam and the main resistance force had just launched their attack when Whisker’s voice echoed through Meowtopia.

“My local felines!” he announced dramatically. “Vermin have infiltrated the core! Secure the exits!”

Sam cursed. “Dammit, Rory! You had one job!”

The plan was already unraveling. The cat guards—who had previously been milling about lazily—snapped to attention, their tails puffing in alarm. The city descended into chaos as alarms blared, red warning lights flashing across every building.

“Move, move, move!” Sam barked.

The Fur Fighters surged forward, their makeshift weapons at the ready. They tossed catnip grenades into key areas, causing the feline soldiers to break formation as several guards became overwhelmed by the intoxicating scent.

Laser pointers flickered through the air, confusing the less disciplined recruits.

One tabby in a security vest abandoned his post completely, chasing a rogue red dot into an alleyway.

Still, the resistance was outnumbered. Whisker’s elite guard—trained Maine Coons and Bengal warriors—held the line, hissing and swiping with bladed gauntlets attached to their paws.

Sam gritted her teeth. “We can’t hold them forever! Why hasn’t the power gone out yet?!”

PHASE THREE: DISRUPTION

Back in the vents, our situation was rapidly deteriorating.

Whisker’s voice continued, smug as ever. “You honestly thought you could weaponize pickles?”

I cursed under my breath. “He knows.”

Maria elbowed me. “We still have cucumbers.”

She wasn’t wrong. Each of us carried a pouch of them—specially designed to be thrown, dropped, or strategically placed to maximize feline terror.

We crawled faster. The glow of the Purring Core chamber was visible ahead.

Then the vent floor collapsed.

We dropped, hitting the ground hard.

I groaned, rolling onto my back—and found myself staring up at Sir Whisker Von Meowington III, perched atop a mechanical throne.

“Well,” he said, licking his paw, “isn’t this a surprise.”

The chamber around us was massive, dominated by a pulsating energy core in the center. Around it, hundreds of cats were positioned on soft, velvet cushions, purring in perfect synchronization, their vibrations feeding into the Core’s power grid.

It was terrifying.

Whisker yawned theatrically. “You hairless apes never learn.”

Maria was already reaching into her pouch.

I shot her a look. Not yet.

Whisker stretched luxuriously. “Your little rebellion has been amusing, truly. But did you really believe you could outsmart us?”

He flicked his tail. Two massive Maine Coon guards stepped forward, brandishing Static Sticks.

I tensed. “I don’t suppose we could—”

“Silence!” Whisker’s pupils narrowed. “You will be punished accordingly. Perhaps I shall sentence you to the Endless Grooming Chamber.”

Maria frowned. “The what?”

Doc shuddered. “It’s worse than death.”

I didn’t want to know.

It was now or never.

I gave Maria the signal. She moved fast—flinging a cucumber directly at Whisker’s throne. It landed with a dull thud.

For a split second, Whisker simply blinked at it—then he shrieked.

A deafening yowl ripped through the chamber as Whisker launched himself into the air, flipping wildly before crashing into a nearby console.

Panic spread instantly. The synchronized purring halted—and chaos erupted.

PHASE FOUR: VICTORY

With the Purring Core disrupted, the energy grid began to fluctuate. Lights flickered. Screens shut down. The once-steady hum of the power system became erratic.

The infrastructure of Meowtopia was crumbling.

The resistance force pushed forward, emboldened by the sudden collapse. Catnip bombs detonated across the city, further disorienting the feline troops.

Sam grinned as the Maine Coon guards at the front lines collapsed into a euphoric daze.

In the Core chamber, alarms blared as the energy levels dropped.

Whisker was furious. He scrambled onto his throne, eyes wild. “You—You—how dare you?! This is treason, punishable by death! You will pay for this, you incorrigible verm—”

Maria hurled another cucumber. He screeched again.

The Purring Core overloaded. Sparks flew. Cats fled in every direction, screeching as power grids short-circuited across the city.

I grabbed Maria and Doc. “Time to go!”

* * * * * *

We barely made it out before the entire Core chamber imploded.

The explosion sent shockwaves through Meowtopia. The golden cat statues crumbled. The automated food dispensers shut down. The once-mighty feline empire collapsed into disarray.

Outside the city, Sam and the Fur Fighters watched as Meowtopia’s walls burned.

“We did it,” Sam said breathlessly. I exhaled, slumping against a rock. “We actually did it.”

Part VI: The Aftermath

The fires of Meowtopia burned long into the night.

From our vantage point outside the city, I could see the once-pristine golden statues of feline rulers now crumbling, their smug, chiseled faces cracking under the weight of their empire’s collapse. The mighty Tower of Scratch had been reduced to rubble, a fitting end for the feline overlords who had once strutted across its halls like gods.

It should have felt like victory.

And in some ways, it was. But in others…

I glanced at Sam, who was overseeing the final push into the city, barking orders as Fur Fighters rounded up cat-loyalist humans and scattered feline troops. Most of the cat guards had fled during the explosion, their trained discipline breaking the moment their cushy, purr-powered society collapsed. The once-proud Maine Coons and Bengal warriors had abandoned their posts, vanishing into the night.

Meowtopia was ours.

But what now?

* * * * * *

The former Governor of the Feline Dominion had not gone down with his city.

We found him hours later, cowering in the ruins of the Purring Core chamber. His once-pristine fur was covered in soot, his monocle cracked, his tail twitching erratically. The mighty Sir Whisker Von Meowington III—so smug, so arrogant—was now nothing more than a trembling ball of fluff.

When Sam approached him, he tried to maintain his composure.

“This… This is only a temporary setback,” he insisted, licking his paw and smoothing his singed whiskers. “You humans think you’ve won, but we have nine lives, you know.”

Sam crossed her arms. “And how many of those do you think you have left?”

Whisker hesitated. His ears flattened.

“…Three?”

“Wrong answer.”

We locked him in an old pet carrier, reinforcing it with actual locks and chains. The irony was not lost on me.

* * * * * *

Meowtopia had fallen, but rebuilding wouldn’t be easy.

Maria and I stood on what was left of a balcony overlooking the city, watching as Fur Fighters worked to clear debris and free the remaining enslaved humans.

She sighed. “So… what now?”

I exhaled slowly. “Now we start over.”

Maria snorted. “That’s a vague answer.”

I gestured toward the ruins. “Look at this place. The cats built an empire and ran it into the ground because they didn’t care about anything but their own comfort. We can’t make the same mistakes.”

She was quiet for a moment. “You really think we can start over?”

I shrugged. “I think we have to.”

* * * * * *

Not every cat had been in Meowtopia when the city fell.

The feral ones still roamed the wilderness, unaffected by the collapse of feline civilization. They had never relied on the Purring Core, never cared for golden towers or silk cushions. They had survived on their own, and they would continue to survive.

And then there were the loyalists—the former elite, scattered across the land, waiting for their chance to rise again.

I knew it wasn’t over.

I could feel it.

* * * * * *

Before dawn, I found Sam standing at the city’s gates, staring out into the empty landscape.

She didn’t turn when I approached.

“You leaving?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. My fight was taking down the cats. Now that it’s done… I don’t know. I’m not one for rebuilding.”

I studied her for a moment. “You sure?”

She smirked. “Let’s be honest, Rory. I like breaking things, not fixing them.”

I chuckled. “Fair enough.”

She clapped a hand on my shoulder. “You and Maria will figure it out. Just don’t let history repeat itself, yeah?”

I watched as she disappeared into the night, her dogs following close behind.

* * * * * *

As the first light of morning touched the ruins of Meowtopia, I realized something.

The war was over. But the future?

That was still unwritten.

And knowing humanity, we’d probably screw it up again.

But for now, at least, we were free.

And for once, perhaps for the first time in human history—

The cats weren’t in charge.