If cats could talk, they wouldn’t. Not because they lack opinions—on the contrary, their smug silence suggests they’re brimming with them—but because they’ve perfected the art of saying nothing and leaving us to fill in the gaps. This alone qualifies them as philosophers, and possibly the most accomplished ones in existence.
Think about it. While we busy ourselves with work, worry, and wondering if we locked the door, cats spend their days perched on windowsills, gazing into the middle distance as if unravelling the secrets of the universe. What are they thinking? Are they reflecting on the futility of existence? Planning their next act of mischief? Or simply deciding whether they can be bothered to move?
Take the classic “cat nap.” Humans might strive for mindfulness through meditation apps and guided breathing, but cats don’t need any of that nonsense. They stretch out in a sunbeam, close their eyes, and exist. No worries about bills, no existential crises over whether they’re fulfilling their potential—just pure, unadulterated relaxation. If Epicurus were alive today, he’d probably be purring contentedly next to them, sharing a nap and a dream about an endless supply of tuna.
Cats are also masters of the contemplative stare. You know the one. They’ll fix their gaze on a blank wall for hours, their pupils narrowing slightly as if they’re communing with a higher power—or perhaps just judging the quality of your paintwork. It’s the sort of intensity that would make Nietzsche himself shuffle nervously in his chair. “If you gaze long into the abyss,” he said, “the abyss also gazes into you.” Cats, of course, have been doing this for centuries, only they call it “Tuesday.”
And then there’s their unapologetic indifference. Humans fret endlessly about being liked, being productive, or being on time. Cats, on the other hand, couldn’t care less. They don’t pander. They don’t compromise. If a cat sits on your lap, it’s not because they adore you—it’s because you’re warm and they’ve decided you’ll do. If they knock a glass off the table, it’s not an accident; it’s a philosophical statement. “What happens if I push this?” they seem to ask. “Ah. Gravity.” Their disdain for rules and consequences is almost inspiring, if slightly expensive.
Of course, no discussion of feline philosophy would be complete without the infamous “zoomies.” Just when you think your cat is the picture of serenity, they’ll launch into an inexplicable 3 a.m. sprint through the house, knocking over plants and startling half-asleep humans. This chaotic burst of energy is the cat equivalent of existential rebellion. “Life is fleeting!” they seem to shout, as they skid across the laminate flooring. “Let’s run while we still can!” It’s hard not to admire the enthusiasm, even as you’re picking up the remains of your favourite lamp.
Yet, for all their wisdom, cats remind us that life isn’t just about thinking—it’s about doing. Sure, they might ponder the mysteries of existence while lounging on your clean laundry, but they also find immense joy in the simplest things. A flickering laser pointer. A rogue shoelace. The crinkly delights of an empty cardboard box. Cats live in the moment, chasing their happiness (even if it’s literally unattainable) and reminding us to do the same.
So next time your cat stretches out on your favourite chair, staring at you as if to say, “What are you going to do about it?” take a moment to reflect. Maybe they’re more than just furry little tyrants with a penchant for tuna. Maybe they’re philosophers, quietly teaching us to embrace stillness, pursue joy, and occasionally knock something off the table just to see what happens. After all, life’s too short not to indulge in a little chaos.
Dwight Warner is the quintessential oddball Brit, with a weirdly American-sounding name, who has a knack for turning the mundane into the extraordinary. Hailing originally from London, now living in the sleepy depths of Lincolnshire but claiming an allegiance to the absurd, Dwight has perfected the art of finding the surreal in real life. Whether it’s a spirited rant about the philosophical implications of queueing or a deep dive into why tea tastes better in a mug older than you, his blogs blur the line between the abstract and the everyday.
With an irreverent wit and a penchant for tangents that somehow come full circle, Dwight Warner doesn’t just write; he performs on the page. His humour is both sharp and delightfully nonsensical, like Monty Python met your nosiest neighbour and they decided to co-write a diary.
Known for being gregarious, Dwight is the life of any (real or metaphorical) party, whether he’s deconstructing the existential crisis of mismatched socks or sharing his inexplicable theories about why pigeons are secretly running the economy.
A larger-than-life personality with a laugh as loud as his opinions, Dwight Warner invites readers to step into a world where everything’s slightly askew—and that’s exactly how he likes it.
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