Some cats make biscuits with love, but our little Rabbitowitz makes his with pure, unrefined resentment. Every day after breakfast, he begins his shift at the biscuit factory. He doesn’t rush the process—left paw, right paw, the ancient, steady rhythm of a deeply dissatisfied cat.
While other cats knead with tenderness, Rabbitowitz kneads with unconcealed aggression. To an untrained observer, it might look like a relaxing ritual, but look closely at his face. While his paws are saying, “I feel calm,” his expression is screaming, “This is an absolute disgrace.”
Each press of the paw is a silent reminder of his grievances: a dinner delayed by five minutes, a tone of voice he found unacceptable, or perhaps his brother’s breathing was simply too loud. He kneads the blanket like it owes him kibble, treating it as both his canvas and his victim.
Do not be fooled by his purr; there is no contentment here. This is pure craftsmanship. Rabbitowitz understands something many of us forget: you don’t need to be in a good mood to do something soothing, and you don’t need to be serene to seek comfort.
When the work is finally done, he settles down for a nap, tired, softened, and still faintly irritated. The biscuits have been made, the resentment has been expressed, and inner peace has been achieved—at least until his next shift.
Suggested transition for your blog: “See the Angry Baker hard at work below:”
