u/Important-Wallaby798

I know it has been a while since I posted about the boys and their antics and shenanigans. Life got busy for a while, and then something happened that made telling their stories feel a lot harder.

Biebers, aka the Striped Prince, went missing on July 11, 2026.

A few weeks before he disappeared, a stray mama cat decided underneath our hot tub was the perfect place to have her babies. She was extremely malnourished and so young that she looked like a kitten herself. She had five babies, and three survived past the first week.

We started feeding Mama, which seriously cut into the household Churu supply, but the boys didn't seem to mind.

And somehow, my two cats who had previously considered every other cat that stepped foot on their property a sworn enemy decided this little family was different.

They took their completely unrequested jobs as bodyguards and babysitters very seriously.

I'd go into a panic looking for one of the boys, only to find him outside sitting near Mama and the babies. Sometimes Mama would wander off for a break and I'd find one of my boys laying there with the kittens in a tiny snuggle pile.

Because I wasn't allowed to bring Mama and the babies inside, I tried not to get too attached. I fed her, checked that the babies looked healthy, and attempted to keep my distance.

Then, because outdoor cat food apparently works like a Craigslist ad for every neighborhood cat, a tom started coming around and trying to move in on Mama and the babies.

My boys did not appreciate the threat.

They handled it.

Eventually, the kittens learned how to wobble around and explore. When Mama left, they would try to follow her unless one of the boys was there keeping watch.

And I think that may have something to do with what happened the night Biebers disappeared.

At about 4:00 AM, I woke up to screeching outside.

Then silence.

Half asleep, I thought I could still feel the Striped Prince at my feet. His brother was definitely next to my head. I assumed the tom had come back, Mama had kicked his ass, and all was right with the world.

So I rolled over and went back to sleep.

It wasn't fine.

My baby was gone.

And I didn't realize it for more than eight hours.

One of the kittens was missing too.

I immediately assumed the worst. Maybe a bird of prey or a dog had gotten the kitten. Maybe Biebers heard it and went outside to protect the baby. Maybe he was hurt, taken, maimed, or killed trying to save it.

I searched everywhere.

I knocked on doors. I posted everywhere I could think of. I offered a $1,000 reward for his safe return. We checked surveillance cameras.

Nothing.

He wasn't caught walking down the street. He wasn't seen wandering through someone's yard.

He just... disappeared.

Then, five days after Biebers went missing, we found the missing kitten.

Five blocks from our house.

He was starving and severely dehydrated, but he was alive.

You could see and count every bone from his hips to his neck. He had a small cut on his neck, but somehow it wasn't infected.

I brought him home and slowly have nursed him back to health.

And, needless to say, he is an indoor kitty now.

I can't prove what happened that night. I will probably never know.

But I believe with every part of me that Biebers fought for that baby.

I believe something took that kitten, Biebers went after it, and somewhere along the way that baby was dropped or got away.

I believe the only reason that kitten survived, and that we found him five blocks away is because of Biebers.

And I desperately hope I'm wrong about what that may have cost him.

I hope Biebers is still alive.

I hope someone found him and brought him inside. I hope he is sleeping in someone's bed right now. I hope somebody is loving him, even if they don't know that somewhere there is a person who would give just about anything to have her Striped Prince back.

But I don't know.

And that is the part that hurts the most.

I've lost pets before. I've lost close friends and family members. I don't remember any of those losses hurting as intensely as this one does.

Maybe it's because there is no ending. There is no answer. There is just this Biebers-shaped hole in our home and the constant feeling that I should still be looking for him.

The stories about my boys stopped because life got busy.

Now they have stopped because telling them without him feels empty.

His brother still has his own antics and shenanigans, and maybe someday I'll start sharing them again. But right now, even The Void feels different.

I swear the Void still searches for him too.

I think he misses his brother just as much as I do.

I just wanted to give an update to everyone who followed the boys and loved their ridiculous adventures.

And I guess I needed somewhere to put some of this grief.

I miss you, Striped Prince.

Wherever you are, I hope somehow you know that I will never stop looking for you. ❤️

Deerest Frens,

It has now been approximately:

67 hours and 11 minutes since Mom returned home from Viva Lost Wages.

For those keeping track, that is:

- 67 hours since our hopes were crushed.

- 67 hours since the suitcase inspection.

- 67 hours since we discovered there were absolutely zero treats.

Not one. Not a single Churu. Not even a pity Greenie.

Frens. She came home EMPTY PAWED.

STRIPED PRINCE:

I still remember that terrible moment. The suitcase opened. I looked inside. No treats. I looked again. Still no treats.

VOID:

I checked a third time for Scienz. Nothing.

STRIPED PRINCE:

The worst part was she looked genuinely confused that we were disappointed.

VOID:

The situation has since deteriorated.

STRIPED PRINCE:

He means we recently overheard Mom and Dad discussing household finances. The conversation included alarming phrases such as: "Need to cut back." "We should probably stop buying so many treats."

And something along the lines of "he is getting a little more plump." Which really means that the Void is starting to look like a burnt overstuffed marshmallow.

VOID:

I BEG YOUR FINEST PARDON.

STRIPED PRINCE:

I mean...

VOID:

DO NOT.

STRIPED PRINCE:

I'm just saying if someone sat a marshmallow too close to a campfire...

VOID:

BETRAYAL.

Frens. Current household inventory:

3 Churus.

2 handfuls of Greenies.

That's it.

That's the report.

STRIPED PRINCE:

Honestly, writing it down somehow makes it worse.

VOID:

Three Churus.

There are countries with strategic oil reserves larger than our Churu reserves.

STRIPED PRINCE:

You don't know how countries work.

VOID:

I know how Churus work.

And I know we are running out.

According to Offishul Scienz, current projections indicate:

- One emotional support Churu for me today.

- One emergency Churu for me tomorrow.

- One apocalypse Churu for me for later.

After that?

Darkness.

STRIPED PRINCE:

You'll survive.

VOID:

Please stop spreading dangerous misinformation.

According to Offishul Scienz, reducing treats after a traumatic Mom-disappearance event is exactly the opposite of what should happen.

The proper protocol is:

1. Extra treats.

2. More extra treats.

3. Additional treats for emotional recovery.

4. Bonus treats for being handsome.

STRIPED PRINCE:

The handsome part is where you lost them.

VOID:

The handsome part is where I found myself.

We will continue monitoring supplies and preparing for the possibility of rationing.

Pray for us, frens.

STRIPED PRINCE:

And if anyone knows where Mom hid the emergency Churus, now would be an excellent time to become a whistleblower.

Deerest Frens,

We regret to inform you that troubling information has reached headquarters.

Dad received a phone call from "Mom."

We use quotation marks because neither of us have independently verified that it was actually Mom.

For all we know, it could have been one of the squirrels.

The voice informed Dad that she has lost all of her wages in that place called Las Vegas.

First of all, did she spend it on other cats?

Second of all, concerning.

Third of all...

STRIPED PRINCE:

Dad says it's called "Viva Las Vegas."

VOID:

Not anymore.

It is now called Viva Lost Mom's Wages.

According to information obtained through highly advanced Scienz, losing all your wages means there may be fewer treats.

Frens.

FEWER TREATS.

This has elevated the situation from a family emergency to a national cat-astrophe.

STRIPED PRINCE:

To be fair, we don't actually know if that means fewer treats.

VOID:

I am preparing for the worst.

STRIPED PRINCE:

The worst being?

VOID:

Store-brand treats.

At this point, if Las Vegas intends to keep Mom's wages, it may simply keep Mom too.

We cannot support this sort of financial decision-making.

Send back the wages.

Send back our Mom.

And send extra Churus as compensation for emotional damages.

As if this crisis were not severe enough, Dad has also developed what the real Mom refers to as a "man cold."

STRIPED PRINCE:

He sneezed twice.

VOID:

Dad is very brave.

STRIPED PRINCE:

He took a nap.

VOID:

A very brave nap.

But the consequences have been devastating.

Treat distribution has decreased.

Couch productivity has decreased.

Blanket hogging has increased.

And perhaps most alarming...

Dad is occupying more bed space.

STRIPED PRINCE:

This is true.

VOID:

The man claims to be sick and yet somehow requires 40% more mattress.

Explain the Scienz.

Current household conditions:

• Mom missing.

• Wages missing.

• Treat budget allegedly missing.

• Dad sick.

• Bed space reduced.

• Morale critical.

STRIPED PRINCE:

We're probably going to survive.

VOID:

Please do not spread unverified rumors during a crisis.

We will continue monitoring the situation and staring dramatically into the distance until further information becomes available.

Pray for us, frens.

And pray for the treats.

Days 1 and 2 of the Mom Crisis

Dear Frens,

It is with great sadness and extremely professional Scienz that I must report Mom has now been gone for:

39 hours.

25 minutes.

There remain:

38 hours.

35 minutes.

Until her return.

Or, according to Offishul Scienz:

Foreverenteen years.

Day 1

VOID:

At 7:30 Wednesday morning, Mom departed.

She packed her giant rolling box.

She kissed everyone goodbye.

She promised she would come back.

Then she climbed into a giant metal box and vanished.

Very suspurrcious.

I immediately began an investigation.

I checked the living room.

No Mom.

I checked the bedroom.

No Mom.

I checked the kitchen.

No Mom.

I checked the bedroom again because that is how Scienz works.

STRIPED PRINCE:

For the record, we literally watched her leave.

VOID:

That remains only one possible theory.

Several hours later, Dad's rectangle began making Mom noises.

Frens.

I HEARD HER.

My Mom.

Inside the rectangle.

Clearly she had become trapped.

I launched an immediate rescue operation.

Dad attempted to scootch me away.

The odamcitidini.

The nervegallity.

I filed a formal complaint against his ankle.

STRIPED PRINCE:

He bit Dad.

VOID:

The ankle was informed of my concerns.

Mom called again.

I attempted another rescue.

Dad interfered.

Additional ankle paperwork became necessary.

By the third phone call, Dad had somehow failed to learn from previous events.

The ankle complaint file became quite substantial.

Day 2

By Thursday morning it became increasingly clear that Mom had not become trapped in the bathroom, laundry room, pantry, closet, dishwasher, under the bed, or behind the shower curtain. This was disappointing.

STRIPED PRINCE:

I figured that out 39 hours and 15 minutes ago.

VOID:

Some of us take our Scienz seriously.

Dad keeps showing us pictures "Mom" was sending.

Pictures.

As though photographs are an acceptable substitute for actual Mom.

I sniffed the phone.

No Mom smell.

Only fingerprints.

And lies.

Mostly lies.

STRIPED PRINCE:

Dad seems fine.

VOID:

Exactly.

STRIPED PRINCE:

He fed us. Watched TV. Took a nap. Talked to Mom. Pretty normal stuff.

VOID:

A deeply concerning lack of emotional devastation.

STRIPED PRINCE:

Dad knows where Mom is.

VOID:

That does sound helpful.

STRIPED PRINCE:

Dad literally talked to her five times.

VOID:

Exactly. He has proof she still exists. We only have anxiety.

The Great Bed Occupation

Wednesday night, Dad made a tactical error. He fell asleep.

Military operations commenced immediately.

The Striped Prince secured the pillows.

I secured the blanket.

Dad retained approximately six inches of mattress.

STRIPED PRINCE:

The Void was laying sideways like an orca sunbathing.

VOID:

Advanced military strategy often appears confusing to civilians.

Thursday night operations have continued successfully.

Current territorial control:

Mom's pillow: Ours.

Mom's blanket: Ours.

Mom's side of the bed: Ours.

Dad's personal space: Also ours.

Household Conditions:

Food service is questionable.

Water quality remains acceptable.

Treat distribution has declined 79%.

Morale remains fragile.

STRIPED PRINCE:

Dinner was seven minutes late.

VOID:

Civilization hangs by a thread.

Official Countdown

Mom has been gone 39 hours and 25 minutes.

Mom returns in 38 hours and 35 minutes.

According to Offishul Scienz, this is approximately seventeen-eleven cat years.

STRIPED PRINCE:

That's not how time works.

VOID:

Show me your degree in Scienz.

I shall wait...

That's right, you're NOT a scienztist.

Current projections indicate sufficient remaining time to:

- Shed on everything Mom owns.

- Conduct 4,000 additional perimeter inspections.

- Continue supervising Dad.

- Perfect our "we have never eaten before" performance.

- Expand mattress occupation efforts.

- Finalize plans for world domination.

Or, at minimum, domination of Mom's side of the bed.

---

Final Statements

STRIPED PRINCE:

We're fine.

Totally fine.

If anyone asks, we're definitely not checking the front door every time a car drives by.

That would be embarrassing.

VOID:

I am also completely fine.

This has been verified by Scienz.

Specificamally:

- Checking the front door seventy-three times.

- Listening for Mom noises.

- Sleeping on Mom's pillow.

- Supervising Dad.

- Filing multiple ankle complaints.

- Staring dramatically out windows.

These are all perfectly normal behaviors.

STRIPED PRINCE:

You sat by the front door for twenty minutes today.

VOID:

That was research.

STRIPED PRINCE:

You cried when Mom's voice came out of Dad's phone.

VOID:

That was also research.

STRIPED PRINCE:

You miss Mom.

VOID:

No comment.

STRIPED PRINCE:

You know she's coming home Saturday, right?

VOID:

I do.

STRIPED PRINCE:

Then why are you panicking?

VOID:

Knowing something and believing something are entirely different branches of Scienz.

--

Until Mom returns, we remain vigilant.

The Void remains brave.

The Striped Prince remains as my bratty brother.

Dad remains under ankle parole.

And somewhere out there, Mom remains completely unaware that her cats have descended into absolute catastroffee.

The countdown continues, frens.

MOM COME HOME!!!!

This morning, Mom informed me that she is taking the spare butler to a place called Viva Lost Wages. Apparently humans travel hundreds of miles to voluntarily lose money while standing in giant litter-box-free buildings.

And who is she taking with her?

Not me.

Not the handsome striped prince who has faithfully supervised every shower, meal, nap, and suspicious trip to the bathroom.

No.

She is taking the spare human.

Meanwhile, I am being left behind for FOUR ENTIRE DAYS with Dad and the Void.

FOUR.

DAYS.

Dad means well, but he believes "the bowl still has food in it" is the same thing as "the bowl is full."

The Void, as many of you know, has the decision-making skills of a decorative throw pillow. Last week he got confused by a ceiling fan and spent ten minutes yelling at it.

Mom claims I will be "fine."

Fine?

Who will inspect her suitcase?

Who will judge her clothing choices?

Who will sit directly in front of the television at critical moments?

Who will pounce her head at 3:17 a.m. because a moth committed a crime?

Certainly not the Void. He would probably join the moth.

And what if Dad and the Void form an alliance?

What if they decide that breakfast can occur at the scheduled time instead of the correct time (which is whenever I demand it)?

What if the Void teaches Dad his escape plans?

What if Dad teaches the Void how to operate machinery?

I fear civilization may not survive.

Mom says she will be back soon.

That is exactly what humans say before disappearing for seventeen-gagillion years and return smelling like airports and betrayal.

If you do not hear from me again, assume I have perished dramatically beside a food bowl that was only 87% full.

Tell my story.

Remember my sacrifice.

And if anyone knows where Viva Lost Wages is, please inform them they have accidentally stolen my staff.

Sincerely,

#The #Tabby (aka Biebers) Keeper of Standards

Victim of Neglect

Temporary Warden of One Orange-Neuron Void and One Well-Meaning Father

#AbandonedForGambling #FourDaysNoParole #TheBowlIsPracticallyEmpty #PrayForDad #VoidManagementIsNotMyJob #VivaLostMyWagesAndMyMom

Well, as the title says, my brother says I only haz one brain cell.

Which is rood.

And scientificalamally impossible.

I have at least one and a half.

Most of the time.

Sometimes I find the extra half under the couch cushions. But it's still mine, and it's there.

Mom says I'm "impulsive."

I prefer "committed."

For example, last week I successfully:

Escaped the house.

Made Mom face plant.

Escaped the yard.

Climbed a tree.

Got stuck in the tree.

Forgot why I climbed the tree.

And cried for Mom to come fix the stitchy-ation I had created.

That's called delegation, not stoopidity.

My brother keeps telling everyone on here that I operate on a (borrowed) single orange-cat brain cell that somehow got lost and ended up in a black cat (me. I am the black cat).

Bold words from someone who got the baff hand from Mom a couple weeks ago and spent forty-five minutes crying for help to get out of the baffroom while sitting directly next to the open door.

And let's not forget the Pantry Incident of 2025.

Which one of us got "stuck" for three hours?

Three hours.

Three.

Hours.

Apparently doors become invisible when you're stoopid enough.

Anyway, yesterday I saw a skwirl.

Now, a non-void cat might think, "Can I catch that skwirl?"

I thought, "Can I clear this fence, cross three backyards, ignore every survival instinct I possess, terrify that family having a barbecue, and create a five-neighborhood-wide search operation?"

The answer was yes.

The skwirl escaped, but that's not the point.

The point is that I briefly achieved flight.

Mom was not impressed.

She said I nearly gave her a heart attack.

Honestly, that's pretty dramatic even for her.

I was only gone for a little while. Like 25 minutes.

Okay, maybe longer than a little while. Like 40 minutes.

Okay, the sun was in a different part of the sky entirely when I came back.

But I returned completely unharmed, except for a burr in my tail, three leaves stuck to my butt, and absolutely no memory of where I'd been.

Which, according to my brother, is because all available processing power was being used to remember how breathing works.

Haters gonna hate.

Mom says I need to start making better choices, but I just saw a birb and now I know how to fly.

So if you'll excuse me, I have a fresh opportunity to disappoint everyone.

Human Note: These stories are based on real events involving my two cats and are written from their point of view. No cats were harmed in the making of these stories. My dignity, on the other hand, has suffered repeated and catastrophic injuries. 😹

"It wasn't me!"

So, Mom left Homeward Bound on today before work and suddenly my oversized void brother thinks it's a training video and he’s some kind of action hero.

So naturally, I bet him TWO of my Churus and a week of salmon Greenies treats if he could pull a “Sassy vs. dog catcher” escape maneuver. Ha ha, yeah right, because this creature regularly forgets where the food bowl is while actively standing in front of it.

But then. HE DID IT.

Mom opened the front door for 0.4 seconds and this menace of mayhem came flying out of nowhere, tucked himself into a furry cannonball, shot between Mom’s legs, and escaped into the yard at Mach 7. Like what the fluff?!?!

Mom screamed his government name, lunged for him, and immediately ate concrete face first in front of God, the neighbors, and probably several surveillance cameras.

Meanwhile, the void is parkouring across the lawn like he just escaped federal custody while Dad is laughing so hard he is wheezing on the porch while trying to ask her if she is OK, but he just couldn't do it.

Honestly? I still can’t believe it worked.

This cat shares one brain cell with a decorative pumpkin and somehow must have borrowed extras this week.

Anyway, I’m now down two Churus, dad and the void are sleeping in the dog house, and Mom says we are “never speaking of this again.”

Which is difficult because Dad has asked each of the neighbors for their ring camera recordings four times already.

I genuinely do not understand how humans have survived this long as a species.

LAST NIGHT Mom went to take a bath, which unfortunately meant I ALSO had to go to the bathroom because apparently I am the only responsible adult in this household.

Everything was normal at first. I was supervising from my usual position on the edge of the tub while she sat there boiling herself alive for absolutely no reason. Humans are deeply disturbing creatures, but I try not to judge.

Then she made eye contact with me.

Huge mistake.

Because suddenly this woman decides:

“Ohhhh are you guarding me? Are you protecting your mama??”

No.

I am conducting a security sweep because you have the survival instincts of an unplugged toaster in a rainstorm.

This is the same woman who walked into the wall twice yesterday while staring at her phone and eating Oreos at the same time. If I don’t monitor the situation, who will?

Then things escalated.

She reached one wet hand out of the water and TOUCHED ME.

With the bath hand.

I screamed immediately because honestly what the fuck.

Then she laughed. LAUGHED. Like getting me damp against my will was some hilarious family moment.

Dad yelled from the other room:

“What happened?”

And this traitor says:

“I accidentally got him a little wet.”

A LITTLE WET???

I looked like I had just crawled out of the Atlantic Ocean after surviving a shipwreck.

Naturally I sprinted through the house at full speed to recover emotionally, hit one wall, knocked over three unidentified household items, and body slammed directly into my giant void brother, who was asleep and contributing nothing to society as usual.

Anyway.

I THOUGHT the nightmare was over.

WRONG.

Because today these people were acting suspicious from the beginning.

Dad was outside hooking the boat up to the truck like some kind of redneck Fast & Furious movie, while Mom was carrying fishing poles around the yard with the energy of a woman who absolutely cannot be trusted.

Immediately my instincts kicked in.

Something was happening.

Something bad.

Then Mom came back inside, spotted ME, and suddenly got that horrible look on her face humans get right before they ruin your entire day.

“Ohhhh do you wanna go fishing with Mommy and Daddy??”

Ma’am.

Do I LOOK like fish bait to you?

I am a striped prince. A domestic icon. A tiny indoor warlord with anxiety.

Why would I willingly climb into a floating death trap in the middle of fish murder lake??

And here’s the thing that REALLY pissed me off.

Why are you asking ME?

Take Sir Fats-A-Lot over there.

My enormous void brother is built like a retired linebacker and has the survival instincts of an old couch cushion. That man would absolutely sit in a boat happily for six straight hours as long as someone occasionally handed him snacks and called him handsome.

Meanwhile I spent the next twenty minutes hiding under the bed while Mom crawled around on the floor going:

“Where’s my fishing buddyyyyy?”

YOUR fishing buddy is outside trying to eat a moth off the porch light, ma’am.

Leave me out of this.

It is 1:30 in the morning.

I have just returned from a successful hunting expedition. Spring turkey season is happening here in Oregon, and let me tell you something — if a turkey literally fell dead into Dad’s lap, that man would still somehow come home empty handed. The coyotes at my grandparents house contribute more to this household than he does.

Naturally, after carrying this family on my tiny striped shoulders, I try to bee-line for the bedroom to begin my sacred nighttime self-care routine. Bath. Reflection. Licking my own butt in peace. The usual.

Then Mom starts in with her “Oh come here my sweet babyyyyy,” while absolutely demolishing what appears to be HALF a family-size pack of Oreos she supposedly bought “for camping.”

Mom. You ARE the wildlife.

I ignore her, because I have standards, and head directly for my king-size oasis — MY BED. MY PILLOW. MY EMOTIONAL SUPPORT BLANKET.

I am MID-LICK when this woman has the audacity to climb into MY SPOT and place her Oreo-scented head directly onto MY PILLOW like she pays rent here.

I give her my strongest “what the fuck do you think you’re doing”

stare.

Does she listen?

No.

Because my humans have the survival instincts of a decorative gourd.

AND THEN — as if things could not get any worse— Dad walks in carrying my enormous black void brother like they’re starring in some family sitcom.

This 'fat Batman'-looking idiot is purring, making biscuits, acting like we’re the Brady Bunch in this bitch while I’m actively trying to process this home invasion.

Now they are ALL in MY BED.

Dad’s snoring.

Mom smells like Oreos and regret.

The void is spread across half the mattress like a freshly beached orca.

And I am currently sitting in the doorway contemplating whether it’s too late to become feral.

​

I (2M, tabby, athlete) was watching Cat TV with Mom while she showered. First of all, let me just say the bird episode was INCREDIBLE. Peak television. However, Mom made the reckless decision to leave her phone sitting near the toilet while I was in a highly stimulated hunting state.

I noticed the phone was dangerously close to the edge. Naturally, I tested gravity with one gentle bap.

Unfortunately, the "$1,000" phone landed directly in the toilet.

Mom immediately started yelling my full government name while I fled at top speed because honestly the bish turned hostile very quickly.

But APPARENTLY that's not why Dad is mad.

Earlier in the morning, around 5 AM, I had generously brought home a mouse and thoughtfully processed it into smaller, more manageable pieces on the kitchen floor. Dad then stepped directly into the mouse guts barefoot while half asleep and made a noise that sounded like a coyote being tasered.

Now both parents are saying that I’m a “menace to society,” “feral,” and “the reason they can’t have nice things.” Mom also says my new pronouns are "May/Hem" whatever that shiz means.

Meanwhile, I feel like nobody is acknowledging:

- I am literally providing free pest control.

- I shared my food instead of eating selfishly alone.

- The phone should not have been so throwable.

- Mom was already watching water fall from the ceiling for fun, so clearly we were BOTH enjoying enrichment activities.

- Dad’s lack of situational awareness regarding pre-dawn organ piles is frankly not my responsibility.

Also, if humans care SO much about phones, why don’t they bury them like normal valuables?

AITA?