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Dorm Life with My Human – A College Cat’s Perspective

Hi, I’m Chair. Yes, you heard that right – my name is Chair. Why? Ask my human, because she’s the brilliant mind behind it. I’m a junior at a college in Florida, and I live in a dorm with my human and some other… interesting creatures. College life, dorms, studying, dogs—it’s a lot for a feline to handle, but hey, I’ve got a degree to earn! Or maybe I’m just here for the free food and naps? Let’s go with both.

Moving In: Boxes, Chaos, and Dog Drool

I still remember moving day like it was yesterday, though it’s been two years since I first moved in with my human. She’s a funny, smart, and ridiculously beautiful young woman who insists on calling me Chair in public. No shame. She tells people, “This is my cat, Chair,” and they look at me like I have an existential crisis. I’m not an actual chair, okay? Just to clear that up.

When we moved into this dorm for my junior year, everything was chaos. Boxes everywhere, some taller than the dog—and trust me, that’s saying something. Yes, we live with a dog. Her name is Margo (seriously, who names these animals?), and she’s basically a four-legged skyscraper. If you ever wanted to experience what it’s like living with a giraffe, I’ve got you covered.

Margo’s head is at the same level as the top bunk, so I’ve learned the hard way that nothing is safe from her. She eats everything. I lost a perfectly good stash of crunchy treats one night because she sniffed them out and used her long, giraffe neck to reach them on the shelf. I didn’t speak to her for a week.

Also, we have another cat here. Her name is Socks, and she’s Siamese with disproportionately short front legs. She looks like someone forgot to assemble her properly, but I respect it. At least she’s not 7 feet tall like Margo. We have a mutual understanding: I leave her stuff alone, and she leaves mine. A rare, peaceful cat alliance.

The Humans: A Hot Mess (Except My Human, of Course)

There are three other humans in the dorm, and while they’re all fine, they’re not my human. My human? Perfect. Hilarious, with a sarcastic wit that rivals mine (and trust me, that’s impressive). She studies, laughs, and sometimes talks to me like I understand calculus, but I let her do her thing because she gives me tuna. Tuna > Calculus.

The other humans are an odd bunch. They’re mostly loud, which is annoying when I’m trying to nap. One of them has this bizarre habit of talking to Margo like she’s some kind of saint, which is deeply concerning. Like, she’s not a saint; she’s a walking appetite with zero concept of personal space. But the humans like to “ooh” and “ahh” over her. “Oh, Margo is so fluffy.” Yeah, she’s fluffy until he drools on your pillow. I’ve seen it happen. You’ve been warned.

Another human is a bit of a mystery. She comes and goes at strange hours, usually mumbling about homework and stress, but she never brings me food. Unacceptable. The final human is super loud but laughs at everything. She’s got a high-pitched giggle that makes me wish for noise-canceling earphones. If I could figure out how to order those online, I would.

But despite their flaws, they’re decent. They know the rules: Don’t touch my stuff, don’t sit in my favorite window spot, and always feed me on time. We’ve had a few altercations over “belly rubs,” which I have repeatedly stated are off-limits, but humans are slow learners.

Dorm Life: Naps, Lint Rollers, and Midnight Madness

Dorm life has its perks and downsides. On the plus side, the beds are comfy, and the humans keep the place at a decent temperature, which is important because Florida heat? Not my thing. I’m from indoors. I see that tropical climate stuff from the window and say, “No, thanks.”

On the downside, there’s a lot of lint-rolling going on. Look, I shed, okay? It’s what cats do. But these humans? They act like a single hair on their clothing is the end of the world. There’s a whole drawer dedicated to lint rollers, and if I jump on one of their freshly laundered shirts? Immediate panic. Sometimes I do it on purpose just to keep them on their toes.

One of my favorite parts of dorm life is the nightly madness. Around midnight, the humans get this second wind of energy, which is perfect for me because that’s my prime hunting time. No, I don’t hunt mice—I hunt their pens, their phone chargers, and sometimes Margo’s tail if it’s hanging over the bed. It’s all fair game in the dorm jungle.

I’ve knocked more water bottles off desks than I can count, and I’ve chewed through at least three pairs of earbuds. My human just shakes her head and laughs because she gets me. I’m an intellectual. An artist. A nap-taker of the highest caliber.

My Daily Schedule: A Cat’s Guide to Success

To be successful as a dorm cat, you need a solid routine. Mine goes something like this:

• 6 AM: Wake up my human by sitting on her chest and staring at her soul until she feeds me. If she’s slow, I’ll swat her nose.
• 7 AM to Noon: Nap in the sunlight patch. Ignore Moose barking at the birds outside. He doesn’t understand that they’re professionals, and he’ll never catch one.
• Noon to 3 PM: Lounge on the windowsill, watching students walk to class. Occasionally hiss at a passing dog.
• 3 PM to 6 PM: Knock various objects off desks while the humans study. This is an art form. Bonus points if the object is fragile.
• 6 PM: Dinner. My human calls it “sharing,” but I think we all know it’s my food that she’s kindly serving.
• 7 PM to Midnight: Nap, again. College life is exhausting, you know.
• Midnight: Chaos hour. My human tries to study, and I try to sit on her laptop. It’s a delicate balance.

Margo and Socks: Roommate Drama

Now, living with Margo and Socks isn’t all bad, but let’s be real—Margo is a bit much. She has this thing where she’ll lie down and take up half the room, and when she runs, it sounds like an earthquake. Socks, on the other hand, is my fellow intellect. She’s quiet, mysterious, and prefers high places, much like me. We’ve teamed up a few times to swipe treats off the counter. One time, we even worked together to scare Margo by knocking over a stack of books. Good times.

Final Thoughts: The Life of a College Cat

All in all, dorm life isn’t too shabby. I get to live with my human, who is the best human on the planet. She makes sure I’m happy, fed, and comfortable, and I make sure she’s entertained and occasionally frustrated when I sit on her keyboard. It’s a fair trade, really.

College may be a place for humans to learn and grow, but for me, it’s a place to nap, knock things over, and assert my dominance over Margo and Socks. And as long as my human is by my side, I’m ready to take on whatever this junior year throws at me—just as long as it doesn’t involve belly rubs.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for my seventh nap of the day.

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Chair out.