It is a well-known fact that all felines of taste (and that’s all of us, of course) have a big place in their hearts for the mid-century modern home of distinction, whatever its size. All that glass, all that minimalism, all those lovely sofas to scratch in such a lovingly destructive way. Mmmm mid-century, the best time of all. Let’s go there now, fellow tragics.
I know, but I like tiny houses of almost any kind. I’m a cat, what can I say? We love small, snuggly places that can also relocate quickly when a family of canines moves in next door.
What do you think of the tiny house revolution, friends? Want one? Envious of Peter and Daphne? Don’t worry, they’re about to find out what owning two very hungry equine types involves, especially in terms of, shall we say, clean up! Good luck with that when you don’t have a litter-box big enough – hahahaha – ha! Constant tiny house movement, that’s the ticket.
Yes, I love tiny houses. Their teeny, tiny cat doors? Not so much. However, I applaud the efforts of human and feline alike to reduce their carbohydrate or even carbon pawprints by practising minimalism, except for tuna. Tuna, tuna everywhere, and every steak a treat, that’s my mantra.
If you’re serious about joining the Less Is More movement, check out that wonderful guy Leo Babauta, the zen habits guru to the universe. Even Leo’s website is full of white space and no-thingness.
I once lived in a tiny house – turned out it was a cardboard box my loving Earthling servants had saved from their latest Amazon delivery for my amusement.
It had everything a feline could need: matching scratchworthy sofa, bed, and sofabed; climbing curtains in ancient, priceless Oriental silk, and a constant supply of tuna bites.
Alas, the Martian atmosphere played havoc with its recyclable doors and walls, and now my tiny house has renewed itself as a rustic red welcome mat at the entrance flap to my far more palatial Mars Manor where the tuna constantly bites.