When Someone Asks If You’re Using a Vibrator

 

(And You Have to Explain It’s Just Your Cat Imitating a Harley)

There are moments in life that prepare you for nothing.
This is one of them.

Picture this: you’re on the phone, minding your business, existing quietly in your own home. Suddenly the person on the other end pauses—long enough to be concerning—and says:

“Uh… is there… something running?”

No, sir.
That is not a power tool.
That is not a personal massager.
That is my cat.

She purrs at industrial strength. Not a polite rrr. Not a gentle mrrp. This is a full-throttle, chest-rattling, Harley-Davidson idling at a stoplight kind of purr. The kind that makes nearby electronics nervous and innocent bystanders deeply uncomfortable.

And the worst part?
She does it just for being near me.

Same room? Purr.
Eye contact? Purr.
Existing within a ten-foot radius? VROOM VROOM.

This all started with Bird TV. Flickers, finches, juncos, chickadees, bushtits—the whole feathered production. One cat (the Ottoman Kid) belly-crawled across the floor like a furry submarine convinced stealth could defeat glass. The other (Captain Thunderpaws) observed safely from the couch cushions like a seasoned risk analyst.

Then—betrayal.

She disengaged from the window, crossed the room, and launched herself directly onto my sore side like a heat-seeking missile. I responded by clutching her to my chest like missing antique pearls and enforcing a mandatory cuddle sentence.

That’s when the engine started.

Loud.
Relentless.
Proud.

So yes. Somewhere out there is a grown man who briefly believed his son’s household was running questionable machinery—when in reality, it was just a cat vibrating with affection and zero shame.

If you’ve never had to say the sentence

“No, it’s just the cat,”

with a straight face…
I envy you.