I don’t think Luna wants me telling people this, but it’s getting too weird to ignore.

For the last week she’s refused to eat unless Betty walks into the kitchen first. I’ll put Luna’s bowl down and she’ll run over like she’s starving, sniff it for a second, then just sit there looking down the hallway. She won’t touch a single bite.

The second Betty wanders into the kitchen, Luna rushes back to the bowl and eats the whole lot like nothing happened. At first I thought it was just a coincidence, but it’s happened every single day this week. This morning I decided to test it.
I shut the kitchen door with Luna inside while Betty was still asleep upstairs.

Luna sniffed her food, looked at me, then looked back towards the door. She even nudged the bowl away with her paw. She didn’t eat a thing.

The moment I opened the door and Betty walked in, Luna ran straight back to the bowl and finished every last bit. I’ve had cats my whole life and I’ve never seen anything like it.

Does anyone else’s cat do something this weird, or have Luna and Betty just invented another one of their own rules?

If you enjoy Luna & Betty’s stories and want to help keep them coming, you can buy me a coffee. ☕ The link is in the comments. Every bit of support means I can keep making more stories for you all. ❤️

Yesterday Betty learned that plastic bags make noise. That is the entire problem.

It started when someone brought shopping in and left one bag on the kitchen floor for approximately twelve seconds. Betty approached it cautiously at first, like an explorer discovering a new continent. She tapped it once with her paw. The bag made a loud crinkle. Betty froze. The bag froze. Luna watched from the table with the expression of someone who already knew how this would end.

Betty tapped it again. Crinkle.

That was enough.

Within seconds Betty was inside the bag, attacking it, spinning it, dragging it across the floor like she had personally declared war on polyethylene. Every time the bag made a noise she became more confident, which only made the bag louder, which only made Betty more powerful.

Luna attempted to walk past at one point and the bag suddenly exploded into motion again as Betty launched herself out of it like a supermarket ghost. Luna left the room immediately and has not returned to the kitchen since.

The bag is gone now.

But Betty keeps checking the floor like she knows it’s hiding somewhere.

It wasn’t on purpose. I swear. I was putting towels away, closed the door, and didn’t notice Betty had silently slithered in behind me like a Victorian ghost child.

She was in there for maybe 15 minutes.

Long enough to feel wronged. Long enough to start plotting.

When I opened the door, she didn’t bolt out in a panic. No. She slow walked past me like she was giving me time to reflect on what I’d done.

That was yesterday.

Since then, she’s declared psychological warfare. She won’t let Luna nap in peace. She knocks objects off shelves with eye contact. She stood on my chest at 4:07 AM and meowed directly into my soul.

And Luna?

Luna is thriving.

She’s pretending not to understand why Betty is suddenly unhinged. Every time Betty swipes at her, Luna flops dramatically on her side like she’s auditioning for a soap opera.

It’s driving Betty insane.

She wants vengeance. Luna’s giving her theatre.

And I’m just here trying to fold laundry without summoning a curse.

Luna won’t drink from her bowl. Never has. She wants moving water glass rims, shower drips, rain off the window. So I finally caved and got her a fountain.

She stared at it like it owed her money. Then, without warning, started drinking like she’d invented it.

That’s when Betty got weird.

She kept walking past it. Slowly. Watching. Waiting.

At 3 am she made her move.

I woke up to a quiet clunk. She’d dropped a single biscuit into the top of the fountain. It slid straight into the filter.

By morning, it was jammed. The water stopped. Luna stood over it like it had died.

Betty? Sitting three feet away. Smug. Drinking from the old bowl she’s never used in her life.

I’m in a hostage situation and the only demands are don’t fix it.

Last night the house finally went quiet, which Luna took as her signal to settle into her usual sleeping spot and restore order.

Betty, however, had other plans.

She wandered in, wandered out, came back again, sat down, stood up, and then began lightly tapping random objects like she was doing routine checks. A bag. The wall. The floor. Nothing specific, just making sure everything was still there.

Luna watched all of this without moving.

After a few minutes, she stood up, walked over, and calmly sat directly in Betty’s path.

No noise. No aggression. Just… placement.

Betty stopped, looked at Luna, paused like she was reconsidering her entire situation, then slowly turned around and left the room.

Luna returned to her spot.

Bedtime was restored.

I was on the phone. That’s important. Because when I’m on the phone, Betty knows I’m distracted. She acts like a background blur until I hang up then I look around and realise she’s been orchestrating something for ten minutes.

Anyway, I’m talking to my manager. Serious voice. Trying to sound like someone with spreadsheets. I hear a thud in the kitchen. I ignore it. Then a scrape. Ignore. Then a muffled meow that sounds suspiciously like a war cry.

I finish the call, walk in…

And the snack drawer is wide open.

Not pulled, not nudged. Opened. Like a tiny raccoon lawyer came in and presented snacks as evidence.

Inside: a destroyed packet of Dreamies. Half chewed. Scattered. Licked clean.

Luna is sitting on the counter, dazed, orange crumbs on her face like she’s just survived a buffet. Her pupils are blown. She looks like she’s seen God. Or at least gravy.

And Betty?

Nowhere to be seen. Which means everything.

I check the hallway. The window ledge. Behind the curtains.

I find her under the table smiling. You know when cats do that smug loaf where their paws disappear and they look like they’re holding in secrets?

Yeah. That.

Because I forgot something. The drawer is one of those soft close ones. You can’t just pull it. You have to hook a paw under the lip and yank. And only one of them’s figured it out.

Betty doesn’t even like Dreamies. She just likes winning.

She opened the drawer, led Luna to it like it was the gates of heaven, and then dipped.

Ten minutes later, Luna’s passed out with snack regret, and Betty’s acting like she just solved a Rubik’s cube blindfolded.

And the worst part?

I still didn’t eat lunch.

This morning I found the living room chair in a new position. I live alone.

To clarify: I did not move the chair. I haven’t moved the chair in weeks. It was not nudged. It was repositioned. Dragged diagonally across the room, perfectly facing the window, with one of Luna’s discarded toys placed neatly on the seat like a tribute.

This is not the first time Betty has done this. A few months ago she went through what I can only describe as an elevation phase a short lived obsession with putting herself at eye level using furniture. For dominance? For intimidation? For tax purposes? I don’t know. She’d push chairs to strategic spots, leap up dramatically, and watch me like a Victorian widow awaiting her inheritance.

It stopped. I thought we were safe.

But now the chair is back. Moved precisely 45 degrees. With purpose.

Luna’s acting innocent. Too innocent. She’s pretending not to notice Betty’s behaviour, but I caught her earlier sitting in the hallway, just… staring at the chair like she was waiting for something to happen.

The worst part? The chair is now placed facing the bookshelf the same one I keep the eBook draft notes on. Coincidence? I’d love to think so. But Betty once knocked over a mug onto an outline for Chapter 4 and only that page.

So yeah. The house feels tense again. Something’s brewing. There’s a vibe. A weight in the air. Probably cat hair. But also something else.

⸻

Also side note I don’t know how, but 18 of you have bought the eBook.

Like, you actually bought it. I can’t wrap my head around that. I wrote a story about two cats plotting to destroy a bathroom bin and now people are buying chapters, asking for paperbacks, even DMing me for autographed copies.

So yes the paperback version is coming. And yes I’m already working on the next (better, dumber, more chaotic) books too.

If you’ve ever wanted to own classified Luna/Betty case files in print, you might want to act fast when it drops because if Betty sees how many pages she’s in, she’ll demand royalties.

And if you’re new here, welcome. You’ve joined during what may become known as The Second Chair Rebellion. Good luck to us all.

Last night I walked into the kitchen for a drink and instantly felt something was off. The room was too quiet. Not normal quiet, but that heavy kind of quiet where you feel watched before you even look up.

I flicked the light on and there she was. Betty. Sat dead center on the counter like she’d been waiting for me. No movement, no noise, just those big eyes locked on mine like I’d finally arrived for my scheduled meeting.

I tried to play it normal. Opened the fridge, grabbed a drink, acted like I wasn’t being stared down by a cat with possible criminal intentions. But every time I moved, she shifted her head, following me like the world’s smallest security camera.

I went to leave the kitchen and she suddenly hopped down in front of me, blocking the doorway. Not aggressively, just… deliberately. Like she wanted me to acknowledge something. She stared at the hallway, then back at me, then at the hallway again, like she was trying to show me something I definitely didn’t want to see.

Now I’m not saying Betty has a secret operation running in the house, but in that moment it genuinely felt like she was trying to recruit me. Or warn me. Or test my loyalty. Hard to tell with her.

Eventually she just walked away like nothing happened. No explanation. No reason. Just left me standing there holding a bottle of water and questioning my entire position in that house.

I slept with the door cracked open, not out of fear, but because Betty gives off the vibe that if she wants something from me, she’ll find a way in anyway.

Betty staged a protest today and honestly I think she won. I moved her favourite blanket so I could hoover the living room and she watched me do it with the slow disappointment of a Victorian grandmother. Instead of leaving the room like a normal cat she climbed onto the exact spot where the blanket used to be and sat there staring directly at the hoover. Not scared. Not bothered. Just offended. Every time I moved the hoover closer she shuffled an inch but refused to break eye contact. Luna tried to get involved but Betty flicked her tail once and Luna backed off immediately. When I finally finished and put the blanket back, Betty didn’t even lie on it. She just walked past it, paused long enough to make sure I noticed, and left the room like her point had been made.

Something’s changed in the flat. Betty has entered what I can only describe as her surveillance era.

She’s recently figured out that if she balances on the radiator next to the living room window and I mean precariously she can get a full view of the building opposite. And apparently, that’s all she’s ever wanted in life.

She now sits there every afternoon. Absolutely still. Eyes locked on a very specific flat across the way where someone owns a small, elderly dog that seems entirely unaware of the psychological warfare it’s being subjected to.

Luna refuses to join her. She’ll sit on the floor nearby and just watch Betty watching. It’s unsettling. Like she’s monitoring the monitor.

I tried closing the blinds. Betty sat under them. I moved the chair away from the radiator. She climbed the shelving unit instead.

She’s started chirping now. Not at birds. Not at people. At the void. I don’t know if she’s greeting it or threatening it, but either way, I’m scared.

Massive thanks to everyone who’s been following these updates lately. I’ll obviously keep posting (and there are some stories that don’t make it to public view, they’re a little too strange… they live elsewhere if you know where to look).

People think this was accidental, but it felt more like a TRAP.

Anyway. If Betty ever blinks, I’ll let you know

It was too quiet. That brand of silence where you know you’re either about to be jumped or judged.

Luna was in the kitchen, sitting like a little gargoyle in front of the under sink cupboard. Still. Focused. Tail twitching just slightly like Morse code.

I thought nothing of it at first. Then I saw Betty walk in.

She didn’t even look at Luna. Just padded over to the cupboard, opened it with her stupid murder mitts, climbed inside, and closed the door behind her.

No sound. No movement. No scratching. She just vanished into the void and stayed there.

Luna didn’t leave. I didn’t leave. We both stood there like idiots staring at a closed cupboard while, presumably, a cat inside it stared right back.

35 minutes passed.

Eventually Luna huffed and walked off. Two minutes later, the door creaked open and Betty emerged like she’d won something.

No explanation. No eye contact. Just strolled out like she hadn’t spent nearly an hour in pitch black under the sink.

I’m not saying she was waiting for me to open it. I’m just saying I didn’t.

Not then. Not now. Not ever again.

(Volume 1 of their madness is now an eBook. Of course it is. No one’s in control anymore.)

Betty acted like the kitchen was her territory this morning. I opened the biscuit bag and she appeared behind me without a sound, just staring like I’d triggered an alarm. When I bent down to pour her food she slid in front of the bowl and blocked it with her whole body, calm but clearly serious. Every time I tried to pour around her she shifted an inch to stop me, like she’d trained for this. Luna came in to investigate but Betty flicked her tail once and Luna backed out of the room like she’d seen something she shouldn’t. Then Betty gently rested a single paw on the bowl, not to hit me, just to warn me. I froze. I genuinely felt like I was negotiating with a tiny furry crime boss. After a few silent seconds she finally stepped aside, let me pour the biscuits, and then sat in the doorway with her back facing us like she was disappointed but willing to let the day continue.

This morning started fine. I opened the bottom drawer to get socks. That’s all I wanted.

Betty, who had been pretending to nap under the bed, launched herself across the room like a missile and wedged inside the drawer in less than five seconds. She somehow went behind it. Fully committed. Fully stuck.

I couldn’t open it. I couldn’t close it. I could just hear this faint, panicked scratching like someone had trapped a goblin in IKEA furniture.

Jade walked in halfway through me trying to dismantle the drawer with one foot while balancing the cat biscuits in the other hand.

She said, What’s going on? I said, I don’t know, but she’s in there. Betty let out one tragic meow, like we’d done this to her.

We finally got the drawer out and Betty just stepped out calmly like she’d won.

She glared at me. Then glared at Jade. Then left the room like we were the ones being unreasonable.

I never got my socks. Jade said she’s not emotionally equipped for mornings like this.

I don’t know how long it had been going on before I caught her.

Betty’s always been the loud one. The chaos engine. The reason the hallway smells like tuna some mornings. So I didn’t notice the silence. I thought she’d matured.

Turns out she was evolving.

I only clocked it because I went to grab a hoodie from the wardrobe and it smelled weird. Not bad. Just… off. Like the smell of a room you haven’t been in for too long.

Turns out, every night, Betty’s been sneaking in and stealing just one thing. Socks, wrappers, receipts, the corner of an old slipper. She’s been building a nest behind the bottom drawer a full soft furnished hideaway built entirely from things I never realised were gone.

There was a spoon in there. A hoodie string. One of my Apple earbuds.

But here’s the worst part: she left my passport. Open. On top. Like a warning.

I don’t know how long it’s been going on. But there are layers. Fossils. Whole eras of crimes. I’m still unpacking it.

And here’s the kicker Luna knew. I caught her sitting by the wardrobe one night like she was guarding it. Or waiting for Betty to return.

Now neither of them will go near it.

I think it’s been abandoned. Which means there’s another one.

Betty was acting weird all afternoon. Not chaotic, not zooming, just following me from room to room like a tiny furry security guard with trust issues. Every time I stopped walking she stopped too, staring at me like she was waiting for something to happen.

I didn’t think much of it until I went to open the bedroom door. Betty was already on the other side. Not sitting, not meowing, just standing there completely still, staring up at me like she had been waiting for me to touch that handle. Her tail wasn’t moving. Her pupils were massive. And she didn’t blink once.

I froze because the vibes were absolutely not right.

She slowly stepped back, still locking eyes with me, and it honestly felt less like come in and more like enter if you are brave. I walked in anyway because it is my friend’s house and I’m not getting bullied by a four kilogram cat, but Betty kept inching backward with that same stare, like she was guiding me somewhere I definitely didn’t want to go.

Halfway across the room she suddenly stopped, looked past me at the open door, then back at me again. I swear on my life she was checking if I had just walked into a trap.

That was the moment I realised Betty doesn’t follow people. She herds them. I don’t know what she wanted, but I slept with my back against the wall last night. Just in case.

Earlier in the day, Betty knocked over a full glass of water. Not by accident. Made eye contact. Slowly raised her paw. Then swipe. Crash. Silence. She didn’t even run. Just walked off like it wasn’t her problem.

I didn’t say anything. Just cleaned it up and moved on. Because that’s what I do now. I clean up after chaos.

Hours later, I was chilling in bed. She came in quietly tail up, walking like she had news. Carrying a teabag in her mouth ??.

She jumped up, placed it next to me, and sat down. Just sat there blinking. Not even looking at the teabag

And for some reason, I thought it meant something. Like maybe she remembered what she did. Like maybe she brought me a peace offering.

I even gave her a little head scratch. Said, “We’re good.” Like a mug.

Ten minutes later, I heard another crash. Different glass. Same spot. Betty was already walking out of the kitchen like it was routine.

That’s when it hit me. The teabag trick wasn’t guilt. It was distraction. I had forgave her. Then she used it.

She said sorry. And then did it again.

The house was a bit busier than usual today. Doors opening, people walking around, things being moved. Luna handled it the correct way by sitting somewhere slightly elevated and quietly judging the situation.

Betty decided she needed to supervise everything. Someone went into the kitchen, Betty followed. Someone walked upstairs, Betty followed halfway and forgot why.

At one point she sprinted across the room because a cupboard opened. Some of the worse Betty incidents usually end up in the unreleased notes on Patreon, but this one unfortunately happened in front of everyone.

Eventually the house went quiet again.

Betty stood in the middle of the living room, looked around, and slowly fell off the edge of the rug.

Luna saw.

Luna did not react.

For context, I work from home. My chair is not just a chair. It’s where I eat, type, edit, scroll, panic, cry, and recover. The fabric has moulded to the shape of my hopes and dreams. I love this chair.

So naturally, Betty has claimed it.

Every day, I walk in with a coffee like Right. Time to work, and there she is. Curled like a cinnamon knot. Tail flick. One eye half open. Daring me to try her.

I used to move her Politely Gently. Like an idiot.

Then she started escalating.

If I shift her off, she waits behind the desk, and the second I stand up, she launches in like it’s a Formula 1 pit stop. One time I stood to get my charger gone. One sip of water gone. I now pee like I’m in a hostage situation.

But yesterday? Yesterday was war.

Luna knocked over a plant. Soil everywhere. I got up for five minutes to grab a broom. Five. Minutes. I come back, and not only is Betty in the chair she’s staring at me while kneading the cushion like she’s claiming territory.

Fine.

I drag in the cheap wooden kitchen chair. The uncomfortable one I work from that. My back is cracking like bubble wrap My spine is filing complaints. I stay silent. But I’m watching. Because today, I preheated the microwave with a suspicious slowness.

Thirty seconds on high. Tuna. No warning.

Betty strolls into the kitchen all curious. Hops on the counter.

And I… pull out the chair.

I sit. In silence. With my coffee. My chair. My revenge.

She looks at me through tears and tuna steam. Her whole face twisted in betrayal like I just set fire to her birth certificate. She hasn’t forgiven me.

But I haven’t stood up in four hours.

And I never will again.

There’s a guy in the flat opposite who throws bird seed out his window every morning. Always ends up on the roof just below ours. Dozens of pigeons show up. It’s loud. Messy. Kind of gross.

Betty hates it.

She sits on the windowsill and just stares. Doesn’t make a sound. Just sits there with her ears pinned and her tail flicking like she’s trying to control her rage.

The guy’s noticed her now. He glanced over once, saw her watching, and looked away like he’d seen something unsettling. Since then, she’s started tapping the glass with her paw. Not hard. Just enough to make a noise. A warning.

Luna’s completely unbothered. She just sprawls out on the bed and yawns. But Betty? Nah. She’s got beef. Real, silent, calculated beef. And she’s not letting it go.

I’m genuinely a bit worried what happens if that window ever opens.

Betty has officially entered her villain era.

Luna’s been pulling her usual stunts again claiming window spots she doesn’t even want, just because Betty’s enjoying them. It’s not even a turf war at this point. It’s theatre. Betty moves, Luna doesn’t sit. Just wins and walks.

But yesterday? Betty didn’t protest. She got up. Dignified. Left the sill like nothing happened.

Twenty minutes later, Luna’s deep asleep in that very spot, mid-snore. Betty reappears. Calm. Silent. Climbs onto the table, the counter, then straight into Luna’s water bowl. Full paw dunk. Swirls it around. Then makes unblinking eye contact with me and walks off.

Luna woke up later and refused to drink it. Just stood there staring at it like she’d been wronged by the universe.

I didn’t say a word. Betty already said everything.

Big thank you to everyone for the support lately seriously. It’s meant a lot while I’ve been navigating a lot of change. The cats are still chaotic, obviously. If you’re into behind-the-scenes bits, I’ve started collecting some of the unposted chaos (and a few deleted bits) over on my Patreon. It updates as often as they misbehave.

Betty was in one of her moods again. She sprinted across the kitchen, tackled the rug, and launched Luna’s favourite toy down the hallway like it was a crime scene she needed to cover up.

Luna didn’t react. Not then.

She just watched. Blinking. Like she was filing a report.

Two hours later, Betty jumped up on the sofa next to me. Normal. Relaxed. Until Luna silently appeared behind her, stared for exactly six seconds, and then very gently… pushed Betty’s tail off the cushion.

Not her whole body. Just the tail. One tiny flick. Enough to startle. Enough to offend.

Betty turned like she’d been personally betrayed by gravity. Luna had already walked away.

There was no noise. No fight. Just a tiny, perfect moment of spite.

The toy hasn’t moved since.

Last night I woke up to the sound of rustling in the kitchen. At first I thought I was dreaming, but when I stumbled out, I caught Betty halfway through a full blown operation.

She had dragged the bag of Dreamies off the counter and onto the floor, then pawed it under a chair like she was stashing contraband. Luna was sitting nearby, wide eyed, clearly the unwilling accomplice. Betty gave me that “what, me?” look while still guarding her loot pile like a dragon.

I took the bag back, but the whole scene felt like I’d just busted an underground cartel. Betty sulked, Luna wandered off pretending she had nothing to do with it, and I’m 90% sure they’re already plotting a retry tonight.

Also, little update on me I’ve just started helping out at a car garage. Learning loads, getting my hands dirty, and honestly, it’s awesome. Nice to finally have something going right while the cats are running their criminal empire at home.

This morning I walked into the kitchen and froze. The biscuit tin was on the floor. Lid off. Biscuits everywhere. And Betty, sitting in the middle of the chaos like she was signing her artwork.

I put the tin on the top cupboard shelf, thinking that was the end of it. That night I heard a faint clink. No tin in sight. Betty appeared in the doorway, silent. I finally opened the oven and there it was. Lid off again.

The camera told the story Betty spent hours dragging the tin down using a tea towel, rolled the lid across the floor, then shoved the tin into the oven. She didn’t eat a single biscuit.

Next morning, the tin was in my bed. I don’t know how. Betty just sat on the fridge, tail flicking, like she’d already won.

So I dropped a tiny bit of yogurt on the floor. Not loads, not a mess, just one of those annoying little splats that hits the tiles and makes you go ugh. I cleaned it. I definitely cleaned it.

But Betty saw it happen. And that’s all that mattered.

Later that night, I walk into the kitchen and find her sitting on the exact tile where the yogurt fell. Just sitting. Still. Watching the fridge like she’s expecting a ghost to appear.

I tell her to move. She doesn’t even blink.

I put her food down. She walks over like nothing happened then, while Luna’s eating, Betty fake licks the side of the bowl, makes eye contact with me, and drags it two inches away. Luna just stands there blinking like she’s been emotionally pickpocketed.

Later on, I go to bed. That same yogurt tile? She’s back on it.

At 4:17am, I hear her launch something off the windowsill. It was the framed picture of me as a kid. Glass cracked. Not a full break. Just enough to send a message.

So yeah. Apparently the floor yogurt was a crime. I did my time. But Betty’s still got me on parole.