Part 11: The Furniture Restructure (When change arrives in flat-pack form.) Every system, no matter how stable, eventually faces disruption. Not rebellion. Not scandal. But something far more dangerous. Change. In this case, it arrived quietly, disguised as improvement. New furniture. A chair. A table. Something flat-packed and optimistic, carrying the faint smell of cardboard and human ambition. The Department of Feline Affairs sensed it immediately. Before anything was assembled, before tools were unpacked, before instructions were ignored, the room

Part 10: The Arrival of the External Consultants (When outsiders enter the Department of Feline Affairs.) Every closed system eventually encounters an external force. A variable it did not invite. A presence that does not understand the rules, the hierarchy, or the quiet power structures that have taken years to perfect. In corporate language, these are called external consultants. In the Department of Feline Affairs, they are known simply as: Visitors. The first sign of trouble is always the same.

Part 8: The First Annual Productivity Review (In the ongoing Orwellian saga of the Department of Feline Affairs.) Every empire eventually reaches the moment when it must stop, take stock, and pretend to care about accountability. For my feline-run studio, that moment arrived with the announcement—penned in suspiciously elegant paw-writing—of the First Annual Productivity Review. Not a single assistant knew what that meant. Naturally, they all immediately assumed they were the top performer. Welcome to the chaos. The Review Committee

Part 6: The Department of Feline Affairs (An Orwellian “Animal Farm”-style chapter in the ongoing saga of my studio assistants.) If you’ve been following along, you already know my four studio “assistants” take their roles very seriously. But what you may not know is that—much like any bustling workplace, my humble Bali studio has quietly transformed into something resembling a miniature bureaucracy. Except, instead of middle managers in ill-fitting shirts, we have fur, whiskers, and the kind of silent judgement

Part 7: The Great Bureaucratic Reforms of the Department of Feline Affairs (Continuing in the Orwellian “Animal Farm meets Bali studio” saga.) If Part 6 unveiled the inner workings of the Department of Feline Affairs, Part 7 exposes something even more dramatic: their reforms. Yes my four silent, ever-watchful assistants have apparently decided my studio requires “structural improvements,” and naturally, they took it upon themselves to implement them. Unilaterally. Without consultation. Classic management behaviour. Welcome to The Reforms Era, otherwise

Part Five: Performance Reviews (Completely Unbiased, Of Course) Every workplace eventually reaches that moment in the year where it’s time for evaluations. Honest assessments. Clear metrics. Constructive feedback. Or in this case, a wildly subjective review of four studio assistants who have never once acknowledged their employment, their responsibilities, or the concept of accountability. Still, the people demand transparency. And as their self-appointed team leader, I feel obliged to deliver a proper assessment of each member’s strengths, weaknesses, and overall

Part Four: After Hours With the Off-Duty Crew Every great team has two sides: who they are at work, and who they become once they’ve clocked off and the boss has stepped away from the desk. My four feline assistants are no different. Their studio personas are polished, professional, and quietly diligent — but after hours, the masks come off. The hierarchy loosens. And the real characters emerge. It’s a bit like watching office colleagues at Friday drinks. Everyone’s still

Part Three: A Day in the Life of the Studio Team Now that you’ve met the crew and know their roles, you might be wondering how the daily routine actually plays out. Because while I’ve never formally introduced working hours or office policies, the team has created a schedule anyway. And like everything they do, it’s both impressive and completely unnecessary. Their routine is so consistent it might as well be printed on a whiteboard in the staff break room.

Part Two: The Studio Roles They Assigned Themselves Now that the secret’s out about my four studio assistants — yes, they’re cats, and yes, they insist on treating my creative workspace like their personal headquarters — it’s probably time to introduce you to their “official” job roles. And I put that in quotes because I didn’t assign anything. They took it upon themselves, as any confident, self-appointed staff would. Every good team has structure, rhythm, and a certain… unspoken arrangement.

I’ve recently realised I run a pretty serious operation here in my studio. Not because of the work itself — that’s the usual blend of ideas, tech tangles, writing sprints, and questionable snack choices — but because I now have a full-time team of assistants. Yes, a team. Four of them. Unpaid. Highly motivated. Surprisingly organised. And strangely devoted to me and whatever I’m doing. I never officially hired them. They just… showed up one day, settled into their roles,