A keyboard is sold as an input device. A cat correctly identifies it as a warm platform positioned at the center of human attention.
Objects do not contain their purposes. Designers propose uses; bodies negotiate them. The sofa becomes terrain, the curtain a vertical route, the cardboard box a temporary sovereign state. None of this is misuse. It is independent testing by a user omitted from the brief.
Object 01 The box. Its strength is not comfort but legibility. Four walls define a boundary while the open top preserves awareness. Expensive pet products often prescribe posture; the box merely establishes a small jurisdiction and lets behavior emerge.
Object 02 The chair. Humans see a seat. The cat finds a shaded chamber, four scratching posts, a lookout and an acoustically interesting fabric surface. The difference reveals how photographs flatten design: an object experienced through movement contains far more than its silhouette.
Object 03 The thing you are using now. This object has a property absent from all dedicated toys: it concentrates your attention. Sitting on it is therefore an efficient way to change the room’s social arrangement.
To see a home through another animal is to discover hidden temperatures, ledges and currents. The exercise is comic because the interpretations are wrong, and useful because many are functionally better than ours.
