Waffles had one goal in life: Get into the fridge. Every time it opened, he appeared instantly. Every time it closed, he looked personally offended.
“What secrets do you hide, cold box?” he would whisper.
One day… his chance came.
His owner opened the fridge, got distracted, and walked away.
Waffles slowly turned his head.
The fridge door was still open.
The air got dramatic.
This was it.
He crept forward… step by step…
Then—
ZOOP.
He slipped inside.
Victory.
Inside the fridge, Waffles looked around.
“So many snacks… so little time.”
He sniffed some lettuce.
“Disappointing.”
He inspected a bottle.
“Suspicious liquid.”
Then he found it.
A glorious slice of leftover chicken.
Waffles’ eyes sparkled.
He grabbed it—
Just as the fridge door closed.
Click.
Silence.
Waffles froze.
“…oh.”
It was cold.
Very cold.
He sat there for a moment, holding the chicken, rethinking every life decision.
Outside, his owner returned.
“Huh… where’s Waffles?”
From inside the fridge:
“…mrrp.”
The owner paused.
Opened the fridge.
And there was Waffles.
Sitting politely.
Holding chicken.
Looking slightly chilled but very proud.
They stared at each other.
Waffles slowly placed the chicken down and meowed:
“I regret nothing.”
His owner laughed and picked him up.
“You absolute gremlin.”
From that day on, Waffles still tried to get into the fridge…
But now, whenever it opened, his owner would say:
“Not today, frozen nugget.”
Waffles would sit there, plotting.
Waiting.
Dreaming of chicken.
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