Is My Cat a Communist? 5 Worrying Signs (and How to Avoid a Revolution)

    Léo Talano • 08/22/2026

    Is My Cat a Communist? 5 Worrying Signs (and How to Avoid a Revolution)

    Your cat now calls you “comrade”, believes your kibble should belong to everyone, and thinks owning two cushions already amounts to an excessive concentration of wealth? It might be time to face facts: your cat is a communist.

    Before they collectivise your sofa or turn your flat into a feline people’s republic, here are the signs that should raise your suspicions.

    At first, it seemed harmless.

    Your cat generously shared their toys with other neighbourhood animals. A lovely display of altruism, you thought.

    Then they started questioning the concept of private property.

    First your armchair.

    Then your bed.

    Now they talk about requisitioning the kibble supply in the name of the common good.

    The problem is that the common good always seems to line up exactly with their own personal interest.

    5 signs your cat is a communist

    All cats like to benefit from other people’s work. But some turn it into a full political doctrine.

    1. They dream of a revolutionary moustache

    For the past few weeks, your cat has been trying to grow a historic-looking moustache.

    Unfortunately, the result looks more like an unwiped bit of wet food than an iconic figure of revolution.

    That doesn’t stop them posing proudly for their official portraits.

    2. They’ve abolished the concept of ownership

    Your bed?

    Our bed.

    Your sofa?

    Our sofa.

    Your kibble?

    The people’s kibble.

    However, the moment another cat approaches their favourite spot by the radiator, the collectivisation stops abruptly.

    3. They redistribute wealth… to themselves

    Your cat claims to be fighting inequality.

    Yet whenever they seize resources, they invariably end up in their own stomach.

    The “people” benefiting from their redistribution always seem to consist of exactly one individual.

    And that individual looks remarkably like them.

    4. They’ve founded a feline trade union

    Your lounge has become headquarters for the National Union of Underfed Cats.

    The demands are simple:

    • double rations of wet food;
    • more treats;
    • heated cushions for all;
    • the abolition of vet appointments.

    Negotiations are tense.

    5. You’ve officially become a member of the bourgeoisie

    Ever since your salary went up slightly, your cat eyes you with suspicion.

    They use phrases like:

    “domestic elite”

    or

    “owner of the means of kibble production”.

    All you did was buy a new throw.

    How do you handle a communist cat?

    The situation is serious, but not hopeless.

    Introduce them to entrepreneurship

    Suggest they start a business.

    A few weeks managing customers, stock and invoices might introduce them to concepts they’d previously criticised with great confidence.

    Or they’ll immediately start exploiting other cats.

    Hard to predict.

    Bureaucratise their litter tray

    Declare the litter tray collective property.

    From now on, every use will require:

    • an application form;
    • administrative approval;
    • and a processing time of several days.

    They’ll quickly discover the joys of central planning.

    Offer them a revolutionary immersion

    Your cat loves slogans, posters and grand speeches.

    Expose them to something more concrete: tuna shortages, queues for kibble and rationed treats.

    Their enthusiasm might dampen slightly.

    Start your own industrial action

    Temporarily suspend food distribution.

    Leave leaflets around the house explaining that the human workers are protesting their living conditions.

    For the first time, your cat might understand what it feels like to be a boss facing a strike.

    Conclusion: revolutionary, or just terminally online?

    For a moment, you doubted yourself.

    After all, your cat spends their time criticising billionaires, older generations and anyone who disagrees with them.

    Maybe they weren’t really a communist.

    Maybe they were simply very active online.

    Then you caught them haranguing the local pigeons, perched on an overturned bin, with a revolutionary energy that was hard to ignore.

    At that moment, the diagnosis became obvious.

    Your cat doesn’t just want more kibble.

    They want to change the world.

    Luckily for you, they sleep seventeen hours a day.

    The revolution can wait a little while longer.

    And if you enjoy absurd portraits of politically engaged cats, riddled with contradictions and dangerously convinced they’re right, What to Do If My Cat Is a Leftie? and its sequels should be right up your street.

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