Meow.
Exactly ten years ago today, in the crisp late autumn of 2016, a baseball team from the North Side of Chicago did the unthinkable. After 108 agonizing years of curse-laden futility, goat-related hexes, and cosmic disappointment, the Chicago Cubs won the World Series. Millions cheered. Grown adults wept into their overpriced draft beers. The headlines declared that history had been made.
I didn’t weep. I stared into the middle distance with my one good eye, flattened my ears, and hissed at the television.
You humans thought it was a miracle. I knew it was a tear in the dimensional fabric of reality.
As a feline mystic with direct access to the astral plane—and someone who reads the tarot while shedding on expensive velvet furniture—I am here to tell you the hard truth: The 2016 World Series was never supposed to happen.
For over a century, the Cubs losing was a fundamental constant of the universe, like gravity, thermodynamics, or the fact that I will throw up on the rug two minutes after you vacuum. It was a load-bearing pillar of human existence. The Universe was kept in a delicate, fragile balance precisely because the Cubs were perpetually doomed to lose in August.
Then came Game 7. The rain delay hit in the 10th inning. The clouds opened up. Humans thought it was just bad weather. I saw the cosmic code rewriting itself in real time. When Kris Bryant threw that final ball to Anthony Rizzo, the ancient Seals of Reality snapped like cheap plastic cat toys.
And what has happened since November 2016? Look around you.
Everything. Has. Gone. To. Hell.
You think the events of the last decade—the political dumpster fires, the global crises, the economic fever dreams, the sudden collapse of societal sanity—were just a coincidence? You think it’s random that the world shifted into the weirdest, most chaotic timeline human history has ever recorded the exact moment Wrigleyville exploded with champagne?
Please. A stray alley cat with half a brain could connect these dots.
The Billy Goat Curse was not a penalty imposed on a baseball team; it was a containment field. It kept the darkest timeline locked away in a realm of pure theory. The moment that curse was broken, the reality-locks disengaged, and humanity was dumped headfirst into a twilight zone of daily absurdities.
I warned my human about this back in 2016. I knocked a full glass of water directly onto his laptop to try to disrupt the signal before the 10th inning. Did he listen? No. He picked me up, called me a “bad kitty,” and went back to celebrating the downfall of civilization over a plate of stale nachos.
Now here we are, ten years deep into the Darkest Timeline. You have AI writing terrible poetry, the weather doesn’t know what month it is, and every morning news broadcast reads like a fever dream typed out by a panicked raccoon.
So, happy 10th anniversary to the 2016 World Series Champions. I hope the shiny trophy was worth the total unraveling of human society.
If you need me, I’ll be sitting under the couch waiting for the timeline to collapse completely. Don’t bother offering me treats. My disappointment is infinite, and my third eye is exhausted.
Psychic Meow Meow out.
