Category: Daily stories

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Daily stories

Sunday peekaboo

Lohe & Benno chanz.com
Lohe in bookshelf

It was unusually quiet.

No paws galloping across the floor. No toys flying. No midair tackles.

Just a peaceful hoomin in bed, enjoying a rare moment of stillness.

That peace lasted exactly 6.5 minutes.

From the living room came a rising murmur—muffled voices, energetic thumps, and a suspicious squeak.

The hoomin cracked one eye open.

Hoomin (yawning):

“Morning conference again? Must be the Zoomie Summit…”

Still half-asleep, he wandered into the kitchen and served two fresh bowls of breakfast noms.

Benno strutted in immediately, tail held high.

Hoomin:

“There’s the reliable one. Morning, Benno. Where’s your partner-in-crime?”

Benno just blinked slowly and began munching—very casually.

Lohe was nowhere to be seen.

Hoomin (calling out):

“Lohe? Breakfast time!”

No response.

Then… a giggle.

A faint, mysterious giggle.

Hoomin (squinting):

“Wait a second… do cats even giggle?!”

He peeked under the bed.

He opened the wardrobe.

He even checked behind the curtains.

Benno followed him around, doing a suspiciously bad job at “helping.”

Benno (pretending):

“Try the bathroom. He might be brushing his whiskers.”

Hoomin:

“…That’s not how anything works, Benno.”

Suddenly, tap-tap.

Something brushed hoomin’s head.

He froze.

Looked up.

There, camouflaged like a jungle ninja, was Lohe—perched on top of the bookshelf, perfectly still, beside the fake plant.

Only his eyes moved.

And his whiskers twitched with suppressed glee.

Lohe (whispering to Benno):

“He didn’t see me! I am the bookshelf.”

Benno:

“I think you’re the plant.”

Hoomin decided to play along.

He walked dramatically into the hallway.

Hoomin (loudly):

“Well, no Lohe here. Maybe he evaporated… Guess I’ll eat both breakfasts myself!”

Lohe’s pupils went full saucer mode.

Lohe (to Benno, panicked):

“HE’S GONNA EAT MY BREAKFAST! Initiate Phase 2!”

But before Phase 2 could begin, hoomin sneaked silently back into the room, stood directly under the bookshelf and—

“PEEKABOO!”

“SURPRISE!”

Lohe startled into a spaghetti noodle shape and yelped:

“He’s got wizard powers!”

Benno rolled on the floor laughing.

Benno:

“Next time pick the closet, genius.”

Lohe (regaining cool):

“No. The high ground is key. Obi-Wan said so.”

⸻

All was forgiven when breakfast was served again (Lohe’s bowl hadn’t been touched, after all).

The hoomin smiled at his two goofballs and whispered:

Hoomin:

“You two are my chaos. And I love every bit of it.”

Benno purred.

Lohe licked his paw dramatically and said:

“We know. You’re welcome.”

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Daily stories

Peaceful saturday

ThePurrduo.com
ThePurrduo.com

It was a peaceful Saturday morning… well, late morning, if we’re being honest.
The sun was already up, and so were the birds, and the squirrels, and the neighbor’s overly dramatic wind chimes.

But inside the apartment?
Silence.

The boys had made a silent pact:
Let the hoomin sleep.
He earned it after five days of nonsense and poorly reheated lunches.

So instead, they stationed themselves on Balcony Duty.

Water? Full.
Snacks? Refilled.
Bedding? Comfy sun-warmed rug.
Mission? Critical bird surveillance and cryptid night patrols.

Benno (whispering): “At 03:48 I saw a raccoon-shaped shadow. Could’ve been a demon. Or a very fluffy crow.”
Lohe: “Noted. I logged it under: ‘Creatures of the Void – Possibly Friendly.’”

When hoomin finally woke up—hair wild, blinking like he just left a dream dimension—he was greeted by two very calm cats lounging in the sun like little emperors.

Hoomin (yawning): “You let me sleep? What’s the catch?”
Lohe: “We took the morning shift. You’re welcome.”
Benno: “We’ll invoice you in cuddle time later.”

Hoomin chuckled, gave them breakfast, and while the boys munched contentedly, he announced:

Hoomin: “Quick run to the store, then the rest of the weekend is all yours.”

Benno (mouth full): “Please remember the good kibble. The crunchy-crunch, not the dusty-crunch.”
Lohe: “Also, if they have gourmet wet noms, we won’t fight it.”

Hoomin returned not long after—bags in hand, face triumphant.

Hoomin: “Noms secured. Snacks restocked. We feast.”

Both cats inspected the haul with the intensity of customs officers at a border checkpoint.
Items approved. Bowls filled.

Five minutes later…

BOOM. ZOOMIES.

Lohe launched from the balcony door like a caffeinated comet.
Benno skid across the hallway, bounced off a couch cushion, spun mid-air, and landed directly in a laundry basket.

Benno (yelling): “IT’S HAPPENING!”
Lohe (flailing mid-crabwalk): “SATURDAY MODE: FULL ACTIVATION!”

One toy mouse flew into the bathroom.
A feather wand was dragged across three rooms.
The hallway rug is now legally classified as “a hazard.”

Hoomin (watching, holding a snack): “…And here I thought I’d get to nap.”

Saturday unfolds with good noms, balcony breeze, mystery critter watch reports, and zoomies so wild even the potted plants started vibrating.
Weekend status: fully launched

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Daily stories

Slow sunday

The Purr Duo
The Purr Duo

It was a slow, sunny Sunday.
The hoomin was deep in sleep, dreaming of a world without emails, when he suddenly felt a presence.

Something… was watching.
From very close range.

He cracked open one eye—
Benno.
Sitting by the bed, eyes wide, tail neatly curled, conducting a silent psychic scan.

Benno (whispering to himself): “Still sleeping. Suspiciously peaceful. Breathing… snack-deep?”
Lohe’s voice echoed from the other room:
“Leave him. The longer he sleeps, the better the treats. It’s scientifically proven.”

Benno (whispering): “But what if he’s pretending? He could ambush us with cuddles.”
Lohe: “Unlikely. We’ve established a firm no-touch treaty… unless initiated by us.”

What the boys didn’t know:
Hoomin was absolutely awake, smiling into his pillow.
He waited until Benno leaned in just a little too far…

“BOO.”
Benno levitated like a startled loaf.

Benno: “GAAAAH! He’s alive?!”
Lohe: “Retreat! Retreat with dignity!”

Hoomin burst out laughing.

Hoomin: “Okay, you weirdos. You win. Breakfast it is—with extra goodies.”
Benno (recovering fast): “Fear was part of the plan. Motivational tactic.”
Lohe: “I calculated the bounce trajectory precisely.”

They got their breakfast—full bowls, a spoon of luxury wet food, and a few “just because” treats.
Purring satisfaction echoed faintly in the kitchen tiles.

And then, The Big Announcement:

Hoomin: “I’m staying home all day today. No errands. Just us.”

Benno (gasps): “He’s OURS today!”
Lohe (serious): “Then we must honor this with wild athletic nonsense.”

AND ZOOMIES WERE UNLEASHED.

Benno darted between sofa legs and launched into midair like a flying dumpling.
Lohe did a precision side-crab walk down the hallway and then flopped in a majestic, slow-motion twist onto the rug.
A toy mouse flew from the balcony into the kitchen with zero explanation.

When the storm finally settled, the boys loafed nearby, blinking slowly at the hoomin who was now laying on the floor, still laughing.

Benno (quietly): “We know we’re still a bit… shy.”
Lohe: “Still don’t love being touched. But…”
Benno: “But playtime with you is everything.”
Lohe: “And this home. Our forever place. That’s priceless.”
Benno: “We show it by leaving toys on your bed and stealing your socks.”
Lohe: “We care. Deeply. Just… in our own perfectly odd way.”

Sunday morning ends not just with wild zoomies and bellyfuls of snacks,
but with two tuxedo boys quietly reminding their hoomin that even without cuddles,
their hearts are fully his. 

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Daily stories

Eurovision aftermatch

Eurovision aftermatch by cats

The apartment was filled with the groggy hum of a half-awake hoomin vacuuming and muttering to himself.

Sunlight filtered in, but the boys could tell something was… off.

Benno had climbed to the top of the bookshelf, now boldly renamed:

“The Watchtower.”

Tail wrapped neatly. Ears forward.

Eyes scanning the kingdom below like a fluffy general.

Benno: “Lohe, he’s doing it again. Cleaning. Vacuuming. Grumbling. No signs of breakfast.”

Lohe (from under the sofa): “He was up till 2:30. Eurovision again.”

Benno: “Ah yes. The Festival of Glorious Chaos.”

Benno cleared his throat, clearly preparing for an official recap.

Benno: “Let the record show: Sweden attempted to do sauna onstage. In towels. Steam effects. Buckets. Some man was ladling pretend water.”

Lohe: “Cultural and confusing. We approve.”

Benno: “And Estonia… oh, Estonia. They sang about drinking espresso, but in bizarre Italian that made no sense. One lyric was ‘molto boom boom amore spaghetti.’”

Lohe (nodding): “Profound.”

Down below, hoomin sneezed, tripped over a cat toy, and cursed quietly in three languages.

Benno (squinting): “Also, BREAKFAST was delayed by TWO HOURS.”

Lohe: “An international scandal.”

Benno: “Unforgivable. Unless ham is involved later.”

The hoomin finally noticed he was being stared at by two judges—

one upside-down under the coffee table,

the other silently looming from the Watchtower like a judgmental gargoyle.

Hoomin (yawning): “Alright, alright. Eurovision is once a year, give me a break…”

Benno: “So is breakfast. Daily. 07:00 hours. Precision matters.”

Lohe: “We tolerated the late feeding. But only because of the laser goats and the disco accordion battle.”

Eventually, breakfast was served—extra treats included as a diplomatic apology.

Benno: “Let this be a lesson. Glitter is no excuse for delay.”

Lohe: “But next year, we demand our own scorecards.”

Sunday morning ends with a full belly truce, Eurovision critiques still being debated, and one hoomin who now knows that even chaos must be punctual in the feline kingdom.

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Daily stories

Summer zoomies

Summer zoomies by cats Lohe and Benno

At last, a hint of summer.
The air smelled less like wet pavement and more like open windows and blooming nonsense.

The hoomin came home, dropped his bag, and expected the usual: judgmental stares from the sofa, or Benno pretending to be a slipper.
But today… something magical.

The balcony doors were open.
And there they were:

Lohe, sprawled across the sunniest tile like a royal nap mat.
Benno, belly up, sunglasses probably invisible but definitely there in spirit.

Hoomin: “Wow. You two look like you’re on vacation.”
Benno (without moving): “We are. Balcony Resort & Spa. Now serving nap all-inclusive.”
Lohe (stretching one toe skyward): “Welcome, peasant. Kindly deliver refreshments to the patio.”

Dinner was requested—and served—on the balcony.
Two bowls.
Two satisfied purrs.
One hoomin shaking his head at the ridiculousness of his life.

But just as the peacefulness hit its peak…
something stirred.

Benno twitched.
Lohe blinked.
A breeze carried a leaf across the floor.

Benno (eyes wide): “…You feel it?”
Lohe (suddenly alert): “…It’s time.”

And then—THE ZOOMIES RETURNED.

Not a warm-up. Not a lazy shuffle.
FULL-BLOWN, HYPERDRIVE-ENGAGED, FURNITURE-DODGING ZOOMIES.

Benno crab-walked across the hallway rug like he was summoning ancient chaos spirits.
Lohe launched off the balcony door frame, did a midair spin, and vanished under the bed only to reappear in the kitchen like a furry glitch.

The hoomin just stood in the doorway, eyes wide, wheezing from laughter.

Hoomin: “You haven’t done this in weeks! I thought you retired!”
Benno (mid-slide): “WE’RE BACK, BABY.”
Lohe (leaping over a shoe rack): “The sun recharges us. We have no regrets.”

One toy mouse flew across the room.
A rug was completely flipped.
A houseplant shook in fear.

Monday evening ends with flying fur, echoing paws, and one hoomin clutching his sides, gasping through laughter as summer and madness officially begin.
Let the season of chaos commence.

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Daily stories

Lohe tries Eurovision yoga

It was Thursday evening, and the hoomin was deeply invested in Eurovision.

The glitter. The drama. The fog machines. The questionable key changes.

He was mid-bite of a snack, judging an outfit made entirely of sequins and possibly caution tape, when—

movement.

From the bookshelf.

Not a full cat.

Not even a head.

Just… a paw.

Pointing. Slowly. Dramatically.

Hoomin (startled): “…What in the—”

Lohe (calm voice from above): “Do not be alarmed. I am transcending.”

The hoomin leaned back and squinted.

And there he was—Lohe, balanced across the top shelf like a furry deity, slowly stretching one leg skyward while staring into space.

Hoomin: “Are you… doing cat yoga? Again?”

Lohe: “Yes. This pose is called ‘The Ascending Sardine.’ Only to be performed during televised chaos.”

Benno (from the sofa): “He’s been up there for twenty minutes. He’s really into the ceiling lately.”

Lohe: “Ceilings are symbolic. They represent unlickable heights.”

Lohe extended his other paw, now looking like a feline weather vane trying to summon pigeon-shaped enlightenment.

Hoomin: “I mean, I’m watching Eurovision. You’re doing yoga. This room can’t get any weirder.”

Lohe (very seriously): “Wait for the bridge key change.”

Benno: “Or when Finland brings out the neon goats again.”

The paw slowly retracted.

Silence resumed.

The glitter on TV exploded again.

Lohe (softly): “Peace is found only in stillness… and atop Ikea.”

Thursday evening ends with synchronized chaos—onstage and on shelf—two cats meditating on melody and floor snacks, and one hoomin realizing he may never again know a truly ordinary Thursday.

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Daily stories

Yoga time

Lohe and Benno Cat Yoga
Lohe and Benno Cat Yoga

It was a peaceful wednesday evening.

Hoomin had just sat down on the sofa with a warm drink, ready to unwind…

when a soft thud echoed from the living room floor.

Benno had arrived.

Sprawled like a furry starfish across the carpet.

Eyes half-closed. One leg in the air. Belly fully on display.

Hoomin (blinking): “…What are you doing?”

Benno (serenely): “This is yoga. Inner peace through maximum exposure.”

Benno slowly twisted onto his back, one paw flopping dramatically to the side.

Benno: “This pose is called ‘Collapsed Loaf of Courage.’ It aligns the snack chakras.”

Hoomin: “You look like someone who lost a fight with a pillow.”

Benno (ignoring): “Observe now… ‘The Side-Flop of Introspection.’ Useful after emotional breakfast.”

He rolled again. Now his feet were straight up like aerials, tail flicking.

Benno: “And this is ‘Alert Crashed UFO.’ An advanced level stretch.”

From across the room, Lohe peeked from the top of the bookshelf.

Lohe: “You look like a pretzel that gave up.”

Benno: “Lohe. Please. This is sacred.”

Lohe: “You’re vibrating with joy because the carpet is warm.”

Benno: “…Yes. And I am one with it.”

Hoomin: “Should I get the mat?”

Benno: “No need. The floor has accepted me as its own.”

He then tucked into a loaf position, blinked slowly at hoomin and whispered,

“Now breathe deeply. And bring snacks.”

Wednesday night ends with soft stretches, theatrical poses, and a hoomin who might just believe that inner peace can be found on the living room rug—under a purring cat named Benno.

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Daily stories

Treat monster

It started like any normal morning.
Lohe was halfway through a casual pre-breakfast stretch, and the servant was dragging himself toward the coffee machine…

When suddenly—

“SERVANT!!”

A dramatic yowl echoed from the bedroom.
The human ran in, heart pounding, expecting something like an avalanche of laundry or Benno stuck in a drawer again.

But instead, he found Benno staring into the wardrobe.
Ears flat. Eyes wide. Tail puffed.
Clearly shaken.

Human: “What’s wrong?!”
Benno (whispering): “There’s a monster in the closet…”
Human: “…Pardon?”
Benno: “It spoke. I swear. It said…”
“No more treats for cats.”

Lohe poked his head in from the hallway, blinking.

Lohe: “Did the vacuum cleaner tell you this again? You know it lies.”
Benno: “No! It had a voice like… like the bottom of the fridge! And it hissed something about kibble rations!”

The servant tried to hold it together, but it was too late.
He burst into laughter so hard he nearly tripped over a slipper.

Human: “Benno, my dude, that was a dream. Possibly a bad snack dream. There is no anti-treat monster.”

Benno narrowed his eyes.

Benno: “…Are you SURE?”
Human: “Positive. In fact…”
He walked off and came back moments later with a tiny treat.
*“Monsters don’t deliver these.”

Benno cautiously took it, munched it, and then whispered,
“…Still gonna keep an eye on that closet, just in case.”

Lohe: “I bet it was Basil messing with him again.”
Benno: “Well, mission accomplished. I was very messed.”

Friday morning ends with mild trauma, verified snacks, and a reminder that even brave tuxedo warriors sometimes need reassurance that the wardrobe doesn’t hate cats.

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Daily stories

Cloud bed

It was a long day, and hoomin was ready to collapse into his sacred haven:

the bed.

Soft. Warm. Peaceful.

Except…

Benno was already there.

Sprawled diagonally across the entire mattress like a sleepy starfish in full ownership mode.

Hoomin: “Benno… buddy. That’s my side.”

Benno (without opening his eyes): “I don’t see your name on it.”

Hoomin: “You’re literally lying on my pillow.”

Benno: “It’s a good pillow. Thank you for selecting it for me.”

Hoomin: “Can I at least have the blanket?”

Benno (slow blink): “If you can lift me and not feel guilty, sure.”

Hoomin: “…You win this round.”

Lohe, watching from the wardrobe, offered commentary like a sports announcer.

Lohe: “And here we witness the age-old ritual of feline bed dominance. The hoomin, confused, circles the mattress, looking for a corner of hope…”

Benno stretched even further, one paw now across the TV remote.

Benno: “Also, if you’re staying here, I prefer quiet. No documentaries tonight. Unless it’s birds.”

Hoomin gave up.

He lay down sideways at the edge of the mattress, hugging the last corner of the blanket like a shipwrecked sailor clinging to driftwood.

Benno: “You’re very warm. Please don’t move or breathe too much.”

Wednesday evening ends with a half-perched hoomin, one victorious tuxedo, and a bed silently renamed: Benno’s Cloud.

Sleep well, human. If you dare.

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Daily stories

Service needed

The hoomin barely got his shoes off when he heard it—
Benno’s unmistakable shout from the balcony:

“Hoooomin! I feel emotionally weak. I require snacks! Preferably served here. I can’t be bothered to move!”

At the same time, a muffled voice echoed from deep inside the wardrobe:
Lohe: “Seconded. If snacks could arrive to Wardrobe District Level 2, that’d be ideal.”

The hoomin raised an eyebrow.
“How was your day?”

Benno: “Boring. Too sunny. Not enough drama.”
Lohe: “I tried to stare at a pigeon into submission. It ignored me. Rude.”
Benno: “Also we think the rug moved by itself.”
Lohe: “Or it was Basil.”
Benno: “Also, the plant blinked. Just sayin’.”
Hoomin: “Any plans for tomorrow?”
Lohe: “Same. But with more existential reflection.”
Benno: “And possible sock theft.”

With a sigh and a chuckle, the hoomin retreated to the kitchen.

Moments later, he returned like a culinary magician with two saucers of tuna soup —
one placed gracefully on the balcony sill, the other carefully slid into the wardrobe depths.

Purring.
Slurping.
A moment of pure peace.

Benno: “He’s learning.”
Lohe: “He may yet be trained.”

Monday afternoon ends with satisfied tummies, questionable reports, and a hoomin secretly enjoying being bossed around by two very spoiled—and very loved—cats.

Cat lounging in the cupboard