Hi, I'm a 16-year-old calico named Annie. My human companion, Stu, tells me this is the first product review by a cat. I don't know why; after all we cats have opinions on everything, mostly negative, the result of being perfect animals in an imperfect world. I have a pretty cushy setup for a cat. The bay window has a deep sill with cushions and there is a comfortable futon which I sometimes let him use. In one corner of the king size bed he put a covered, heated cat bed which he found online and which is why I let him spend there. But there was one major problem – the water. Each morning he would give me food, I would be ravenously hungry and dive in because I can't get him out of bed at a decent hour, like 4:30. While I'm busy eating, he would fetch a bowl of water then disappear without waiting for my opinion. One morning he gave me my chance by reversing the order. I put on an Oscar level performance, dour expression, wrinkled nose, head shaking, the whole nine yards. He asks “is there is a problem with the water?,” as if he thought it came from some holy spring. He gets down and sniffs. Few things look more ridiculous than people on all fours, which is why they walk upright. He proclaims “that's a bad smell.” Tell me something I don't know. If his nose worked, he would not need to half drown himself to find out. Now he tells me, with a straight face mind you, that the people with the big pipes have a machine that puts that smell in the water so that no one gets sick. You believe that? A cat could fall over with one whiff. Stu tells me he will get a machine called a filter to take away the bad smell. That is just like a human – first their machine causes an awful problem so they need another machine to fix it – these people with their machines, always with the machines. On the computer, he types Amazon, then faucet filter and picks the Culligan. A few days later, a box comes with a filter that looks just like the picture on the computer. He unscrews something called an aerator from the faucet, screws on the filter, puts a thing called a cartridge inside it and explains that the bad smell goes in the cartridge and when there is no room in it for more bad smell, one must replace it. He told me that Amazon has a very big computer that knows when each person needs a new cartridge and sends him one, since people cannot be trusted to remember. Now I drink the fresh water given me three times per day, Stu is happy and so is my doctor. Nirvana? Fat chance. Stu still makes me wait for my needs instead of responding immediately to my requests – err, demands – like an obedient slave.