MidReal Story
Genius Cat: A Tail of Physics and Fur
Scenario: I turned my cat into a physicist.
Create my version of this story
Michael Jennings
struggling scientist, friends with Sarah and mentor to Whiskers, tall with messy hair, curious and slightly absentminded
Whiskers
genius physicist, mentee to Michael, sleek black fur with piercing green eyes, cunning and insatiably curious
Sarah Linwood
supportive lab assistant, friend to Michael, petite with sharp eyes, pragmatic and loyal
I was trying to prove a theory.
I didn’t mean to turn my cat into a genius.
But I did.
And now he’s the most famous physicist in the world.
It all started with a cat and a box.
The box was a cardboard cube, about two feet on each side, with a small hole cut in one face.
The cat was Whiskers, my sleek black feline friend of three years, who had been staring at the box for the past ten minutes as if it were his mortal enemy.
"Come on, Whiskers," I said, crouching down next to him and scratching him behind the ears.
"You can do it."
I had spent the last year of my life trying to prove that observation doesn’t define reality.
It was a theory I’d come up with after reading too many science fiction novels, but I was determined to prove it true.
To do that, I’d set up an experiment involving a quantum-entangled photon and a modified version of Schrödinger’s thought experiment.
In the original Schrödinger’s Cat thought experiment, there’s a cat in a box with a radioactive source that has a 50% chance of killing the cat.
Until you open the box and observe the cat, it’s considered both alive and dead at the same time.
My version was similar, but I’d built a contraption to ensure that once the box was sealed, there would be no way for any outside interference to affect it.
The idea was to show that observing the system doesn’t determine its state; rather, its state is predetermined when you set up the system in the first place.
In this case, if the photon decayed, Whiskers would be dead; if not, he would be alive.
I’d spent months building and calibrating the equipment in my lab, and now all that was left to do was activate the photon source and let nature take its course.
I stood up and stretched, then glanced at my watch.
It was almost time for me to head out and grab a coffee before I started the experiment.
I’d been up all night working on it, and I needed a caffeine boost if I was going to make it through the day.
I turned back to Whiskers and said, "Be right back, buddy," then headed out of the lab.
Fifteen minutes later, I returned with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and my phone in the other.
I set my coffee down on a nearby table and pulled up the app that controlled the photon source, ready to start the experiment.
But when I looked over at Whiskers, I froze.
I was startled by his sudden appearance; he’d never shown any interest in boxes before, and I’d been convinced he wouldn’t voluntarily enter it.
But somehow, while I was gone, he’d managed to get inside.
And now, according to my theory, he was quantum-entangled with the photon inside the box.
I took a deep breath and steadied myself; this was what I’d been working toward for months.
In Schrödinger’s original thought experiment, he argued that until you open the box and observe the cat, it is both alive and dead at the same time.
My version of the experiment took things a step further: not only was Whiskers both alive and dead, but he was also entangled with a quantum particle that had a 50% chance of decaying.
So until I opened the box and observed him, he would be simultaneously alive and dead—and so would the photon.
I smiled as I realized how brilliant my theory was; if everything went according to plan, I would have proven once and for all that observation doesn’t define reality.
I picked up my phone and prepared to start the experiment, but then I hesitated.
What if something went wrong?
What if Whiskers really did die?
I shook my head; there was no point in worrying about what might happen.
I’d spent months building and calibrating the equipment, and I was confident that everything would work perfectly.
I took a deep breath and hit the button on my phone, activating the photon source and sealing Whiskers in the box.
Then I sat back and waited for the results to come in.
When I returned to the lab after getting a coffee, Whiskers was no longer in the box.
I was devastated by his loss, but at the same time, I knew it was all my fault.
If I hadn’t been so careless—if I’d just waited a few more minutes before starting the experiment—Whiskers would still be here with me now.
But instead, he was gone, and there was nothing I could do to bring him back.
I spent months searching for him, but he was nowhere to be found.
"Hey, Michael," Sarah said one day as she walked into the lab.
"Have you seen Whiskers around anywhere?"
I shook my head without looking up from the computer screen in front of me.
"Nope," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
"I haven’t seen him since…"
I trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
Sarah nodded and sat down at her desk across from mine.
"Me neither," she said quietly.
"It’s been a while."
"Yeah," I said, forcing myself to look away from the screen and meet her gaze.
"It has."
There was something in her eyes that made me think she knew what had happened to Whiskers, but she didn’t say anything else about it.
