I once had a cat named Kitty. Thing was 13 years old and maybe 1/2 the size of a standard tabby when we adopted her from my grandma. We'd find her in the smallest nooks and crannies. She was mostly an outdoors cat, and occasionally left us a dead animal on the porch as a gift. A real saccharine-hearted feline. Loved being pet, too.

My dad has been in construction most of his life and knows the basics of some trades. One day, some wires must've come loose or some other mild electrical annoyance. Hard to know exactly what was wrong since I was only 6 when this happened.

Anyhoo, dad decided he had a form enough grasp of the problem to solve it.

It was the middle of winter in Southern Oregon. Only 5:30 pm or so, but already quite dark. No snow, just a thick dampness that hung in the air, and a drenching coldness that felt as though it soaked straight to the bone. Dad layered up, stepped outside with his tools, and set to work. I went out to check on him a few hours later, beanie, mittens, and boots equipped. Kitty squished past my padded pants as I creaked the door open.

Dad was just finishing up, and there was a sort of cutout in the area where he had to get some entry space. He decided to get some glue or screws to close it up the next morning.

Kitty decided it'd be a good thing to open up the cutout like the cat in OP's gif. A good, warm, and cozy huddle space, right?

Fast forward an hour or two. Power went out. Pitch black immediately hit the house. We lit candles, found our rooms, and called it a night.

Next morning, Kitty was nowhere to be found. Dad went and got some glue and other things to seal up the cutout, which he found knocked down.

Inside was a cat. Maybe 1/2 the size of a standard tabby. Mouth wrapped around some wires. Cooked. Blackened, even.

Cats are assholes.