Imagine the record store as a purrcord store where every classic cover gets a whiskered remix. “Nevermind” becomes Meowvana: a fearless kitten dog-paddling after a fish-shaped treat, toe beans splayed like rock royalty. “Abbey Road” turns into The Catles crossing the crosswalk in perfect tail alignment, one tabby ignoring the light because rules are for hoomans. “Purple Rain” features a velvet prince on a scooter, drenched in violet yarn. “Dark Side of the Moon” shoots a laser pointer through a prism, exploding into rainbow zoomies.
“Born in the U.S.A.” swaps a bandana for a striped tail tucked in the back pocket. “Rumours” has a longhair in Stevie-level shawls batting a feather wand with mystical authority. “Ready to Die” reimagines the iconic baby as a startled floof, crown a little crooked, snacks just out of frame. “1989” becomes a Polaroid of a wind-swept loaf with stadium-tour confidence.
The real joy is treat-level details: collar tags as liner-note credits, scratching posts as mic stands, cardboard “tour crates” stacked behind the star. You don’t just look at these covers, you hear the purrcussion, feel the head bonks, and want to press play on Side Meow.
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