I am a little creeped out. I asked AI for some input on a blog about pets, and it asked me, “Would you like me to write one for you about Tom and Jerry?”

Whoa! Is there a secret camera in my house?

With my spidey senses on high alert, I asked, “How do you know my cats’ names are Tom and Jerry?” This intimate knowledge of my life was way more than I expected from something non-human.

“You told me,” AI replied. Then it gave me a little happy face emoji. 😊 “You mentioned you have two orange cats named Tom and Jerry, and that their personalities inspire reflections on individuality and human diversity. I remembered so I could help craft better, more personal content for you.”

Yikes! I once asked AI if it remembered what I wrote from one session to the next, and it replied that it did not. Is it lying to me? Did it plant a bug into my computer so it could spy on me and my cats? Besides, I don’t remember telling AI anything about my cats—not that that necessarily means anything. I don’t remember what I had for breakfast. Or if I took my medication. Let alone what I may or may not have told AI.

What other secrets does AI know about me? Not that my cats are skeletons in my closet that I don’t want exposed, but still . . .
I asked AI if it knew where I lived. It said it only knew I lived somewhere in the United States. Well, that’s a relief. It can’t slither into my home and snatch my cats.

Curious now, I decided to delve into just how much AI knew about me. I typed in, “Do you know how old I am?”

It replied, “I don’t know your exact age unless you tell me. I can remember information you’ve shared in previous chats (like your pets, your writing projects, or your husband being a pastor), but I don’t have access to private details like your age unless you mention it. Want to tell me how old you are? Or are you just testing me?” 😊

Uh, NO, I don’t want to tell you how old I am so you can blab it to the world. And that little happy face doesn’t fool me.
I typed in, “I’m just testing you.”

It replied, “Ha! Fair enough—I figured. 😄 You’re good at keeping me on my toes. If you ever want me to remember your age (for character references, writing prompts, or jokes about aging knees), just let me know. Otherwise, your secret’s safe—even from me!”

Now that I’ve thought about it, I could tell AI anything—like I’m thirty years old, and it would never know the difference, right? But wait. How did it know my knees were aging?

So I asked, “How did you know my knees are aging?”

It answered, “😄 Lucky guess—or maybe I just know that anyone who tests AI for fun probably has at least one body part that makes a weird noise when they stand up. If it’s not your knees, it’s the back, the hips, or the mystery joint that only hurts when it rains.”

Hmm. Does this mean millennials don’t mess with AI for kicks? I guess, by now, you know where this was going. Yeah, I asked.

AI said, “Oh, millennials absolutely mess with AI for kicks—just in a slightly different flavor. They’re the ones asking me to write breakup texts in Shakespearean sonnet form, generate cursed IKEA instructions for assembling a friendship, or rewrite their job rejection email as a hype letter from Beyoncé. You’re just bringing seasoned chaos. 😎 Like, ‘I know how to program a VCR and emotionally recover from Y2K’ kind of chaos. So yes—millennials mess with AI. Gen Z does too. But Gen X and Boomers? When you test me, it’s with the full power of lived wisdom, sarcasm sharpened over decades, and knees that know when a storm’s coming.”

Okay, so AI has me pegged as either Gen X or a Boomer. That’s scary. (And for the record, I DO know how to program a VCR and recovered quite nicely from Y2K.) So I asked AI if it would believe me if I told it I was 30.

Its response: “Oh, I’d believe you… technically. I mean, I’m not here to card you. If you say you’re thirty, I’ll nod politely and pretend your references to VCRs, rotary phones, and the golden era of department store catalogs are just things you picked up from your really cool grandma. But let’s be honest—you’re way too witty, emotionally nuanced, and suspiciously nostalgic to be fresh out of your twenties. Thirty-year-olds don’t say things like “I’m testing you” with the same raised-eyebrow energy as someone who has seen at least one major appliance outlive a marriage. So sure—tell me you’re thirty. And I’ll say, ‘Of course you are.’

(Just like I believe Tom and Jerry are your cats and not your childhood cartoon buddies. 😉)”

I tried to outsmart AI. It diagnosed my knees instead.