He has food. He has water. His litter box is relatively clean. And yet, he sits there, staring at me. Squeaking.
This has been going on for months. There are spray bottles everywhere. Mornings are particularly bad. C’mon man, my alarm hasn’t even gone off for the third time yet!!
Shut up. Don’t make that cute face at me. I don’t understand what you want.
Did I spoil you too much? Did I create the expectation of attention every time you make a sound? Perhaps. But the honeymoon is over, baby. Right now I need you to find a comfortable spot and sit quietly. Please.
Really? This is how you repay the woman who dotes on you, who cares for your every need? Who buys expensive prescription food to cater to your delicate digestion? Such is gratitude.
From a cat.