I'm very glad you love the brushies now, but must you climb into my lap and knead rapturously when I'm brushing you? It makes brushing your ruff terribly difficult and your gravity generator is clearly working overtime. I have paw bruises, cat.
The. Brush. Is. Not. Edible. No matter how much I laugh at you when you try to bite it, you should really stop that. And since when do you play with the loud rattly toy that used to scare the living daylights out of you? You're turning into a real cat!
I thought you had reached the pinnacle of earsplitting with your begging. Quit proving me wrong with all new caterwauling antics. You're not getting any more dingdangity cheese.
It's bad enough that Rika crawls under my blankets - don't you start too! There's a whole unused pillow! Hog that instead, not my warm spot!
Dear whoever horked on my chair at god-ugly in the morning,
The Not-Furry One.