I listen to the joke about the partly deaf but extremely articulate dog who mishears "fetch" as "kvetch", and promptly starts complaining. "Hysterica!"; I laugh.
Meanwhile, my cats fuss at their food and meow "I send you out to hunt for real food, and what do you bring back? No delicious mousebacks. No filets of vole. No grilled toads. You do what's easiest and bring back some factory's left-overs pickled in chemicals, so-called preservatives which are really poisons. You bring back unnamables that someone's labeled 'grilled mackerel' or 'salmon feast', but the unnamable shreds stick between my dainty teeth and sink like balls of elephant dung in my gut. You, you're lazy and cheap and insensitive. My luck to have a lazy, cheap, and callous jailer. Step aside, you stingy lame-brained wretch, and let me taste what you take for yourself!
And so, Tessa the girl-cat nibbles tiny morsels of avocado from my salad and even laps up a bit of the italian salad dressing. The cat who mistook herself for a bunny? But then Marti, the polka-dotted and often comic, master-of-escape, hellraising Houdini cat licks the cottage cheese and smiles a Cheshire grin.
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