You call that a snack? I’ve coughed up hairballs with more flavor and dignity. You try to pet me like we’re friends sweetie, you’re staff. Honestly, gravity cleans better than you do, and your fashion sense? The litter box called it wants its clumps back. I only purr so you keep feeding me, and I knock your stuff down because your decor offends me. You smell like cheap tuna and desperation, and when you meow back at me, it’s like watching a toddler try to choke because he swallowed water
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