Okay, cat. Here’s the deal. This Shineway Sausage is mine. I bought it. I did. With money. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, judging by the way you sit on your hiney like a smug supplicant. You know what? Go ahead and stay there with your raised eyebrow, wiggling whiskers, paws rubbing together like a soft, fluffy, irresistibe wind-up toy. Nothing you do will to convince me to give you this food. Go ahead and try.
Jesus, have it all!