You’ll pay! You were warned. White stuff! Seventy degrees one day. White stuff follows. Disgusting. I’m not some purdy, self important and disagreeable kitty that you do this and expect me to merely hiss.
I am Xenia. Hear me sing arias in your ear at 1 Am, improvise a trio sonata for you at three, and leave a hairball in your slipper at six.
I now glare at you with my baleful gaze, and launch a reign of feline terror on you.
Repent now or I’ll send word to all my niblings, and cousins to excommunicate you!
By the way, breakfast is expected promptly at the normal time.
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