A cat’s life is a continual sacrifice. Take today’s breakfast, for instance. It’s some terrible gruel in a piquant sauce of unidentifiable origin. I have delicate taste buds. My mother was a Bengal cat, and I come from a sophisticated lineage of cats with elite needs. I made do with kitten kibble. Father just does not understand. He is incorrigible! Cats of my breeding can’t survive on trash.
My brother Marcus, of course, takes after our cat father. I’ll never understand what Mother saw in him. Plebian tastes, for sure. Marcus gobbles down whatever my human parents put down in front of him. He even shares bowls of food with our dog brother, Max. It’s disgusting watching them. Just a pair of common thugs with no breeding at all!
It’s unfair to be so cultured and stuck in this dystopian mess. Still, I have my duty to attempt to improve the lot of these cultureless idiots. After all, noblesse oblige! I’ll start with my human mother.
She may be salvageable.
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Sabrina–you have our sympathy. You know how to reach us if things do not improve.–Florida cousins