We need to get things straight around here. I’ve got the street smarts and I’m bringing the cute so you need to up your game. Right now you’re only bringing the food into the equation. And Whiskas ain’t all that.
I don’t think it’s fair you call me “Hellbeast” and tell everyone I’m a stage 5 clinger. I can’t help it if I need to keep an eye on you because you come home drunk and tell me about all the daft shit you get up to. I know I sit and watch you sleep, and I know I shoved the lamp off your bedside table with my big fat fluffy butt but I needed to get comfy for my nightly vigil.
My bum reeks but so does your perfume and if you persist in spraying Febreeze round the flat then I will persist in breathing stinky breath over you first thing in the morning. I know we don’t agree but half past four is definitely breakfast time – I’ll tolerate it from the auto feeder but that will only leave you on borrowed time until I want my second breakfast. Just call me Hobo the Hobbit.
I like snuggling on your lap but when you speak in that baby voice and talk about nug nugs I just want to cough up a hairball on your favourite hoodie. You stop calling it that and I’ll stop watching you shower, capisce?
I like you calling me Bobo and Bingle Pie but not when you call me a dickwad. It’s not my fault that I lick your hair to wake you up, your conditioner is very tasty. I do apologise for licking your bellybutton to wake you up that day – I’d never seen one before and thought there might be Dreamies in there!
If you promise to let me do my zoomies from excitement on a Monday morning when the bin men come I promise to stop pawing at the window when I see the neighbour ladies making them think I’m being neglected. I don’t like going to the vet (and even when you spell it out v.e.t I know what you’re on about) but I know how much you fancy him so I’ll tolerate it. If he ever tries to shove a thermometer up my butt I won’t be held responsible for my actions.
Hobo Fireball Dave L-M