My cat, screaming his lamentations about his rapidly approaching demise as I struggle to open a fresh bag of kibble after having just served the dramatic cunt his second serving of wet food for the day: My body aches and moans! Surely you... you can manage this... fiendish beast? Surely.... surely you can slay it? For me?
My cat, flopping over dramatically on top of the refrigerator where he climbed for a better view: Oh woe! The crinkling beast is WINNING? Whatever shall we do? We all shall surely perish when such foes defeat our greatest warriors!
Me, muttering about how I should probably grab a new blade for my dull knife, and switching to the strength based tactic of tearing the bag the rest of the way open with my hands: It's OK, buddy. I've got you.
My cat, boinking to his feet like a gleeful rabbit: Rejoice all present, for our great warrior has defeated the crinkling beast! All hear the glorious sound as its very guts pour into the Great Tub of Crunchy Bits!
The other cats, happily eating their wet food on the floor, and largely ignoring him: Hooray, or whatever.
Me, finally going to refill the kibble bowls and discovering that the only empty one is his favorite bowl: Really, dude? Your life is very dramatic.
