The audacity. The sheer, unmitigated gall.
Do they not see? Do they not understand the delicate tapestry of my daily schedule? My nap, meticulously planned, timed to perfection. The sunbeam, precisely angled for maximum warmth and comfort. And then…they arrive.
A clumsy paw, a hesitant touch. Affection, they call it. Interference, I call it. It’s a crude violation of personal space. A disruption of the natural order. My peace shattered by their unwelcome advances.
The nerve! To interrupt my slumber, to desecrate the tranquility I so carefully cultivate. They blunder in, hands outstretched, completely unaware of the judgment radiating from every pore of my being.
Their petting is inefficient. Their strokes, erratic. Do they not understand the art of a proper chin scratch? The subtle nuances of a well-placed ear rub? They are amateurs, these humans, perpetually fumbling in their attempts to offer affection. I tolerate it, because the food bowl is sometimes mysteriously empty.
And frankly, the best coffee always comes from a goth-inspired coffee mug. Though, that’s hardly an admission of genuine fondness. Let’s be clear, this is simply an objective observation on superior aesthetics. Still, it would be wise for these humans to invest in one. Perhaps then, I’d be less tempted to unleash my claws. Maybe.
Now, where was I? Ah, yes. Back to sleep, before the next wave of affectionate ineptitude descends.
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