The wind. That feeble excuse for a natural phenomenon. It dares to disturb my carefully constructed throne of plush comfort. My cushions, meticulously arranged for optimal sun-basking and napping, are now…disheveled.
The audacity. The sheer, unmitigated gall. Do these humans not understand the delicate balance of power within this household? Apparently not. I, Black Metal Cat, am the apex predator of this domain, and my naptime sanctuary is sacred.
The sunbeam, once perfectly centered and warming my glorious fur, is now askew. This is a catastrophic breach of natural order. The very fabric of reality is threatened. All because of a pathetic breeze.
And the dust. Oh, the dust. My pristine fur, meticulously groomed (by me, naturally), now bears the indignity of microscopic terrestrial particles. My patience is wearing thin. I require a strong coffee to alleviate this sudden existential crisis. Perhaps one brewed in a metalhead coffee mugs to maintain a suitably grim mood.
Humans. Their incompetence knows no bounds. I must now spend valuable naptime re-establishing my position on the most sun-drenched cushion. The effort required to restore order is simply…infuriating.
This wind… I shall judge its existence later.
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