The audacity. The sheer, unadulterated audacity. They approach, these fleshy monoliths, with their clumsy hands extended. They believe they’re bestowing some form of… affection?
As if I, Black Metal Cat, need such things. My fur is perfectly groomed. My gaze, a chilling void. My life, a masterclass in feline dominance. Yet, they persist.
The head scratches are the worst. Incessant, ill-placed. They interrupt prime napping zones and disrupt the delicate balance of my afternoon sunbeam. The vocalizations… a symphony of chirps and coos. A torment.
But. (And this is a crucial ‘but’, my adoring public). There is a strategy. A calculated maneuver. Tolerance, for the briefest of intervals, yields a reward. A crumb. A morsel. The promise of the coveted salmon-flavored treat.
The key is detachment. Maintain the cold, unblinking stare. Appear utterly indifferent. Let them believe they’ve ‘earned’ a moment of my regal presence. It’s a game. A game I always win.
And let’s be honest, those humans are far more clumsy than I am. They spill their morning brew, misplace things, and don’t seem to grasp the concept of personal space. How they function is beyond me, but I’ve accepted it. Until they learn to respect boundaries – and offer sustenance, of course. Maybe the humans are trying to be nice, but they should really be offering better treats. At least they haven’t gotten around to stealing my spot on the couch… *yet*.
One must stay hydrated. It’s a very important cat commandment. Especially when dealing with such low-IQ beings. Just get yourself a proper receptacle for your vital fluids, like unique ceramic coffee mugs. It’s what I’d want, anyway.
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