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The “Mix” Up
See, I’m a black cat. That’s a full moon. Cliché obliges me to choose tonight to start plotting my revenge against Molly. It’s not that she’s a bad human, you must understand. It’s just… she gave me party mix treats instead of my favorite. Sure, it might not seem like a big deal to you. After all, you’ve never had chicken and waffle treats, have you? Didn’t think so.
They are more delicious than slightly chilled lump crab pieces covered in herb-spiced rotisserie chicken slathered in gouda. Those treats are the only reason I bother getting up from my perfectly comfy spot on the sofa.
Sure, it could have been a simple mix up. I suppose the bags do look similar. I would leave it there. But the thing is she also gave me… skim milk. SKIM. She knows I only drink whole milk. She must think me a savage feline.
According to the High Order of Domesticated Cats of which I am a senior member, I must retaliate. Puking in her shoes won’t be enough this time.
No, this requires much, much more.