Stages of Grief


No, there must be more. I can still smell it. Maybe there’s another kibble left in the ball. I must have passed over a couple as I ate. I know there’s more. Where are they?


Why did you give me so few? I could eat three times that amount; I can barely feel it in my tummy. I deserve better than this! I deserve more. I am THE Mr. Biscuit.


Why does it have to be me? I’m a good kitty. Butterscotch can have food whenever he wants. Why must the humans be so mean to me? The gurgling void will swallow me whole and there will be nothing left of Biscuit, nothing but a blog.

Butterscotch in the sun


Dear humans, if you’re listening, I promise to be an even better kitty if you give me more food. I’ll stop chewing on what you call non-food items. I’ll never be naughty again, I swear! Just please throw some more kibbles on the floor.


The food is gone. I will remain unfed for several hours. But that’s okay. I know that in the end, after what will seem like an interminable wait, there will be more noms.

I shall eat again.

Biscuit's curled tail, looking like a hook
By hook or by crook.

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