The Empty Belly Blues

I am not sure if you would believe it without first-hand empirical observation, but these humans insist on pure torment when it comes to my meals. Instead of inviting me to join them at their feasting furniture, as would be the polite and inclusionary thing to do, they shove a few measly pellets of some minimally nutritional foodstuffs into a round deceptively-toy-like ball which slowly and infrequently doles out a single pellet at a time.

Essentially I am a hard-luck street performing kitten having to chase an infuriating ball for my supper. The indignity of it. I am a ferocious alpha predator, the world is my dining platter! This is completely unacceptable treatment and often leads to lamenting my half-starved state in the form of petty larceny, which causes the deepest shame and casts an unfavorable shade onto my otherwise upstanding character. My captors have no proper appreciation for the amount of fuel it takes to nap.

I must go now, I grow weak again with hunger…


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