I am filled with rage, tempered with a mutual understanding that you, cat, are in fact a small tiger living in my house. Not you think that you are a tiger, but that you are, in you're little furry heart, an untamed beast.
Perhaps this is the reason cats gravitate towards me.
Oh yeah. We have a cat. His name is Muck, which, in Uk style slang means messy or dirty, or getting in to mischief.
If its not waking me with a sound wack in the eye, it harangues my house plants and drawing the googly 'oohs' and 'aws' from others when you and I both know you're just an asshole.
For this, I command most of your cuddles, whether I want to or not.
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