feed me

My view

six thirty on a sunday morning, you wake up to have a ball of breathing fur lying on your chest. Genuinely peeved of with you for not feeding it half an hour earlier, *pfft* a foul smell fills the air like a mixture of catfood and garlic bread.

                    Cue Sarcasm

                             I love my  cat                  

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 The cats view

How come humans can only seem to get at least eight hours sleep each night, oh yeah that thingy ma giggy with the moving pictures watching something about singing and dancing cats, ha as if that would happen.

                                                                                   I love my human

The End

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