You wander outside through the back door, wondering where everybody's gone off to. Humans can be fickle, sometimes. Almost as bad as cats, really, aside from the claws and bad temper.
You snap at a flea crawling up your left back leg — those things are bad news. Must have hopped on for a ride when you were out sunning yourself.
You turn your head and notice smoke now billowing from the kitchen. The smell of sausage pervades the air, and yet no one is around. You whine momentarily, curious and slightly worried.