When Mister Pips is upset with me, he grabs kibble from his dish a mouthful at a time, carries it to the middle of the room, & ostentatiously crunches it down while glaring at me.
He gets brushed? Spite bite.
Remove him from the counter? Spite bite.
Refuse him tuna? Spite bite.
I trimmed his nails today. All morning it’s been: SO ANGER, MOM. WITNESS THE EATING!
This feels like a good place to plant one of my irregular reminders about my Patreon.
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