First she says they're gonna shoot me.
And they're gonna replace me.
So what does she do last night? She gives me a bite of steak! And not the crappy part with the vein of fat so thick you have to chew for 15 hours before spitting it out; she gave me a bite of nice, juicy tender meat, perfectly grilled, cut up into tiny kitty-mouth sized pieces.
I had a major "WTF?" moment, but decided not to think about it too much.
Then later I jumped up onto her lap, figuring I need to do some major sucking up at this point to avoid being turned into kitty cacchitore. I nuzzled against her face (good god, someone tell this Woman to brush her teeth once in a while!) and purred a lot; she petted me and said what a good boy I am.
If I'm such hot shit, why is she taking me out to get shot? Why is she getting a new kitty? Oh, and it has to be a girl kitty she says. Franky, I'm surprised at that, because I figured she'd want to rip some other kitty's gonads off, too.
I wanted to turn around and bite the living crap out of her, but again, I think I have to suck up. Suck up until my tail inverts. So I didn't bite, and this morning I didn't whine in her ear.
But don't think I'm not keeping a mental list of all the things I want to do to these People if I survive next week. Once I get them to forget about venting their murderous ways upon my beautiful feline body, the pooping upon pillows, barfing of hairballs, and biting at random intervals shall commence.