Imagine the strained eye roll given by some hipster douchebag when he hears a suburban bro talk about IPAs. You playing with these shitty fake mice forces me do that in cat form. This toy sucks.
The toy is a plastic piece of shit that is only enjoyable between 4am and 5:30am when I wake you up by nudging it down the stairs. You get out of bed when I get out of bed.
Cup of water. For my entire life, I have wondered what to do when I tire of licking my butt. Now, with cup of water, I know exactly where to dip my tongue once finished. Huge fan of all cups of water.
I pretend to like this toy because I enjoy watching you wave it around like an idiot. Seriously you look like an Olympic ribbon dancer if Olympic ribbon dancers were chubby and underemployed.
Remember that time you tried to put a lease on me so we could go on a walk? Well, the odds of me playing along with this toy are just about as high.
This box is nice. Huge fan of this box.
Though I’m willing to concede that my claws could have been ripped from each paw, I will never consider this scratchpad as anything more than an insult to both my personality and my evolutionary purpose. Instead, I will view it as the training-wheels handicap for my urge to scratch the hell out of your things. For our entire time together, this shitty compressed cardboard will be a fantastic way to warmup my claws before digging into the real furniture. Starting with that heirloom chair.
I will bring this toy to you, but within five minutes I will look pissed off and storm off as though I just turned you down for prom. I will repeat this act every three weeks.
Somehow I caught this fly and over the evening have managed to rip both its wings off. Not quite as enjoyable as earlier, but I see a few more solid hours of fun ahead of me.
You either have no idea what cats like or no concept of what fun means. Possibly both. Might as well be invisible. For every minute that you expect me to play with this garbage, I will spend an hour messing with the curtains.
There are few things I enjoy more than pushing your belongings off the edge a table. It doesn't matter what the object is. Fragile? Messy? Who cares.I'll shove it over just to watch it fall. I’d love nothing more than to watch this world burn.
Dissatisfied Star Wars fans have taken the women out of the Last Jedi with a new fan edit. They won't stop there.
The fifth phase of the week is upon us. Shops close, bars open, and we are free from the Bosses once more. But They Who Were Before Time await our tribute...
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