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This afternoon, when my humans returned from
their hunting expedition to the supermarket, Skirt called me
through for ‘din dins.’ There was a foul smell in the air, like
a mouse that was three weeks past its eat-by-date. I snuggled up
again in my new chair and politely ignored her. But Skirt
persisted, “Come try your new treat,” she pleaded. Reluctantly I
made my way to the kitchen, taking a detour through my bedroom,
the bathroom and the dining room. I discovered the source of the
putrid smell. It was the so called ‘din-dins.’ In disgust I
returned to my chair and remained there for the rest of the day.
Twice I had to lash out at Trousers for attempting to sit beside
me. When my humans went to bed I tried the
Sham-Spam-Meat-Substitute-Ultra-Low-Budget-For-People-Who-Don’t-Really-Like-Cats
food that Skirt had put in my dish. It tasted worse than it
smelt!
I have devised an action plan.
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