Our cats' thought process used to go:
Sleep sleep sleep hair tie hair tie hair tie sleep hair tie soft surface naptime eattime cuddletime soft surface warm lap sleep hair tie.
Carla and Bianca, gamboling about the window seat in simpler times.
Then we introduced C&B to wet food, and they immediately went all Jesse Pinkman's Junkie Girlfriend on us.
WET FOOD. WET FOOD. WET FOOD. hair tie? no, wet food. wet food. GET UP, FUCKER, AND FEED ME SOME FUCKING WET FOOD. YOU CAN SLEEP WHEN YOU'RE DEAD.
Wet food has turned our snuggleballs into jittery little assholes. It starts about ten minutes before our alarm goes off in the morning: sensing that we will soon be awake and capable of filling their bowls with stinky chunks of processed meat scrap, Carla and Bianca begin their assault, first crawling on top of me and then all over Dan, kneading their little paws into my bladder and resting their full weight on various pressure points. When one of us eventually gets up and staggers to the bathroom, they sprint ahead, their little bellies flapping side to side, and then stand by their bowls, glaring. Bianca inevitably shoves Carla to the side as Dan (it's usually Dan. Thanks, hubby!) spoons a can of slop into their bowls. Carla then sits just outside the bathroom, looking longingly at the wet food until Bianca is done.
Whenever we run out of the wet food cans and force a temporary switch to dry kibble, I see them staring at our television, trying to figure out how best to steal and sell it for a fix.
Who am I kidding. This crap entertains the bejesus out of me. Wet food 4evr!
