I adopted you 3 shitrats about 4 years ago, in that time you've had a diet of the best food available, and God forbid I miss your 3 times daily treats and how do you repay me? Multiple piles of steaming, or baked puke, depending on how soon I discover your fucking paybacks. In the morning when I roll out of the fartsack, you little scamps circle me like a pack of coyotes until I hurry the fuck up and give you your treats. I go to the basement and clean out your litter box, that is always cleaned and changed on a regular basis. This is where I go on walkabout trying to find your latest hawked up landmines. If I find your throat candy and manage to catch your eye, you just give me that old "so, what are you gonna do about it numbnuts?" look. How can the cat food manufacturers have the temerity to label the food 'Hairball Control'? I don't want any misunderstandings here, I love the little black haired moggies, but please girls can't we come to an agreement? —Cat Ballou