Warning, discussing carnivore thoughts.
You know you are truly owned by a car when it sits on the fridge and stares at you. Where is my cat milk? It seems to say. Is it properly chilled? Not too cold, but just enough to cool the cat on a warm afternoon.
Is there roast chicken in the fridge for him. Delicately flavoured with just the right amount of jelly juices.
You know you are owned when the cat looks down at you, then puts his paw out and catches the shoulder of your tee shirt, claw holding firm and stopping you in your tracks.
If cats could speak what would they say? Probably feed me. Hold me, look after me. Sort out my litter tray, human.
What do we get for this care? Kneeding paws that turn to claws, licked boyyoms then they lick your hand, ew! But you can’t fight those eyes. Those staring eyes.