Motha thinks that it is okay for her and my fatha to sit there every night and eat their food. Quite rude and ridiculous. They get it all dirty and no matter how many times they wash it after they're finished feasting, it still smells like their repulsive human food.
(Side note: Shelby likes cheese. But only mozzarella. I am Italian. What's Italian?)
The truth is, the kitchen table is mine. I own it, as I own everything else in this house, including the house.
It is my perch, my resting place, my roll-around thing and most importantly, I use it against the dog for one of two things: I either tell him to chase me and then jump up on top of the table, pretending to be afraid so that mommy or daddy yell at him or I sit quietly until he walks by and then launch an airial attack. Usually I like to yell out "kamikaze" to give it the full effect.
It seems that my motha disagrees with the fact that the table is mine. Whenever I am sitting on MY table, she walks by, gets all sorts of pissed off and forces me down. Sometimes, she even gives me a tap on my sexy behind and uses a stern voice.
Honestly! The nerve of that....bit...I mean, beautiful person :D
To top it all off, just as I get done rolling around, meticulously rubbing my body on every crevice so that my fur has completely covered the table...either "beautiful" or my fatha come by and wipe it all off!!
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| "What do you mean you need to eat breakfast at MY table." via Instagram |
In the end, it is my table and I suppose since I allow my parents (and the asshole, loser dog) to live with me, I must learn how to share my things. In return, they better give me more mozzarella! It's nice for Shelby!
