Toto: So let’s talk about the food situation.
J.D.: What food situation?
T: I’m hungry.
J: I just fed you.
T: Right. You fed me one-third of a cup of special diet food meant for my grey brother. I HATE YOU.
J: Wait — I feed you that three times a day. The vet says that’s all you need.
T: Right. The vet sticks a thermometer up my ass, too. I hate him. Like I believe a word he says. You used to feed me a cup of dry food — that delicious Friskies seafood flavor — and a quarter can of Friskies wet food. TWICE A DAY. Is this ringing any bells?
J: Yes, but…
T: I HATE YOU. Oh, how I long to eat ocean white fish with tuna again.
J: You haven’t been throwing up as much lately, have you?
T: Come again?
J: Since we changed to the new food, you’ve stopped throwing up after eating. That was gross.
T: LIES! I never did that.
J: Yes you did. Every night I’d hear your huck huck huck squish as you vomited your food. I used to step in it in the morning. That was gross.
T: Er, I was just pre-digesting. I liked to save it for later.
J: It was gross.
T: Moving on. So, what’s with all the boxes around the house? And what’s happened to all the scratching posts? And why isn’t anything where it used to be. Last night I went to pull books off the bookshelf and there weren’t any there. You? In a house without books? Something’s up…
J: We’re moving.
T: What?
J: We’re moving to a new house. All those boxes you see are filled with books. Nearly fifty boxes filled with books. Remember when we moved before? It was ten years ago — you were just a kitten. We had just brought you home to the apartment. Then we moved. You and Tintin spent the better part of a day huddled together, hiding in the bottom of the bathroom cabinet.
T: LIES! I have always lived here. And I’ve never hidden from anything.
J: Except the vacuum cleaner. And bananas.
T: What!?
J: Nothing.
T: Will there be more food at this new house?
J: Well, no. Just lots of roses and trees and birds and —
T: Birds!? Birds are food!
J: Uh…
T: How exactly are we going to get to the new house?
J: Well, we’ll probably put you in a cat carrier and drive you —
T: Unfair to cats! Unfair to cats!
J: Calm down. Do you want to walk the whole way?
T: I don’t want to move at all. Why don’t you just leave me here. Next on the agenda: what’s with locking me away at night lately?
J: You keep growling at Nemo.
T: Who’s Nemo?
J: Your little brother.
T: Oh, the little cat. Right. I hate him.
J: Yes, well, when you growl at him all night long, we can’t sleep. Last night you woke me from the middle of a dream.
T: Do tell. What were you dreaming about? Food?
J: No. Uh…I dreamt that I was Simon, and that I was in a fight with a chicken, and that I was losing that fight.
T: HAHAHHAHAHAHAHA. You are so stupid.
J: I could lock you away right now, you know.
T: I HATE YOU.
J: You hate everybody.
T: That’s not true. I like mom. And Auntie Tiff. And Auntie Aimee.
J: Oh. I see.
T: I only hate you. And Auntie Pam. Let’s talk about the little cat. Why does he have to be here? Here’s an idea to stop the growling: instead of locking me up at night, why not get rid of the little cat? I’ll help.
J: We like Nemo.
T: He looks like a monkey.
J: Well, that’s true. But he’s affectionate, and playful, and talkative.
T: I’m all of those things.
J: Well, sort of, but you’re mean, too. And besides, you should just give him a chance. You used to growl at Simon all the time, too, until Nemo came along. Now you get along fine with Simon and you growl at Nemo. Nemo’s not that bad. He’d love to play with you if you’d let him.
T: Yes, I’ll play with him. IN THE STREET.
J: Be nice.
T: Or maybe he’d like to play in the microwave. How about this? I was talking with Boss Spurge [ed.: the neighbor cat, the head cat in the neighborhood] the other day. He tells me that I’m named after a dog.
J: Yes, that’s true.
T: I HATE YOU.
J: Well, Ididn’t name you. Your beloved Auntie Tiff gave you that name.
T: LIES.
J: It’s true! Tintin was sort of named for a dog, too.
T: Tintin?
J: Your white brother.
T: Whatever happened to him, anyway?
J: Tintin?
T: My white brother.
J: Er, he was old. He got diabetes and died.
T: He what?
J: Died.
T: I don’t understand.
J: Never mind. Anyhow, he was named for a dog, too. Sort of. We actually wanted to call him Snowy, which is the name of a comic strip dog. But your mom and I thought Snowy was a stupid name, so we called him Tintin instead. Which is the name of Snowy’s master.
T: Master?
J: Er, his dad.
T: Careful with the speciesist talk…
J: Sorry.
T: Let’s talk about the food situation.
You were right, this is hilarious.