I don’t think you respect my bodily autonomy.
That’s a big expression for a little kitty.
See? I’m a grown up cat, but you talk to me like I’m a baby.
Maybe that’s because I spend so much time cleaning up after you.
I don’t have opposable thumbs, you know.
No one forces you to lick the carpet and get hairballs that make you throw up all over the floor.
The carpet is very tasty, and you won’t let me go outside to catch mice or birds.
I’ve seen you with a mouse. You made no attempt to catch it.
I was studying it.
You had no clue that you were even supposed to try to catch it because I feed you every day.
Do you think you’re infantilizing me and forcing me into a childish posture I should have outgrown by now?
Maybe you should go outside right now and play in the snow.
What? In the cold! I hate having cold paws…
Grown up cats live outside all the time.
You’re just repressing me. Just like in that movie with the autonomous collective.
Monty Python?
You never think I pay attention.
You’re more than welcome to join an autonomous collective.
Will you drive me to the meetings?
No. You’re a grown ass cat. Get your own transportation.
Can I take the car?
Do you have a license?
No.
Can you reach the accelerator and brakes?
No.
Do you have gas money?
You never give me an allowance.
Take a bus.
Can I watch “the Little Foxes” after you go to bed?
I don’t think you should watch Bette Davis any more.
Why not?
It gives you dangerous ideas.
I wasn’t really going to drown anyone.
Still.
You have no respect for my needs as a cat.
Watch Animal Channel.
You’re repressing me again!
Take another nap, Kitty.