This is one of the filthiest litter boxes I’ve ever seen, or it will be once I’ve finished with it—say! I have an idea! Why don’t we eat? Better still, why don’t *I* eat? Better still, why don’t you feed me? Oh don’t you see what I’m trying to tell you, Mrs. Ketterly—I love you.
Tuna? Why, that’s fine, just fine. Take tuna those and call me in the morning. If I’m not available in the morning, call me in the afternoon. If I’m not available in the afternoon, check the back yard for coyotes.
Mrs. Ketterly, stay there, don’t move. I want to remember you like this: your eyes, your nose, your pants the exact right color to offset my fur. Mrs. Ketterly, why don’t you make a lap? You certainly seem capable of at least one. Oh marry me, Mrs. Ketterly—there, I said it.
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