I just realized that my cats must totally hate me.
Cats meow. It’s what they do. And because I was raised by cats and am a giant nerd, every now and again I meow back at them. They meow, I meow back, we take turns. (Don’t judge me, you do weird crap when no one’s around too.)
Except today I realized that even though it feels like we’re having a nice little back and forth conversation, if cats have any sort of meowing language at all, I’m lucky my cats haven’t killed me in my sleep.
A “translated” conversation with my cat so that you too can understand why my cats would be completely justified in murdering me:
Kiki: Hey, my food dish is empty.
Me: Hey, my food dish is empty.
Kiki: No, seriously, I’m hungry. Fill my dish.
Me: No, seriously, I’m hungry. Fill my dish.
Kiki: Stop that.
Me: Stop that.
Kiki: You’re not going to feed me, are you.
Me: You’re not going to feed me, are you.
[Kiki walks away silently plotting my untimely demise.]
[I walk away thinking, "Kitties are so adorable."]