My Cats Must Hate Me

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."]

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