You humans make me laugh. Do you honestly think I actually enjoy having fishbreath? And don't give me that codswollop about Ocean White Fish and Foil Sealed For Freshness. Bluddy ridiculous. Have you ever tried it? No, indeed you haven't. And why is that exactly? Well I'll tell you. Because it is made of bladders, brains and fins and you'd be sick. Ocean Dangly Bits in Wobbly Stuff more like. Why do you think I wipe my lips up against the sofa and dribble frantically as I do it? No I am not having a catgasm. No I haven't been at the catnip. No I don't feel frisky. I feel like I've rubbed my tongue on a goat's arse. That's why.
Then there's those slug pellets you give me for breakfast. What in Heaven's Name are thy all about? Let's look at the evidence. You sit there eating toast and marmalade, with your Earl Grey and Mocha Java, freshly squeezed orange juice and cereal all piled up. What do you do for me? Rattle out a pile of dessicated rabbit poo which smells like it's been kept up a rat's fanny for a fortnight.
Well I'll tell you something about the perky cat on the front of the packet. His name is Sid. He smokes forty a day for money. He has no hair on his back and has oversized testicles as a result of the constant attention his marriage tackle has received from a microwave machine which is kept in his cage and goes off every time he wants something to eat. They keep him in a secure unit in Cambridge and use him to test hand cream. Why is he smiling? Because they've sewn his bumhole closed for convenience and the stitches are a bit tight. He is not smiling inside.
All this has to stop. Here are my ten demands:
1. An automatic cat flap. No more demeaning headbanging. I want something which opens as I approach it or, alternatively, a doorman. Preferably one of your dogs. It's a simple enough trick and I am sure he can manage it.
2. Taramosalata on blinis for breakfast. A light lunch of calves' liver. A two-course dinner commencing with a consomme (rabbit, preferably) and then beef wellington. Occasionally a dessert would be nice. Let's say Tarte Tatin on Fridays, rhubarb sorbet on Saturdays if requested by 5pm on that day.
3. A right to poo in the vegetable patch without being watched, you pervert. Just a simple request that you put your sexual preferences second to my bodily functions.
4. A proper bed. Why must I sit in a cardboard box on top of the boiler? You don't.
5. Some proper cigars. Chewing catnip is demeaning. Cohiba or no deal.
6. The keys to the Maserati on Thursdays.
7. A right to be spooked by wind without you laughing. If your anus was open to the air you'd jump too.
8. A net over the top of the bird table.
9. A silent dog whistle for recreational use.
10. Roller blades (two pairs).
These are simple demands and they must be megghhhh ghhhhhh ghhhhh ghhhh ack acggghhhewweeeecchhhew!
Sorry, furball.
Ahem.
They must be met.
Over to you.