This cat's a real dick.
But you can probably tell that from the photo.
Oskar harumphs. He sighs. He whines when he can see the blue plastic bowl through his cat food. He might starve. We might forget about him, he's so invisible.
He also wants us all to be aware that he is bereft of all affection. And? He's trying to be vigilant about keeping track of all the exits and entrances, but he's only one cat, you know.
Plus, Schmutzie's feet must be bitten to stop the chaos of her moving them around in the kitchen. Fucking feet. Bite bite bite.
Oh, and mornings are very sad. They are the saddest of all, what with their yellow sunlight and birds birding and the like. How is he to weather the onslaught of so many things that only serve as a measure against his inner torment?
I'm just glad that he hasn't mastered written language. His emo poetry about lost love, futility, and all the little people who lack his immeasurable capacity for feeling and deep thought would result in a lot of sprained eyeballs around these parts.
Now with bonus alarm clock cat!