You Got any Food for Me?
Hey, you. YOU. YOO-HOO. I’m talkin’ to you! C’mere!
You got any cookies? What about crunchies? Wait, hol’ on … *tilts head to the side, gazes off into the distance for a moment*
Ok, I ‘member now. I’m s’posed to be talkin’ to you about me.
Name’s Moxie. Imma cat. Guess that’s obvious.
I’m 16. Seen a lot. Eaten a lot. Barfed a lot. When you’ve lived as long as I have, you’ll unnerstand. Unnerstand what? I dunno.
I live with two people. Moved in with ’em a couple years ago, when my other people couldn’t take care a’ me anymore. I was with those people a long time. Movin’ in with these two weirdos and their other cats, it wadn’t too great at first. Wanted my own space, cuz that’s what I had in my old home.
It took awhile, but these two finally got it through their heads. I hang out with the dude now, in his room, in my box, or onna warm grate, or onna pillow, and he feeds me when I tell ‘im to. (When you’re 16, your people better give you what choo want, or you know, you could die.)
And they’re kinda dumb, cuz they don’t always unnerstand what I’m sayin’, so I gotta repeat myself a bunch. But I got ’em trained real good.
See, I meow, and they gimme crunchies. And if I don’t want crunchies, I just look at ’em, and meow again, and they give me cookies. And if I don’t want those, I just look at ’em again, and meow, and then they give me different food.
Now, they dint always wanna gimme my crunchies. Or my cookies. Y’see, they make some kinda wet food, and they wanted me ta eat it. But I’m old. And I got issues. I got no teef. I pee a lot. And my bones, sometimes they hurt ta move. So I’m kinda picky ‘bout what I wanna eat. They pushed for a couple days, and I tried, boy howdy, I tried. But their food made me sick, and they realized they hadta gimme somethin’ else. And they did.
They got this new food I been tryin’, and it ain’t too bad. But like I said, I’m 16 — I get to be picky. I’m old. I want what I want. And you better give it to me.
