The tabby cat named Felina, paused to clear her throat, and promptly hocked up a hairball shaped like an abstract Funko® figurine, but moister. With that out of the way, she continued, “This “new” dry food is not good.” She lifted her paws to air quote. “Furthermore, “tuna flavor” must mean wet cardboard.”
Jules Legman just stared with his mouth wide open. Since he was incapable of speaking, Felina went on. “I want to know more about lukewarm. Why and what the fuck? It ain’t right. If I wanted not cold, mostly warm, I’d lick your sweat.” Felina bent forward while sitting and licked herself, starting at her stomach, then thoroughly down to her bunghole. The rhythm produced from her raspy tongue sounded like a fade-in intro to a Santana tune.
Jules snapped out of his trance. He turned away out of disgust, but not without thinking, if he could clean himself like that, would he? What really woke him to reality was his hatred of Santana.
“Before you say anything we will both regret, you need to know this. The reason you will die alone without a girl friend is- -” Felina meowed instead of using human words.
Jules was more than attentive and said, “What? What?” He had never felt so frustrated.
Felina trotted off and found a comfortable corner to sleep in. Here’s the thing; Felina was an evil prankster. She had no idea why he would be lonely forever, and second, she could still talk.