Spike Thorny & Mr. Whiskers
- So. You're a cat. How's that working out for you?
- Back off, spiky. I have a restraining order against you. You pricked me, remember?
- You tried to knock me off the shelf!
- It's called “exploring.” Look it up.
- Boy, you could get away with murder, couldn't you?
- Who says I haven't?
- How do you always come out smelling like a rose?
- “Win the crowd, and you'll win your freedom.” The bipeds love me.
- And that's what bugs me – why?
- What are you implying? I'm lovable.
- Here's your day in a nutshell: eat, sleep, scratch, poop, repeat. It's not like you contribute in any way.
- Right. I'm an enigma. Humans can't figure me out.
- Meaning?
- I'm living their dreams: do nothing, have everything, not give a damn about anything. But how did I get there? What's my secret?
- What is your secret?
- You reap what you sow. I give humans what they want.
- Which is what exactly? Cat hair on every surface in the house? Rancid litter box?
- The sense of achievement.
- I don't follow. Most of the time, you ignore humans - if anything.
- And when I do notice them, they feel special. Chosen. Approved.
- As if all their efforts to make you love them have finally paid off…
- Precisely.
- You know what? For a cat, you're a real son of a bitch.
