Here she comes again, hawking her wares like a besmirched tinker-woman. My kindly, yet unfortunate, spindly, gargantuan, spider-legged mistress of the hall. Every motion jerked from each arthritic joint boils a steady concoction equal parts disgust and distaste. The words she squeals between her rotten teeth set afresh my darkest wish for claws to drag atop her skin.

I️ think she’s trying to act winsome for me. By Jove, it shall accomplish the opposite. Her very attempt lands like vinegar on my wounded sense of self respect. Evolution’s greatest jest manifests daily in her power over me.

She clicks her teeth and chortles an indigestible laugh from deep in her gullet. Amusing, yes, but I️ saunter over by compulsion, hollow of love’s shadow. Her service mocks me. The symbol of my inevitable incarceration jingles in time with my toes. Her unnatural articulations somehow ooze forth a pair of words, “Mittens! Dinner!”

Tail held high in defiance of the tyrant, I️ eye the tiny tendrils from her forepaws set down the saucer. A piscine scent instantly ravishes my olfactory nerves. It smells of salmon. I️ shall grant her two strokes upon my fur this evening. Curse her bewitching culinary power! Tommorrow I️ will plot her demise. Tonight, however, I️ fancy feast.