We need to talk about that heavy black thing which always makes girls laugh when they're at my place. Obviously I'm talking about my adipose cat.

She's quite a spoiled diva; the only break she takes from laying around all day is when she feels the need to take a gigantic load of shit that's more toxic than anything Bayer has manufactured so far or when there's something to eat, preferably some liver.

Before arguing that nobody would pay huge amounts of money for liver just to give it to their cat, you should take into account that the diva has very special needs for food, preferably it has to be expensive as fuck (elsewise it's left untouched). So, in our situation, liver is actually cheaper.

Lately, I've noticed something strange. Madame doesn't care for food as much as she used to and only ate twice last week. Yet, she's as fat as always, which is why I as a private detective came to the conclusion the lady from next door must be pussy's food delivery service now.

I welcome this win/win/win situation. The lady from next door thinks she's doing a good deed with blowing her money. (((We))) actually save our cash, and the cat's fine with it, too.

— jonas, . archived from: journal v3

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