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He feeds me in the screen porch. It is my screen porch.
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I am in my box because the box is in my porch.
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He put the box in my porch.
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He finds is amusing that I am in the box.
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He wants to take the box for some reason. I tell him it is my box now.
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The box is just big enough for me to see out of. I glare out of it at him.
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He thinks this is a joke but it is my box. He sits in the chair to drink the drink.
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He thinks it is his chair. It is not his chair.
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I can see none of his fur on the chair, I can see my fur on the chair. It is my chair.
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The chair is in the screen porch. He is rarely in the screen porch. He visits me in the screen porch. It is my chair.
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He brings cups of things out to drink but he does not want me to drink from them.
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He does not understand that this is my screen porch. He puts drinks on the table.
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The table is in my screen porch. His cups are on my table, in my screen porch.
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Sometimes the cup contains milk. He feeds me in my screen porch. The milk should be for me.
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When I try to drink my milk he makes noises at me as though I understand or care.
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He does not always bring me the food that I want.
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He has wet food and dry food. I want the wet food.
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He always puts out the dry food. I stand by the bowl and tell him I want wet food. He does not listen.
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I smell the dry food. It smells like mouse bones and dust. Perhaps it is enough to take a morsel to stave off certain starvation.
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It tastes like stale mouse bones. I take more because I am going to die otherwise.
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He puts out the wet food. I eat the wet food and leave the dry food. Then I tell him I want more wet food.
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He makes more noises.
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He sits with a cup of drink. I need attention.
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He always rubs my head. I want my cheeks rubbing. I especially want the left cheek rubbing more.
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I put my paws on his leg because he does not deserve my whole furry self.
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He rubs my left cheek and I can fall asleep.
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Just as I am getting comfortable he leaves. He takes the cup.
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It is now morning and it is cold. My ribs are poking through my fur and I have not had my cheeks scratched for an eternity.
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He comes with a drink and the dry food.
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He sits in my chair in my screen porch. He smells of warm.
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He does not listen when I tell him about my starved state or my ribs.
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I remind him that cats were revered as gods in ancient Egypt.
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I tell him that there was a reason witches kept cats as familiars.
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I summon up all the evil from my thirteen years and glower at him.
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He gives me some wet food.
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This is why he does not deserve my warm self on his whole lap.
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I continue to plot against him. It makes me happy. I make my happy noise.
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He seems to like the happy noise.
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He scratches my left ear and cheek.
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He drinks the drink and goes back into the warm house. He leaves the box.
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I will allow him another day.
I swear I will never try to format a writeup like this again. One wrong move with <li> or </li> and it all goes horribly wrong.