I think my cats are addicted to milk; they spend their whole day either sleeping under a chair in the dining room all curled up, or standing in front of the purely white fridge, where they know they can find satisfaction, because behind the purely white fridge door is nothing other than milk. Mmm, nice, Cold, milk. In a round cat dish no one ever washes. On the dirty, stepped-on floor. Mmhmmm. But it's all just a fantasy until I travel downstairs, and I, the caring, pet-loving, nurturing soul that I am, pour a great big glass of milk for myself.
I watched them slyly through the corner of my eyes -- and they were gawking, staring, just waiting for the one spill I'd make -- as I walked out of the white-tiled kitchen area. They wanted it sooo badly, as if they NEEDED IT to Survive as a CAT.
Well, that spill never came, and them pussies went back to starin' at that god damned white fridge all day.
But did they die from a lack of milk? I don't think so. Lesson learned, CATS.
