Ochre kitty is, indeed, actually blue because dinner did not meet abrodietical expectations. If it is from a can, it is not worth a lick, even if it *is* called ‘Mew Stew’.

Nap will be taken now, but if removing this scowl merits any urgency, please have mice mignon a la tartare in silver spoon—whose handle is studded with jargoon, on Chinese china, atop silkened scarf—folded into an origami sun-moon. Oh, and—*soon*.

Fain will these paws scooch off this reserved sittery as soon as a volte-face is enacted that will ensure all future meals are made from scratch—lest chef de cuisine receive, for each infraction, their *own* scratch from this sleepy-hungry-grumpy kittery. ; )