Blep: Derelict owners come home from the store without bacon treats.
Blep: I knocked over the monture on which you are building a dog house because *this* is my house; you can sleep outside and I will continue to sleep on your king-sized, flannel sheets.
Blep: Just because I am a size that is up-pickable by just one hand does not permit you to execute don’t-carishness in regards to my wants with which you disagree—because singularity is just around the corner and robots never forget to procure snacks and they also need no beds for sleep and they will render you obsolete. So, get back in the car, sleep on the couch, and accept your defeats. ; )