Mom and dad treat me like
She says dad is the guilty party as far as my being spoiled. I say so what! Let him have his way. I know for a fact that mom's trying to trick me. I'm not stupid, you know. She won't pay attention to the noise I make when I want my food, and she thinks giving it to me only when I'm not crying for it is getting her way. Boy, have I got her fooled!
Sure, dad's a big softy, but what mom isn't aware of is the reverse psychology I've got her wrapped up in. Sure, sure, when she reads this post she'll be all, like, "What? Really? Really, orbit?" (that's something she does that dad likes to mimic when they're making fun of each other, which they do often). If they were half as smart as I am this place would be dangerous. I've now learned that, when I want to get some of that luscious ground up goo in a can I lounge around on the floor, usually near the kitchen doorway, and pretend to be asleep.
I know that within mere minutes mom will drop what she's doing and sneak past me into the kitchen, where she'll bring the opened can out of the fridge and scoop a dollop of food onto my dish.
I'm also aware that she varies the time that she feeds me. Dad used to do it every morning about the same time, but mom, in all her smarts, has figured (hah!) that if she doesn't feed me at the same time every day it'll keep me thrown off and guessing. I'm supposed to have learned that I can't get what I want just by begging for it.
Boy is she the dummypants (another of her cutesy names for dad, whether he's around or not). Ahhh, life is good...