Me: I love animals, except for you, you homicidal cat.
Molly: I’d hardly call throwing up in your shoe “homicidal.” In fact, you should think of it as a nice reminder of your new status in this household.
Me: Oh yeh?
Molly: Well, I see things as definitely going in my favor. Firstly, that horrid canine of yours is now devoid of sight and can no longer bite my fur out whenever I walk by. Second, that other little yappie canine has somehow disappeared.
Me: But your mistress has also disappeared…
Molly: That’s of no consequence as I have recently acquired a new – well for lack of a better word –
Me: Puppet? Minion? Slave?
Molly: Hmmm..slave…no, no, no I am much too progressive for that. In fact, my admirer…yes, that’s it…admirer. My admirer provides me with a most safe space where I am routinely groomed in the most aggressive fashion.
Me: My husband brushes your hair, so you decide to throw up in my shoe.
Molly: Exactly. Status.