Cats

The pets have sent a message loud and clear: Our new brand of cat food is not acceptable.

At first, they merely sniffed their bowl and walked away, and we thought they were just skeptical.  I mean, cats are.  But then they upped their game.  You know they troll the kitchen counters when you're sleeping, but they've started doing it in broad daylight.  Right in front of you.  Making eye contact.  Hunneypunkin sat down to breakfast one morning and immediately had a cat materialize on each knee, sticking their whiskers in his plate.

We thought they would adjust, but the protests have only ramped up.  The Precious sleeps with ear plugs because the sound of kibbles being scraped out of the dish and onto the floor all night long keeps him up.  We wake up from a dead sleep with paws on our chests and claws raking our faces.  There are needly little bite marks in my life-size Jeremy Renner cardboard cutout.  Regularly scheduled 2AM howling fits are now hourly throughout the day and night.  Lefty and the Pixie alternate twelve hour shifts opening and closing the front door as inside-outside demands have doubled.

This morning was the last straw.  I woke up to my most recent attempt at knitting all unraveled and the yarn strewn across the living room floor, spelling out "Death to humanity".  I surrender.  We're buying different cat food today.