Screaming at the can of food will not make it open itself.
I should not assume the patio door is open when I race outside to chase leaves.
If I play “dead cat on the stairs” while people are trying to bring in groceries or laundry,
one of these days it will really come true.
If I put a live mouse in my food bowl, I should not expect it to stay there until I get hungry.
The guinea pig likes to sleep once in a while. I will not watch him constantly.
If I bite the cactus, it will bite back.
I will not stand on the bathroom counter, stare down the hall,
and growl at nothing right after my human has finished watching “The X-Files.”
My human is capable of cooking bacon and eggs without my help.
Television and computer screens do not exist to backlight my lovely tail.
No matter how dangly and attractive they are, my human’s earrings are not cat toys.
The canned cat food is already dead. I do not need to kill it by swatting bits of it all over the floor.
Potted plants are not meat.
I will never be able to walk on the ceiling, and staring up the wall and screaming at it will not bring it any closer.
It is not a good idea to try to lap up the powdered creamer before it all dissolves in the boiling coffee.
If my human wants to share her sandwich with me, she will give me a piece.
She will notice if I start eating it from the other end.
The goldfish likes living in water and must be allowed to remain in its bowl.
I cannot leap through closed windows to catch birds outside.
The large dog in the back yard has lived there for six years. I will not freak out every time I see it.
If I must give a present to my human’s overnight guests,
my toy mouse is much more socially acceptable than a live cockroach, even if it isn’t as tasty.
As talented as I may be with kitty litter,
my human will not be impressed with my attempts to build sand castles in the litter box.