One of the things I love about cats is their attitude.
No one can throw shade as well as a cat. I mean the Better Half does a decent job when she notices another gnome (to understand this, click here to learn about my new hobby), but she needs a lot more practice to master the feline death stare.
If there was a hands-down winner in shade throwing, it’d be Lady Grey, my recently adopted cat.
It’s hard to capture her disdain in a photo, but trust me; when she gives me a certain look, I know she’s saying: I want to speak to your manager on the off chance she doesn’t already know you’re the biggest moron (please don’t tell Lady Grey I spelled this wrong 3 times before spellcheck was able to figure it out) on the planet.
Let’s just say we have an agreement. I do what she wants, and she lets me live, but there are moments I think she’s trying to figure out what spices she’ll use to marinate my body. Will she even wait until my body is cold, or will that ruin the flavor?