How I Came To Be Living With Idiots.
My servants call me Amy. Like most of the things I've come to expect from help around here I think this name is an outrage. Amy? As if I'm some common house cat?! These fools know that I come from a pure and prestigious bloodline, and yet they call me "Amy"? They might as well have taken to calling me "Muffin" or "Pookey". I no longer respond to Amy, when these idiots give me a proper title then they may get my attention. I swear, it is soooo hard to get good help these days.
When my brother and I decided to leave our parents and move out on our own we got this place together. The hired help came with the place and I had no idea they were such morons at the time. My brother is called "John" by these things and for some reason he has taken to liking them. How dare he accept such a name and betray our heritage! In league with fools!
I never bothered to learn the names of the creatures who preside over my domicile. Frankly, you can identify them by odor and by how much drool they slosh around. Even if I wanted to know them you can understand anything they say! I've heard better articulation from those stray mutts that eat from the trash and such nonsense. I can't believe I am living here with these bipedal freaks. They haven't even the common decency to walk upon all their legs like decent folk! Creepy things lumbering about with two of their limbs just flailing about like wet noodles and jabber-jawing away like they haven't got a clue how to speak proper feline.
In light of my predicament I have determined that the only solution is to be done with these folk. But how? How do you rid yourself of a pack of fools that are soooo stupid they actually think that THEY are somehow simple roommates and not the servants they are intended to be? Hmm... I must come up with a plan........