Won't Somebody PLEASE Think of the Starving Pussy!

You know who’s the real victim of my sudden work shift shakeup? My cat...the poor little bastard! Sure, my own daily eating and sleeping routine is all askew-whiff as well but at least I can more easily adapt. Poor Miso is staring into the gaping maw of Hell’s cauldron not being so easily break up the routines to which he has been regularly accustomed.

With my change in hours at work from day back to nights, his meal times have been altered to suit my own new eating schedule. What can I say? I like to eat together with daddy’s wittle-furry-wurry…ah fuck, nevermind; you get the picture. As a result, his stomach hasn’t got a fucking clue whether it’s coming or going. Every single fucking time I walk into the kitchen it’s like the eagle has suddenly landed! I am met with meows and purrs of anticipation as if this is the first meal he’s had in weeks. You can see it in his eyes:

“This could be it, Alfa-tummy! Over.
This is what we’ve been waiting for! Over.
All systems commence purring…”

Try explaining to his furry ass that he had something to eat only two hours ago when I got up and that now his next meal is going to be another 8 hours yet. All his internal belly alarm clock knows is that it’s 4:30PM…”so make with the kibble, motherfucker!”