And that somebody might just be me.

Food trusted me and I turned my back on it.

It's me.

And scrap on a cat.

Excuse me, I asked for a hairball.

The cold stares of dogs and other animals that think they're better than me.

Let me see that.

Which troubles me a bit because, well, it's such a fulfilling job.

Great, let me handle it.

Everything looks fine to me.

Okay, stop shouting at me.

And this, too?

Do you think he likes me?

Oh, you two must hate me.

You mean you don't mind, even if it means me overlooking food that's riddled with mud and insect whiskers?

So you want me to sing, huh?

Well, then you will stick by me.

And you know what?

You'd be putting me in an awkward position.

And how are you this fine morning?