That's it. I sleep on the desk like the harmless little cat that I am, the lady pokes me and then tells me I'm a squeaky toy?? When I glared at her like only a black mini panther can (you should see Esme's looks sometimes, whoa, that small princess face of hers is really hiding a little witch sometimes which means she wears her name in dignity and rightfully), she explained that whenever she pokes me I make that funny squeaky noise.
Read my lips, Mom - the funny squeaky noise means "Poke me one more time and I'll bite your finger off!!"
And who knows ... maybe I'll actually do that eventually.
Might I suggest something I like to refer to as the Talons of Death? What is it with our flightly humans and their need to poke at us? Whether we make a sound or not? I feel your humiliation, my friend.
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