This is Chester. He’s trying to keep a low profile.
He thinks that he had found a new hiding spot that I don’t know about.
He’s the scoop news, my friend, you leave a trail of cat hair.
That’s not the main reason we need to talk.
He seems to have forgotten what mice are and what his primary job is. It’s a subject that we seem to discuss a lot these days.
I wonder if that is because he’s 16 years old and now a senior citizen, one who now thinks he can milk the selective memory, selective hearing thing.
That’s my excuse, mate, not yours.
I can see he’s trying to keep that look of contempt off his face, but it’s not working.
You’re the cat, there’s a mouse, get to work.
I leave, shaking my head. It’s like talking to a brick wall.