“My writing, it’s all I have. Well, aside from my health. And shelter, food, and clothing. Oh, and my cat.”

“My fur coat is still wet, not from the rain, but from where my cat was licking it. Well, my future fur coat. I have yet to kill and skin it.”

“My new book is going well. It’s practically writing itself! Actually, what I mean is I’m not writing it, my clone is.”

“My meat smells like cat food. Makes me want to lick my own asshole.”

“If my love for cats were hydrogen, there’d be enough of it to give you skin cancer if you didn’t wear suntan lotion. The only sad part for me about getting a cat from the pound is that I can only choose one. If I could, I’d take home all of them. Actually, my view is why take them home? Why not just move in to an animal shelter? But my future wife wouldn’t go for that. Though I’m pretty sure she could move into a shoe store no problem.”

“I inherited a pound from my British uncle. I’d have rather gotten a dollar, because what do I want with an animal shelter?
”

“When the food runs out, the family reunion is over. It’s cool that out of all my relatives, I’m the only cannibal.”