A tale of two kittehs

A tale of two kittehs: 

Une historie dit en portraits et des legendes.

Dramatis personae:

Kitler: Three years old (methinks). Grey and white. Possessed of a dour demeanour,  almost tending toward grim. Silent to the point of being taciturn. Possibly has some Teutonic influences, this not being far from the German part of Texas and all that.

Chhotku: Seven months old. Black and white. Kitler's offspring, although long since abandoned by her mother. Brought herself up through sheer pluck, a certain amount of good fortune and the kindness of strangers. Voluble to the point of being Gallic. Also skittish.

Narrator: Our saga begins when the narrator (playing the role of designated human servant) comes home from whatever non feline activities occupy his day. He enters his dwelling and makes to take off those ridiculous things that humans wear over their feet (their feet, like the rest of them not having evolved to the perfection that cats have). This he does with scant regard to the kitteh sitting outside waiting, yes waiting in the shade for her afternoon milk. Naturally, such bad behaviour can scarcely be tolerated.

 Human. Pour me a saucer of milk. The good stuff. None of that reduced fat 2% nonsense

But.. what about me? Its been a long day sitting around and napping under the bushes. Me thirsty!
    Mine! MINE!!!!

You do know that you are not getting away with this, right?














Whatevs. Slurp. Slurp. Sluuuurrrrp!

Fine. I just thought you should know that kittehs who don't share go a very bad place. A place where they don't let you sleep in the sun. A place where you could go for years without seeing the outside. I hear it's in the Caribbean. This is all real. A dog told me.