#picky kitty

A bedraggled woman enters a fancy restaurant. "I'm so hungry please..." she says, and she is so thin and sad seeming the head waiter feels bad and sits her at a table in the break room bringing her some dinner rolls with butter and that day's stew.

She looks at the food, as if in disbelief. Then she looks up at the head waiter "You don't ... have any steak or caviar or anything? Maybe some scampi in butter?" She says.

Tries to steal the dog's food if she doesn't eat it fast enough

Her behavior has been otherwise normal, very social with me, happy to go outside with the other cats during outside time, and seemed interested in food. But she would not eat her dry food (up to now her preferred food).

Then it dawned on me that this all started when I opened the new bag of food. It was the wrong flavor. I swapped out the [yucky] chicken for the [delicious] seafood and she cleaned the bowl.

“No, you don’t get a choice.”

Vos blinked before quickly furrowing his browplates, the light in his red optics flashing angrily. He’d been obedient; he’d listened, he’d done as he was told. He’d kept Perceptor alive–kept them *all* alive. And he was even kneeling before the seated Autobot scientist like some… some lowly beggar.

A pet, even.

“It’s this, or nothing at all,” Perceptor stated, cementing his dominance. There’d be no room for arguing. He looked down upon the captive Decepticon with a cold glare and an even chillier frown. Still, he held out the fuel line–offering.

Vos hissed. He glanced at the cube connected to the pump–mid-grade garbage. But it was, unfortunately, better than nothing. Bitterly, Vos yanked open the small panel on his neck, exposing an input socket.

Perceptor knew Vos was smarter than to attack, but he still hesitated a moment before plugging the pump into the socket. Rubber lining closed tight around the cable, and suction switched on. He couldn’t taste the mid-grade slowly filling his system, but he felt it. His tanks rumbled, equally disappointed. But just before Vos could start shaking, furious and defeated, Perceptor placed a larger hand on top of his head.

Vos winced, shutting an optic. He peered up at the Autobot, confused. Perceptor’s face remained blank of emotion–then his hand started moving. Stroking along the top of his head. Fingers working down ridges and raised points of armor. And, like always, Vos was soon relaxing, his frame settling. Then Perceptor found *that spot*, and Vos’s optics flickered, hooded. His engine rumbled, something akin to a purr maybe, and he went limp. The mid-grade continued flowing.