Each night after Stinks gobbles up his crunchy and delicious 1/4 cup of Cat Chow, he proceeds to excessively vociferate, uselessly requesting that I refill his plate with the sweet nectar of Fancy Feast. “Uh Uh Uh, Little One, Party’s over!” I say to him in my most canorous voice, “Bianca doesn’t live here anymore, so you must wait until tomorrow morning for any such extra food.”

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