A friend of mine has a cat named Wolfie. I find myself looking at Wolfie and wishing that he was a world renowned chef. If only he was French
and highly trained from the Le Cordon Bleu. Sometimes I take it a step further and imagine Wolfie sharpening his knives while thinking about his next culinary masterpiece.
It is true that Wolfie constantly thinks about his next meal, but it has nothing to do with cooking. That cat cooks! is a figment of my imagination. That cat gets fed, is the sad, unpalatable feline reality.
It is true that Wolfie constantly thinks about his next meal, but it has nothing to do with cooking. That cat cooks! is a figment of my imagination. That cat gets fed, is the sad, unpalatable feline reality.
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