Me: How's it going, Bud?
Bud: Mmmm...thinking about reporting you to the ASPCA.
Me: Really.
Bud: Yep. You mistreat me.
Me: I see...
Bud: Seriously.
Me: You look pretty comfy to me right now.
Bud: Eh, you're just looking for a photo op.
Me: I didn't hear any complaints about your home-cooked chicken dinner.
Bud: That was hours ago. PS- it needed salt.
Me: Ugh. And I never complained when you trotted your scruffy friends through the living room...
Bud: We were just passing through to raid the fridge for our afternoon snack.
Me: You don't have any proof of poor treatment.
Bud: I have better. I have alternate facts.
Bud, be careful what you wish for.
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