That fucking cat. How is despised that insignificant ball of mutualized space.
How is its calico and limber body silently creeped around corner, caused my jaw to clench and my palms to quiver. I would do anything to take that rodent and dismember it's jointed body.
Don't get me wrong I am not one to be murderous or even harmful for that matter, but my hatred for that that fury thing lingers in every moment of its presence.
Why couldn't she just leave it to suffer that gloomy saturday? The pound was stale and seeped with death, just where that cat belonged. Possibly even in the hallows of hell. I did not despise cats I hated them with every loin of my body.
Though I may have hostile feelings
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He didn't think he was much of a cat person until he met Matilda.