What the … why is it … why won’t it lay down? I keep batting this corner and it just keeps popping back up at me, like a big jerky, taunting, paper middle finger. It’s like, “Oh, you want me to just fold over and surrender? Forget it, cat! I will be victorious!”
You know what? You can keep standing there all pointy and imperious for as long as you want, I’m going to keep batting at you until you surrender to my will. You may think you’re winning this round you pulpy ponce, but you have no idea how long I can do this. If I have to stay awake for three days, flicking you with my paw, I will make you bend. Literally.
Okay, fine, you get this round, paper. Be advised that, though I’m choosing to now take one of my thirteen daily naps, I’ll be dreaming of the day we recycle you. That will be a righteous day, indeed.