Me: Why, O Cat, when I have gone to the trouble of providing you with a perfectly cromulent catbox and high-quality kitty litter, do you nevertheless persist in using, instead, the floor directly adjacent to same?
Cat: Meow. (If you really understood me, you wouldn’t have to ask.)
Me: Why, O Cat, when I have gone to the trouble of acquiring for you a warm, high-sided, fleece-lined cat bed, which last winter pleased you entirely, do you this winter insist on once again ignoring it in favor of sleeping draped across my forearms while I’m trying to type?
Cat: Meow. (That was last year. Now it’s this year. Get with the program, human.)
Me: Why, O Cat, do you complain vociferously if you do not get your daily ration of wet cat food along with your dry, and then ignore it until it dries out from the winter cold?
Cat: Meow. (Have you considered microwaving it? You don’t eat your food cold, do you?)
And so it goes. I tell myself that they are transitioning from middle-aged cats to older cats, and getting crotchety in their later years.