“First off,” I told the cat, “I am not a walking vending machine. No constant kitty treats like I know Aunt Kirsten used to give you.”

She stared at me, as if saying, “Bring it on.”

“Secondly, I’m not going to let you sleep in my bed.” I crossed my arms.

She stretched and let out a yawn.

“Fine.” I commented. “Don’t listen to me.”

She got up and walked away.

“Stupid cat.” I hissed, and went to make my bed.

Just because I volunteered to pet sit does not mean I’m going to deal with an annoying spoiled cat. I mentally said. What was her name anyway? Started with a G… Gigi? No… Gracie? No… Whatever.