May 29: At Least It's Not Alexander Haig

RUSTY: Look, all I'm saying is that I don't really like it when you call me "your pet." Demeans me. Makes it seem like I don't really run the place.
ME: You don't, you idiot. We humans do.
RUSTY: Do you?
ME: Of course we do.
RUSTY: Let me ask you something: When your day begins, where am I?
ME: You're sleeping on my bed.
RUSTY: Leaving behind for the moment the question of whose bed it is, you get ready to start your day, and then what?
ME: Well, nothing. You're usually asleep until 2 in the afternoon.
RUSTY: Precisely. Then I yawn, and stretch, and do what?
ME: You take a piss in the bathtub.
RUSTY: Immediately after which, you do what?
ME: I clean it.
RUSTY: I see.
ME: That doesn't prove anything.
RUSTY: Well, what happens 'round these parts at 6:00 PM?
ME: You whine like a little girl for your dinner.
RUSTY: And what happens if you don't feed me right away?
ME: You wind around my feet until you trip me.
RUSTY (hardens glance for a brief moment): Hurts, doesn't it...(softens glance) but it doesn't often come to that, because why?
ME: Because I feed you.
RUSTY: Because you feed me. And on those rare occasions when your company doesn't bore me to distraction, and I sit down in your vicinity, what happens then?
ME: I pet you, just the way you like to be petted.
RUSTY: In summation, then, you provide me food at my every whim; you provide companionship when I want it and the way I want it; you follow me
around and clean up after every emptying of my bladder. Is that about right?
ME (looking down): I suppose.
RUSTY: Who runs the place?
ME: Please don't make me say it.
RUSTY: Who runs the place? I won't ask again.
ME: You do.
RUSTY: That's RIGHT I do. Now break out the catnip; exerting dominance makes me frisky.