By every definition of the word, Felix is the spoiled youngest child of the family. He demands and gets attention, he comes and goes as he pleases, he picks fights with Cleo and rarely gets blamed for starting them, and he is spoiled. Oh, he is so spoiled.

When he was a kitten, we used wet food as a treat to reward him for being good (not scratching the furniture, not peeing on the couch, not hiding in the bookshelves and causing a fright when no one could find him). Eventually, this turned into a nightly ritual. He would be inconsolable if he didn’t get his treat, meowing and pawing at you until you gave in. Like I said, SPOILED.

It starts with the pouting.

Then he looks around to see if anyone notices him.

Target acquired. Let the shmoozing begin. Those innocent kitty eyes. I’m doomed.

Now he’s worried — that precious tupperware container has remained closed for far too long.

Eye on the prize. If he stares long enough, he can will the food to come to him.

The intent staring serves as his way of reminding me of the task at hand.

Let the pawing and meowing begin.

Swishing tail signals intense impatience.

Meanwhile, Cleo’s been sitting one room over, looking forlornly outside the window. She’s much too refined to beg.

“Neanderthal”

Success!

And after he’s had his fill, it’s as if I never existed. He goes on his merry way and indulges in his OCD need to be inappropriate and lick himself in the middle of the living room. And no one says a thing.

So totally spoiled.