There was fried chicken in the litter box, so I helped myself and took a shit. I am a cat lover and a fan of KFC. I always take mine to go.
A window—it’s more entertaining than TV. Just ask a cat looking out, or a man looking in on a life he desires.
My workout partner is a cat. We nap together. He spots me a place, and keeps it warm, and then as soon as I spot him I go to him and cuddle.
A great band name would be Tickling Whiskers. Especially if the lead singer is a cat. I’d love to audition for backup dancer.
I feel self-conscious calling my cat fat in front of a fat person, considering I’m skinny and inconsiderate.
Maybe I could hear better if my ears weren’t flipped inside out. Unlike a cat’s ears, you can’t tell mine are flipped over. But they must be, because I only seem to listen to myself.
I wanted to make her a greeting card, but as far as I got was folding the paper in half. I left it blank inside, so she’d know how much I love her. I never mailed it, because my tongue was too dry to lick the envelope closed, and my cat was too bus...
Your dead cat would look great on my t-shirt—along with tire tracks on my chest. What better time is there to love than now?
On his deathbed, my grandpa told me three things to remember for after he died. First he said, "You can't own a cat. Ever." Second he told me, "Friendly boys make friendly friends." Finally he said, "You were adopted, just like your father before you...
The way my vacuum cleaner sucks up cat hair, I shouldn’t have been surprised when it huffed up my mustache. But I was surprised it sucked out all the love and romance in our relationship.
Sometimes I wish I had been born with cat fur, whiskers, and a tail, though I guess I am grateful that at least I was born with my very own litter box.
If my chest grew cat hair, I wouldn’t know whether to pluck it or pet it.
I'm sort of a girly guy in that I love cats, rainbows, sunsets, flowers, trees, and sex. But not sex with trees.
Dinner is served. It’s chicken lo mein. Oh and by the way, your cat is missing.
I yelled at my cat to knock it off, and sure enough, he did. And it broke.
Love is like a blanket: it will keep you warm, but it might also suffocate you. Also, it's probably covered with cat hair—love, I mean.
I’ve gone astray. It’s better to cook with a stray than eat your own cat.
When I describe love to an emotional Helen Keller, I usually say it has four legs, fur, and possesses the ability to either purr or meow.
