Mush Mouth

I have finally succumbed to my maternal instinct. She is black, small, fuzzy and always looking for food. In fact the only reason she pays any attention to me at all is because she knows I have the goods. It's a little heartbreaking really, knowing she only loves me for my foodstuff. To her, I am simply mushed carrots, peas, and chicken chop. I am ground liver, lamb, and corn kernals. I am a bowl of cold water.
If I want kisses, I must give up food. If I want her to sit or lie down, I must give up food. It's an endless repetitive cycle I have to maintain otherwise I'll step in a giant pile of fuck you when I get up for a pee in the middle of the night.
Alas, she is my queen; I am her intestines.