In this house, it's more like Walt Whitman's plea in "Oh Captain! My Captain!" (1865) than William Ernest Henley's line in "Invictus" (1875), "I am the captain of my ship," because I am most definitely the one taking orders here and it would be delusional to think otherwise. I am not the captain. I am not in charge.
"My food bowl is empty (or nearly empty). Fill it!" "I wish to go to sleep. Open the cat cave. Now!" "You think you're going to get up? Not so fast, lady. It's our naptime on your lap. Sit still." "You have only two more bites of dinner? I don't care. I want to go out for a walk!" (this is always accompanied by the intense stare and tapping foot for emphasis). "It's treat time!"
No, I am not in charge. My captains do give rewards, soft purring, rub-ups, or a gentle lick on the hand to let me know my services are appreciated. It's enough. I yield.
Stay safe. Be well.
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