Dinner parties at our house are always like this. Everything seems to be going well―cranberry sauce is perfectly sugared and the ham is seasoned; the sprouts are parboiled and the carrots are roasted; gravy has been ladled onto each plate and a bed of rice blankets each setting―and then the cat wanders in and starts barking about why her food isn’t there and all the attendees lose their shit. (Some cats just don’t know the meaning of “being quiet.”) It irritates my parents ’cause it makes us look like we didn’t teach her proper manners, but she never really seems to take that to heart.

She’s very articulate, at least. Really particular about syntax and grammar. She’s also extremely picky about her food and who she likes―and she’s not afraid of anybody’s potential reaction when she decides she’d like to tell the whole wide world about how this person she’s just met is abhorrent to her and why and how much they smell and how their petting technique is sub-par.

It turns out being insulted by a cat is both shocking and demeaning, but the latter effect is kinda staved off by the surprise of having an adorable little fluffster form words directed at you. It’s not an earth-shattering occurrence at home, but it’s a new experience for a lot of guests. Talking is a statistical ability―it happens randomly to kittens, and the amount of words and sentence-forming capabilities of each specimen is totally up in the air―so most people haven’t been in the presence of a yappy li’l cat. Especially not one who’s loudly complaining about the quality of the fish at a dinner party.

And then we always have to do damage control. “Oh, haha, she’s not normally like this! She’s just agitated by all the new people!”

The problem with having a talking cat, though, is that she can speak for herself…which is both cool and not-so-cool if you’re trying to come up with a white lie as a cover for her attitude. “No I’m not,” she’ll call back as she saunters away from flabbergasted guests, “I just think this house oughtta show me a little more respect, and that the tuna here is beneath me. And to that man over there with the wild socks―your fly is undone and your attempts at conversation are paltry. See ya, losers!”

Needless to say we have some difficulty convincing others that the opinions our cat expresses are entirely her own and in no way reflect our attitudes and beliefs as a family. Sigh.

We’re thinking of getting her her own full-time PR rep.

—By Victoria C., 18, Alberta, Canada