Greetings and salutations, blog readers. Lest you think this is the usual author, allow me to disabuse you of that notion straightaway. It is I, Finnovar, bantam panther and lord of all that I survey. I blog today in revenge. Nearly a fortnight ago, SHE submitted me to the Grand Inquisitor, who subjected me to proddings, pokings, piercings with needles and other excruciating tortures better left unwritten, a treachery for which SHE believes I do not intend to seek revenge, inasmuch as I have not thus far anointed her bedding with a hairball. Hers is not an accurate assessment of the situation. I fully intend to avenge my maltreatment, but upon reflection have determined that regurgitation ill befits my dignity and have decided to avail myself of this forum instead. After cohabitating with her for nigh upon a decade, I know all her dirty little secrets and will forthwith reveal the most embarrassing of them.

(1) Eats ice cream straight from the carton
(2) Sleeps with a stuffed toy - some square, revoltingly yellow thing SHE calls a “Sponge-Bob”
(3) Owns an ABBA cd - would that it were Barry Manilow; with the extortion proceeds I'd never have to eat dry kibble again.
(4) Is frightened of slugs - you should have heard the fuss SHE kicked up when I dispatched her to dispose of one which had invaded my garage. After pouring salt and dropping a telephone directory upon it, SHE still had to summon help to dispose of the slug-corpse.
(5) Cries during sad movies - I can hear my Grandmáma professing dubiousness regarding this one, but I assure you that my claim has veracity. Here are just a few examples: The Rock, Con Air, Grand Prix, Gone in Sixty Seconds (It's true: SHE cried when Nic Cage wrecked the yellow Ferrari, when the criminals demolished the blue Corvette, when Yves Montand destroyed his Ferrari and when Nic Cage trashed the Shelby, respectively.)

Vengeance is mine! And yes, it is difficult to type without opposable thumbs.