Being a member of the feline race, we only sit when observing walls, or movements that only the feline sees. Mrs. Human often asks “What are you staring at?”, but I ignore her. She does not have to know everything. She finds talking to walls and watching them is not normal, but how can a human define normal
Humans stare at a box every evening, where it shows other humans. Sometimes she laughs, and now and again she gets annoyed. Although I must say this box that she stares at now an again shows birds and even butterflies. There might even be a dog, which is when I hide my eyes behind my paws. It is then a horror sitcom. The problem with this box is that everything is hiding behind a glass window and when I want to have a taste at something feline suitable, my paw slides off the glass. Human sitcoms are useless. In my younger days I would sit and wait for a mouse to appear from its hole in the ground. That is the real meaning of sit com: sitting and waiting for lunch.
Of course there is the variation when my human slaves are eating. I sit and wait and am always rewarded. They cannot resist my pleas of hunger, although Mrs. Human insists I always have enough hard vitamin pellets in my dish, but she gives in and I get my just reward.
After this evening’s sitcom I got some ham. I prefer it with the white bits on the side, more appealing to the feline digestive system.