The heavier of the cats, a grayish mass of fluff aptly named Fezzik, rolled his bleary eyes, “Perhaps if you had something original to say…” The slick black cat hissed him to silence; Jasmine always was tempermental. The lad paused over his simmering stew. He waited. The cats seemed content to return to lazily licking themselves.

“Fezzik,” he ventured, “Um, what was that?”

“I’d call it a gentle rebuke for a general lack of inventiveness.”

“S-s-seriously!” Jasmine hissed.

Fezzik only rolled his eyes and flopped a shabby paw back and forth, “Bored to tears or found out? Bored to tears or found out? I made a judgment call; so sue me.”

“You will lose your tail,” Jasmine spat angrily, then turning to the philosopher chef, “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you could forget about all this?”

His eyes were wide, and the only response he could muster was a weak, “I think I peed a little.”

“Pffft,” Fezzik scoffed lightly, “Who hasn’t? Now, about your dimensions…”

Jasmine hissed and lit to the floor.