Can’t read my-- Can’t read my -- no you can’t read my poki face

     Miss Poki wasted no time in training her new masters (The Misters) in the customs to which she had grown accustomed.

     Climbing up on the table (or your chest) and sticking his head in your face means, variously: “I want kisses on my head!” “Give me a forehead bump, yo!” or “Is you got any brains up in there?”

     Opening the fridge door causes Miss Thing (Poki’s nickname’s nickname) to  rush up and see if she can smell her open can of food and utter gentle mewing which can be understood to mean any of the following:        

     “Yo, got some food for me?” “Hey, you know you forgot to feed my ass!” “Aren’t I cute? Don’t you want to reward my cute-acious behavior? ”

      Resisting the siren-song of Poki’s wee peeping, The Misters would respond thusly:

     “Miss Poki, your mommy warned us about your trickery.”

     “Well, she ain’t here. She don’t need to know nothing.  C’mon: it’ll be our little secret!”

      Miss Poki is a tricky smitty!

Dumb(o)y(s) & Poki

     Having begun their term in the service of “Miss Poki” (their nickname for San’s cat), the Misters were caught remarking on the Pokester’s amazing powers of deduction:
     You can’t even get the key in de door and she start up her sassy-talk.
     Before! Before you get the key in de door – when you have the key out and am aiming for the door –  
     Because he can see the key coming toward the lock, yo.
     He can’t see – but he can smell the key.
     No – he smells your smelly human smell all clogging up the entryway, all claustrophobical and collecting up in the corners and--
     It’s the sound. It’s not the smell.
     Well. Which is bigger – a cat’s nose or his ears?
     Ears is biggah--
     But the nose is set out way in front – that pride of place means that size don’t matter.
                                                                     Location, location, location -- no’m sayin?