I'm listening, but I can hardly follow what you say. It's so complicated—a bit over my head, you know. But you astonish me! Are they in the habit of hindering you in your changeful moods? You mew, and they open the door. You lie on the paper—the sacred paper He's scratching on—He moves away, marvelous condescension!--and leaves you his soiled page. You meander up and down his scratching table, obviously in quest of mischief, your nose wrinkled up, your tail giving quick little jerks back and forth like a pendulum. She watches you laughing, while He announces "the promenade of devastation." How then, can you accuse Them—
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (insincere)
I don't accuse Them. After all, psychological subtleties are not in your line.
TOBY-DOG
Don't speak so fast. I need time to understand. It seems to me—
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (slyly)
Pray, don't hurry! Your digestion might suffer in consequence.
TOBY-DOG (unconscious of the irony)
You're right! I've some trouble in expressing myself to-day.—Well, here goes: it seems to me that of the two of us it's you they make the most of, and yet you do all the grumbling.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE