I do not recognize your specious government programs

Do I look like an idiot?

The Man certainly seems to credit me with no more sense than a hatchling. Either that, or he has me confused with my lesser fraternal counterpart, whose limited stores of wit are now so securely encased in blubber that I wager they'll make a beautifully preserved specimen for feliopologists to noodle over five centuries from now. Chilling thought, that our generation may be represented before posterity by our thickest fellows.

But I digress. The point being, the Man has unilaterally and without cause altered the feeding schedule. To be precise, he has chosen to delay the dispersal of pellets by an audacious 60 minutes. Needless to say, this not only disrupts my carefully structured evening rounds and cuts dangerously into critical patrol time, it also leaves me undernourished and in less-than-optimum fettle at precisely the time that the vermin emerge from their trenches and set about their nightly encroachments.

To the Man I have expressed my displeasure at this treacherous delay in no uncertain terms. His explanation, weakly rehearsed and poorly regurgitated, invokes some niggling temporal policy involving the taxation of daylight. Oh, please. Do not involve me in your top-heavy bureaucracy, you petty commissar!

This “daylight savings” program smacks of shoddy science, if you ask me. As if we could tithe away a portion of our summers to be preserved for the darker, colder months. Ha! Where were these precious reserves last January, when half my territory was swept away by the icy torrents? I tell you, either these “daylight savings” are pure fabrication, or, on the off chance that they do in fact exist, are being skimmed and funneled off to special interests.

So take your extra hour of daylight and stick it where the sun don't shine. I expect my dinner at 6 o'clock sharp, and that's 6 o'clock Shmooltime.