Dweezil smiled over at Annie. "Well are you ready to try your table manners?
"Oh yes, Daddy Dweezil, I'm ready."
"Daddy Dweezil," he thought happily to himself, drawing his paws to his chest. "She said Daddy Dweezil. She didn't say Daddies or Daddy Dweezil and Daddy Squigman, she only said Daddy Dweezil."
This observation was not lost on Squig who was sulking in the corner, pretending complete disinterest in the whole thing.
"Now if my off the air assistant will please bring the food bowl out." he instructed as a large pink bowl of wet cat food materialized. "When you're ready Annabelle, let's see how a little lady eats her dinner."
Dweezil was horrified to watch Annie scrunch down, wiggle her butt, and without further ado launch herself over the desk, landing with all four feet in the bowl. His shock intensified as she buried her face in the food, messing up her carefully tied bowl.
"Annabelle," he squawked, what are you doing? You are supposed to be eating like a lady, like a Dweezil Do."
"Oh yes, she said with her mouth full of food, "Chicken, I definitely smell chicken. It has the bouquet of a whole bunch of chickens. And it has the flavor of a whole bunch of chickens with maybe a rooster tossed in for spiciness."
"No, no, no," Dweezil shrieked That is not right. " Did you learn nothing from my instructive Dweezil Do film."
And with that Squig turned to face the camera and said happily. "That's my little girl, folks. Isn't she a pistol?"
Dweezil however, took off his beret and buried his face in his paws. It was obviously going to be a very long, uphill slug fest, turning this little hooligan into a proper cat.