Jane and I went to visit her parents. Jane’s dad has chickens. So, Jane painted a chicken. 

I don’t really like it but I’m just glad she’s not painting cats again.

She asked me what I think about the chicken, but  I didn’t say anything because, here’s the thing: I don’t really think about chickens. Know what I mean? I mean, do you think about chickens? What’s there to think about? 

Then she said that I eat chickens, but I said “No, I don’t.” I would never eat anything with that many feathers. Gross.

I think she should just focus on painting me. “Focus,” that’s what I tell her all the time. “Focus. On me. Right here.” She’s so silly.

Want to see the chicken? Here it is.