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Why is this so true? I used to work as a server, and we had what we called “dumpster kitties” who’d strut up to the patio, missing half an ear, and put on their best puppy-dog eyes for scraps from paying customers. Heck, we’d even treat them to a cup of cooked chicken now and then. These rugged little guys clearly preferred the street life over cushy indoor luxury. Meanwhile, my pampered house cat would have one bite of anything other than his designated cat food and treats, and I’d be paying for it later when he dramatically coughed it all back up.
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