So my pets think they're clever.

Hands hidden behind backs before mealtime.  The faint glimpse of a plastic syringe.  A strange cherry sogginess in my normally dry food.

They're trying to poison me.

Ah, the heartbreak!  I cannot imagine what I have done to deserve this fate.  Was it the frequent trips to the doctor for my limping?  Was it the massive amounts of money bits they paid for my osteoarthritis injections?

Have they just grown tired of me?

A deep feeling of remorse has overcome me.  How did this happen?  I never complained about my knee pain, never whining and moaning.  I valiantly kept up with the youngest of the Two-Leggers, even if waddling to do so.

Sure, I may have be hit with a few reverse sneezing episodes as of late, but you would, too, if your soft palette extended into your esophagus.

Where's the loyalty?  The oath to care for one's family -- not harm them?

Sigh.

I must plan my escape before it's too late.

And when I find this Mr. "Benadryl" my pets keep mentioning, I'm going to sink my teeth into him.