Dear Keeper of the Kibble,

We write this with heavy hearts and, frankly, empty stomachs. There has been an unforgivable delay in tonight’s dinner service, and as your loyal, ever-starving companions, we feel it our duty to address this grave oversight.

We’ve been nothing but patient. Well, mostly patient. Charlie even refrained from licking outlets, and Jadie kept sock consumption to one.

Yet here we are, the clock ticking past dinnertime, our bowls still somehow empty. We’ve tried to remind you — subtly, of course. Puppy eyes, intentional yawns, even pacing.

Still, you went about your business as if our plight didn’t exist. You folded laundry. You mopped, for some reason (as if we weren’t going to walk those floors). Then, to add insult to injury, you sat down to watch TV. We even had to endure you laughing at some show instead of addressing the situation at hand.

Now, we understand you may have had a long day. You might even claim you forgot what time it was. But let’s be honest: we know you checked your phone at least five times, so that pig isn’t going to fly.

Let us be clear: this is not revolt. We would never stage a mutiny. (Unless you run out of soft food. Then it’s Lord of The Flies.) This is simply a nudge from your devoted pack that dinner isn’t just a meal—it’s an event. A sacred ritual where we gather around bowls and pretend not to notice you sneaking people food we can smell from three rooms away.

So, please, put down the remote, step away from the laundry, and fulfill your most sacred duty: feeding us. We promise to greet the meal with the enthusiasm you’ve come to expect, even if it’s just kibble and beans. (Though we wouldn’t say no to some of that chicken you had earlier.)

Faithfully famished,

Jadie the Jealous

Charlie the Chaotic

P.S. Jadie says if this happens again, she’ll be forced to eat your wallet. Don’t test our resolve.