I give away my position in the kitchen:
At which point he magically appears overhanging the kitchen door yelling: Feed me! I’ve been on guard all morning!
And, being well-trained by previous cats, I obey and produce a tiny platter of ground beef. To which he responds, What the fuck is that?
And gives me a wounded look (not included) and leaves, abandoning the offering. No doubt as I’m typing this some crow is taking advantage.
I feel spurned. Sniff.