Why are you so cruel? Were you dropped on your head as a baby? Did your parents abuse you as a child? Did you're only lover in all the world dump you for being too hideous to look at? Oh, Grumpy Gills, your short temper is famous beyond your all knowing, for it is even shorter then your miniscule stature. Oh, Grumpy Gills thou art a scourge of horses, laming them with such each. Why, oh why, Grumpy Gills were thou created? Who created you? It must have been the tiger. For only the tiger could conceive of your vindictive disposition. For it came to pass that on the seventh day, God looked over all he had created and nodded for it was good. But then he spotted Grumpy Gills, and winced. For so sour was thou features, O Grumpy Gills, that even the Almighty God could not help but blanch. O! Grumpy Gills, thou are like a rotting bag of horse feces, but no, I have mis-spoken; for horse feces has honor sublime, and a cleanliness of the most unearthly kind. But thou, O Grumpy Gills, are most like cow feces, for cows have no honor, in fact quite frank cows have no brains. For cows in their vacuous, vapid ways disdain to have the grace to defecate in a designated area. Instead they choose to left their wastes roll wetly down their legs like an imbecile, caring little whether it lands on the ground or on the idiot to their left or right. In a word...you. Thou Messy heifer, thou unclean wench, thou thrower of monkey poop, and eater of dirty thoughts. Thou lousy devil, thy are the grinch of the horse world. Thou, O Grumpy Gills, are despicable, thy sacrilegious frame should be locked a long while in a sty and caressed by the bull pizzle of hypocrisy for good measure. But, Grumpy Gills, I am much dis-heartended with your plight, and I am not like you without mercy. For thou, O poor Grumpy Gills, thou has no life, thou never has. Thou art like the wretched neanderthal, alone in a cave with only mutts for companions rubbing sticks together to start a fickle flame of warmth. But as I said, I am not without mercy, and so I shall offer you succor though I have been offered none. I shall raise many prays to his great and holy majesties Allah, Buddha, and Shiva, that thou mayst be struck down from thou high horse and placed quietly into the ground with all speed, so that thou misery may finally be at end and the rest of us with live may live in peace.

With All Due Respect & Sincerity

Yours Truly,

Tristan, Lord of Cats