I’d call out “I’ll be right back! Love you!” Then leave. The one who starts meowing is my son.
i say treats and only one rabbit turns into a tiny hurricane slamming to my shoe
I say “Katchka!” and provided that none of the identical cats are Russian, only one tiny head will whip around.
Whichever one comes over and grabs my leg.
Try to pet them and the one that bites me is my bastard son, Toni Pepperoni.
offer broccoli to the roomful of cats to identify Nugget
I kneel down, holding out my arms, and call “come hug!” I take home 101 freckled orange wockers, and we all live happily ever after.
I casually announce to the room at large that I’m thinking of going “upstairs” and I’ll “be back” and Kip is whichever one rushes over to cling to my leg like it’s the only thing keeping him from being swept away by a hurricane.
