"Oh, behave!"

So there I am — minding my own business, radiating mojo, being 73% chest fluff and 27% international mystery — when suddenly my danger sense goes BING BONG DING DONG like a British doorbell possessed by EVIL.

I freeze.

One paw up.
Glasses tilt.
Music cue that absolutely no one can hear but me.

And then I see them.

THE BAGS.

Oh no.
Ohhh no, baby.

One rhymes with Bills.
The other claims royalty but couldn’t rule a sandbox.

I gasp so hard my peace necklace swings like a wrecking ball.

“THAT’S NOT GROOVY, BABY!”

I sprint — SPRINT — down the aisle in slow motion, dodging flying chew bags, leaping over enrichment toys like I’m in a 1960s spy montage that has gone wildly off budget.

Pet parents scream.
A bully stick faints.
Somewhere, a probiotic whispers, “Tell my family I loved them.”

I skid to a stop, strike a pose, and shout:

“THIS FOOD COSTS A FORTUNE, BABY — BUT IT’S GOT THE PERSONALITY OF DRY TOAST!”

Dr. Evil appears, stroking an imaginary cat that is DEFINITELY not emotionally available.

He starts monologuing about “brand prestige” and “heritage” and I INTERRUPT HIM BY ACCIDENTALLY KNOCKING OVER A DISPLAY WITH MY HIPS.

HIP CHECK. DIRECT HIT.

“SORRY BABY! HIP-BASED COMBAT — VERY COMMON IN MY LINE OF WORK.”

I grab a chew like it’s a grappling hook.
Slide across the floor on my belly.
Pop up behind the counter.

“ALLOW MYSELF TO INTRODUCE… MYSELF — AND ALSO REAL INGREDIENTS!”

I’m pointing everywhere now.

“REAL PROTEIN!”
“ACTUAL DIGESTION!”
“CALMING AIDS THAT DON’T JUST WHISPER ‘CALM’ AND RUN AWAY!”

Dr. Evil panics.

He yells, “They’ll never understand nutrition!”

I clutch my chest.

Fall to my knees.

“THEY’RE UNDERSTANDING IT RIGHT NOW, BABY!”

Pet parents are nodding.
Laughing.
One person slow claps.
I bow deeply and almost fall over because the vibes are TOO STRONG.

Dr. Evil attempts a dramatic escape but trips over his own price tag and scuttles out the door screaming something about quarterly margins and regret.

Silence.

I straighten my jacket.
Adjust my glasses.
Look directly at everyone.

“SHAGADELIC.”

So listen closely, baby.

If you’ve been bamboozled.
If you’ve paid extra for food that brings NOTHING to the party.
If you’re ready for nutrition with MOJO

Come to Zoomies & Purr.

I’ll be here.
Strutting.
Educating.
Occasionally yelling things I probably shouldn’t.

DO I MAKE YOU NUTRITIONALLY CONFIDENT, BABY?

Yeah.

YEAH I DO.