Our poor baby.
What brings a person to dress his or her cat like a monkey and feed his or her cat a banana, even though the cat very clearly does not want the banana? A deep chasm in place of a warm heart, perhaps. Hatred for the cat, maybe. An all-consuming love of monkeys and an obsession with achieving viral infamy — a possibility.
Or maybe just how cute the cat looks in his little monkey costume, all hunched over and angry.
“What is hell?” Dostoevsky wrote in The Brothers Karamazov. “I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to take off this monkey costume because I am only a cat.”