The cub stared glassy-eyed down at his plate with his chin in his paws and sighed while his mother continued to wash the dishes.
“You’re not having anything else until you finish that, young man.”
The cub lazily picked up a portion with his fork, only for it to summarily slide off and back onto the plate with a thick splat.
“But mother, it’s no good anymore.”
“Nonsense. You had it just last night. It couldn’t have gone bad that fast.”
“Human flesh doesn’t taste good reheated, mom.”
“Well, you’d better acquire a taste, because we’re not wasting that perfectly good food. Now eat.”
The cub rolled his eyes as he sighed once more.
Why’d I have to be born to such overbearing parents?