Simply 300 word drabble about living with cats.
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"Mikey, ain't dinner ready yet?" Raph grumbled, stalking into the living room. Michelangelo craned his neck backwards to view his brother upside down from the couch where he was watching television.
"Raph, it's your turn to cook tonight. It's part of your punishment, remember?"
"Jeez, a guy has one beer--"
"And ends up falling in the pool and nearly drowning. Come on, who ever heard of a turtle drowning." Raph growled lightly, but turned on his heel and headed for the kitchen. "There's groceries on the table!" Mikey called after him, then turned back to the TV. "Wuss."
From inside the kitchen, the youngest turtle could hear his brother rummaging through the plastic bags, most likely deciding what he could throw in a microwave and be done in three seconds.
'Whoops, I forgot to tell Raph I put Klunk in there when he kept walking on my comics…' Mikey thought. 'Ah well, he'll figure it out.'
Sure enough, five seconds later Raph's deep voice floated through the living room. "Heya Klunk. How'd ya get in here?" No answer. Mikey held back a snort.
Rustle. Rustle. "No, Klunk, don't get in the plastic bag." Rustle. Rustle. "Klunk!" Thud. "Oh yeah, stick your neck through the handles. That's smart."
Creak. "Here kitty, wanna get in the oven? Huh? How about the fridge? No! Don't walk in that! We don't want your shitty kitty feet walkin' in our dinner!"
Mikey buried his face in a pillow to keep from laughing.