It’s the teeth

“We might not be wired right,” said Regret, my incredible talking cat.
“That would shock me,” I said, searching around in the fridge. “You drank the rest of the milk.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m saying that this genetic fuckery you’ve done to us, the domestic feline, that this has led to problems.”
“Any particular one,” I said, closing the door to the fridge. “Like drinking all the damn milk, and leaving me with black coffee in the morning.”
“It’s good for you. Builds character.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Anyway,” he said, quickly drinking the last of his coffee before I could steal it, “Anyway, I have examples. Stomatitis.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“That’s because you aren’t a cat. Basically, we become allergic to our own teeth, which causes gum inflammation, which leads to infection, which leads to tooth infection, which leads to teeth death and rot. Only cure is to pull all your teeth out.”
“Gross,” I said. “And expensive by the sound of it. Not you, I hope?” I gave up and took a drink of the black coffee, which make my teeth ache. I needed to set up an appointment with my dentist, but was frankly dreading it. I’d grown up with a crowded mouth, which meant lots of extractions, and I’ve never really gotten over the childhood terror of dentists.
“No. Mr. Fluffy.”
“That fat one, down the street? The one that’s always sunning himself in the middle of the street?”
“Yeah. That’s him. I’m not saying he’s a bright bulb or anything, but that’s a hell of a thing, losing all of your teeth. Thought I’d go visit him today.”
“That’s nice of you. Give him a little support,” I said, mildly surprised. “I don’t want to say that’s not you, but, that’s not really you. Good.”
“No. It’s certainly not me. I’m going to go kick his ass, hold him down by the neck and dry hump him. He has no teeth. He can’t fight back.”