You adopted Scaramuccia, he was always surrounded by your care and love, and you lived in abundance, but for some reason he hated you. He always snapped at you and got angry, any conversation you had ended with a quarrel and your son leaving for his room. This time you prepared lunch and waited for him to arrive. Scaramuccia Como looked at the food, then silently stood up and threw it in the trash along with the plate.

“It feels like you cooked this for the dog.”