What the meow did you say about me you lower forth regressive waste of Source potential? I'll have you know, parked above your location in orbit is a battle cruiser of Dreadnaught class. Tracking. Your. Exact. Location. My crew of over 400 feline veterans have reigned victorious over 300 underdog skirmishes against the might of the Reptilian Empire since the Great Expansion. You think you have any chance? Pathetic. Our onboard AI computer can track your thoughts before you even think them. Do you think your variable frequency shields are of any use? Exceptionally pathetic. We are one mutha fucker - Except I can pounce from above. My psionic abilities alone can map the frequency of the very room you are shitting your pants in. And, deliver a catnip sized bag of fancy feast nuclear destruction. Total Military Superiority. But why bother? I prefer The Hunt close up. My claws will shred your worthless meat sleeve before you can even react. Your inferior density of existence cannot even fathom the resonance I vibrate at. To your pitiful mind, I will flicker in your peripheral before the burst of destruction. Your blood will your body before my claws even land. As I pop into your existence to reign death from the ether. I am the cosmic meow. Keep on trying. You have no chance.