The fleece-covered box top on Daddy's desk is prime real estate.
Sylvester: Rats! I wanted to sit there. I don't care that there are no less than three other fleece-covered box tops in Daddy's office. I want THAT one. Right there. The one that Felix is in. Crap.
Maybe if I give him the Hairy Eyeball he'll get all creeped out and go away.
*employs Death Rays*
Felix: May I help you?
Sylvester: I want to sit there. In that particular box top.
In fact, I want to sit there so much I will sit HERE and stare at you until you cannot bear it any longer, and leave.
Felix: I am ignoring you.
If I ignore you hard enough and long enough, you will no longer exist.
*Death Rays intensify*
Sylvester: Come ON, man! Move your skinny stripey bony butt! Shoo!
Felix: Nope. Not gonna happen.
I scoff at your feeble attempt to usurp me from the BEST fleece-lined box top in Daddy's office.
Sylvester: Well, that's it. Scoffing trumps all.
I hate it when that happens.
XX Felix and Sylvester XX