I routinely tell my pet rats that they’re fat. I’m honestly not sure if this counts as abuse or not; I have a sneaking suspicion that in rat-language, ‘fat’ is the same thing as ‘awesome’. Rats are really just tiny thermodynamic devices for converting calories into more rat, and since this lot isn’t going to get the chance to reproduce, embiggening themselves might be their loftiest goal in life.
I also sometimes remind them that they are tiny and insane, but that’s because they are.
I regularly tell my cats about the wonderful glove linings I am going to make out of them if they don’t stop 1)eating all my socks 2)using their claws on my exposed skin and 3)trying to suffocate me in my sleep by standing on my neck and then flopping down on my face.
I call my dog “Puppies”, which is short for “Best of All My Puppies”. It’s a nice bonus that it disappoints people that one extremely old, smelly labrador shows up and not a litter of puppies…
I have my own nicknames for our chickens; “BBQ”, “Fried” “Curry” etc. one of our black ducks has a white ring around his neck which I always refer to as the “cut here” line.
A group of friends came and visited us, including one mother whose husband couldn’t come, but she brought along her 6-year-old and a 10-month-old baby, who is just going through the fear of strangers.
Since the baby would scream no matter who else held her, I was designated as the person who got the earful whenever the mother had to do something which required free hands.
Precious little princess was called, in appropriately soft tones, little names which would make a sailor blush.
I guess if she grows up to become an ax murderer, then it will be my bad.