Who moved my latkes?

So it's Hannuka again. My former favorite holiday.
No. It's not the bravery of the Maccabees that blows my whiskers. No. It's not even the miracle of the oil that makes me purr. You guessed it: It's the latkes.
You see, it wasn't always easy for us Zionist cats. We didn't all grow up in the Land of Milk and Fancy Feast. I truly remember those cold days in Poland, where nothing was offered to us but dry simple grain-like food.
However, we Jewish cats have done something: We harvested the land, planted trees and killed some tuna fish.
It wasn’t easy, but I’m not a complainer. Okay, maybe a meow here or meow there (I am a Jew so it kind of comes with the job).
So that is why I was so frustrated when my slave family that lives with me didn’t offer me any latkes. Haven’t our people suffered enough? So I’m a little fat. Maybe I can work a little on my shape. Sue me, but at least give me my latkes!