What the Hell are You Even Talking About

I'm pretty sure that anybody who really knows me is aware of the fact that I'm a self-proclaimed geek. I've learned to live with, even embrace, this quality. And one of the geeky things that I do is to give all of my pets their own distinct voice and personality. This drives Kevin crazy, but I don't care - I think I'm damn funny.
Our fat cat, Mo, is totally Napoleon Dynamite in my mind. He does everything slow, he's a bit clumsy, he has a short temper, and I can literally picture him saying to us when we try to put him outside at night, "What the hell are you even talking about? It's cold outside. Goh."
My dog, Tuffie, was the ladies man. He humped everything in sight - pillows, legs, dolls, other animals, furniture - seriously, anything he could jump on. Tuffie didn't discriminate. It was really quite embarrassing at times. He may or may not have been a reincarnated rapist. We're not sure. But as I was saying, he was totally the ladies man - I pictured him to be like, "Well hellooo, Ladieth (The ladies man speaks with a bit of a lisp, after all). Which one of you's fine lookin' ladieth want to go home with Tuffie tonight?" (Poor Tuffie, died without ever having actually picked up a lady...)
Sasha, my little cat, is a "SheNayNay" type - she has a bad attitude, and if she were a woman, she would totally have four-inch, air brushed nail tips, long hair, too-tight shorts, and she would say, "Oh, He-elll Noooo" a lot. She would also shake her finger and head in unison, and give the "Oh He-ell Nooo" look, complete with pursed lips and narrowed eyes, while she was saying this.
I'm still working on a voice for my mom's dog, Harley...