He would argue, of course, that it doesn't matter how much he hates it. He'd hate it no matter what it was; all he wants is to run free, and the bars are stopping him. I hate water, he quips back, not realizing how ridiculous the statement is. He just hates everything right now, really. He comes to the water dish, gives it a sniff, and swings a paw at it. He doesn't hit it hard enough to knock it over or send it flying, but water sloshes out of it and across the floor.