Gramsci waved his front legs, nonplussed. Arachnoidal seminars were rare, and among his species, carnal bliss ended in prandial delight, with the female devouring the male... so for him the idea of living on love and fresh air didn't really resonate. But he thought other species - aside from the praying mantis, of course - were different.
But Carnivorous Cow was on a roll - the thickening one around her middle. "Moonlit walks along the beach... firefly spotting in the kloofs... stopping on the way home for a drink... staring into molten chocolate eyes over candle light... somewhere along the line food smuggles its way in, every time!" she muttered. "By the end of a week, no amount of couch rugby can undo the realisation that you're consuming more energy than you're expending!"
Carnivorous Cow flopped back into her chair. She felt relieved in a paradoxical way to have become ill, allowing her to pick listlessly at a naked salad instead of engaging yet another competitor for the freshest linefish, or continuing the eternal debate about whether baked or fridge cheesecake was better by continually expanding the sample size. It was never just the sample size that expanded...