Well, Agent X (as you so childishly call yourself: you apparently have no concept of the nomnumerical system), I am not going to dignify your last message with any sort of response, save for this:
You are not my Arch Nemesis. Judging by your infantile, ill-researched and overall botched planning, you are not worthy to be anyone’s Arch Nemesis. I can only imagine that your “ransom demands” were a pitiful attempt at entertainment, or perhaps the misguided fruits of some premature midlife crisis.
I will let it go once, because my manservant has recently had similar problems and I am beginning to understand that it cannot be helped. But if I hear from you again, I will make sure you never eat another Swedish fish. Because you will be physically unable to. Because your tongue will be tied in a series of versatackle knots.
P.S. I did not act out of concern for the kittens: I merely understand the human race’s common tendency to slather affection upon the fiends. Upon my own analysis, I have concluded that they are a danger to our society, but a necessary one. The average, seemingly intelligent adult melts into a puddle of grammatical error and cooing noises upon seeing a kitten inside of a tissue box, or a watermelon, or a hot dog bun… inside of anything really. Although these small felines cause a mental collapse of sorts, this collapse seems to offer a moment of respite for many people, allowing them to escape their intelligence for a few moments to mutter confectionary nonsense (E.g. Cutie widdle muffin cupcake pants). This apparently helps some people with stress, although I much prefer a good stakeout or fight to the death. I do not doubt the collective feline psyche could easily convince reasonable, working-class people to build an orphanage exclusively for them. And I thought that you understood, at least as well as I understand, that any act upon said kitten orphanage would bring the public to its knees.
It seems I have overestimated you.