Letter to My Cat

Dear Max,

Seeing as I risk my healthy by having you in my life, I thought we could take the chance to discuss a few changes that need to be made around the house. First off, in the morning you standing outside of an open bathroom door meowing incessantly at me is not conducive to your life expectancy. While I am sure that you think you are talking to me, what I hear grates on my nerves, which are very fragile before my first cup of coffee. Secondly, as I walk thru the house preparing for my day it is not necessary for you to wind yourself between my legs, in some cultures this is considered an act of death upon my life. If I go honey, there is will be no one to feed you. Keep that in mind. While I do appreciate the tender moments you so rarely share with me, at least acknowledge that I am available for you on plenty of occasions, do not act as if I have left you to die, when I have only been gone for 20 minutes. Its rude and melodramatic, I don’t care for it at all. I also realize that your actions for affection is to needling my poor unprotected flesh, but when I break out in hives, maybe you should take note of the frantic scratching and choose to step away and look innocent. Big watery kitten eyes will make me forget quickly of the rash that has formed on my arm.

I know I have robbed you of your ability to bring me presents by making you an indoor cat ( its for your own good, you wussy cat), please do not think that vomiting in or on my shoes makes up for the mangled bird or squirrel you might have brought me. Until you start making a living and helping with the mortgage and replacing my poor innocent shoes, please refrain from vomiting completely. I do not like the slight nor sound. And if you absolutely must upon pain of death, please do not choose to vomit at times like right before I am late for work or during the middle of the night, causing me to lurch out of bed. Speaking of waking me up, just because I have rolled over or changed breathing patterns, which does not signify that I am conscious. Putting your kitty face with in whisker distance to mine is uncalled for. Also if you want to survive to the next year, I suggest you don’t sleep in my room at all. Being startled awake by your whiskers brushing my face is not as loving and tender as it seems. It makes me think something is crawling on me causing me to flail and you to be flung across the room. That also goes for staring at me, please do not for one minute think that I am charmed by you when I am waking up and you are inches from my face staring at me for no apparent reason. Its creepy and I find it highly disturbing. It could induce flailing again and in turn affect your existence.

But don’t for one minute think I don’t love you Pookie (yes I like to torture you will horrible nicknames and I thank god you can’t actually talk to me).


Love,

Liz