From the litterbox


Dear Charlotte,

We have developed such a good scratch-my-back-and-I’ll-scratch-yours system over the past 15 years; that being you scratch my back, including that little ticklish spot behind my ears, and if you so choose to cease, I’ll bite your hand as a friendly reminder that you’re not done. Even when you discipline me with a swat on the nose, I hope you’ll never forget that you’re the best personal warmer any cat can have, and I certainly do not take you for granted.

With that being said, let’s talk about this gift-giving nonsense that you humans are so accustomed to doing every year for someone’s birthday.

Now I know I’ve been a little forgetful when it comes to your special day, but as it was the big 21 last week, I thought I’d get you something you could treasure forever. It took me a good long while to find a break in my busy schedule, just so you know. But somewhere between my early afternoon nap and mid-afternoon nap, just before my hour-long grooming session, I went out and caught a lizard for you. Nothing too big or fancy, but I caught it myself, which, I honestly think is pretty damn thoughtful. As a lack of thumbs would prevent me from being able to dig through your wallet to pay some 50-year-old lady named Gladys to perfectly giftwrap the poor bastard for you, I thought leaving it in your shoe would suffice.

And what a surprise it was! I could tell by the nauseated look on your face that you had absolutely no idea that I had hidden your gift inside the shoe you quickly slipped on to go meet up with your other human friends. I felt very proud of myself.

What I was not expecting you to do was to dispose of it outside. I mean, WHAT THE HELL? When you spend your hard-earned money on little mouse toys laced with catnip for me, I don’t immediately throw them away. I do the polite thing and tell you I am neither pleased nor displeased, and just leave it there for the dog to eventually eat.

But I wanted to let you know that there are no hard feelings. I’m a proud feline indeed, but even I can admit my gift-giving skills are sub-par to that of your own dim-witted species. I hope one day you can forgive me for my transgressions, and allow me the honor of being able to make it up to you.

As you screamed to your mother about how you would never be wearing those shoes again, it’s safe to assume that you took offense to my presentation of the gift. I have learned from my mistakes, dear Charlotte, and you will be pleased to know that I left a hairball the size of a shot glass on top of your bed, completely exposed.

Please get back to me at my earliest convenience and let me know how else I can improve on making your day just that much better.

Yours most sincerely,

The Cat


About Charlotte Knight

I'm a lover and a fighter.
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