Saturday, September 22, 2012

A letter to my cat.

Dear Chloe,

When we bought you five years ago we had no idea that you were a kitten with a weak constitution. Don't get me wrong, we could have returned you but we didn't. We let you stay. We've loved you from day one. But Chloe, this has to stop.

You had nearly 2,000 sq. ft to choose from but you chose to puke in the one containing the cable box. Did you expect something other than smoke and fire to shoot out the top? The look on your face led me to believe that you were expecting maybe toy mice and confetti. I don't think I have to tell you twice that those were reeking hot flames Chloe. You were closer to them than I was.

You are lucky that I haven't sold you to Gypsies or some such thing. Each time you return from the vet you have a sparkling clean bill of health. Heaving is just in your nature. So I tolerate your occasional errors in judgement but this is getting stressful.

My living room smells like ozone and vomit. That kind of smell makes me angry. What's more, I have to sit here tomorrow from 1 to 3PM waiting for the cable guy.

I know you aren't going to read this. You never pay attention. So I guess I will have to talk it over with you in person when you come for bedtime cuddles. Don't get me wrong, I'll cuddle you. But I'm gonna cuddle angry Chloe, I'm gonna cuddle angry.


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