An open letter to my cat.

Dear Kitty,

Really. What's the deal. The litter is clean. So why the two-part dumps? Why always on the extension cord? It has to go around your box, I have no place else to run it, unless you want me to tack it to the ceiling. Unless you want me to tack your ass to the ceiling.

So what's the problem? Are you mad about the thyroid medicine? The fact that I grind up the pills and try to hide them by mixing them into that bland, medical, old-cat wet food? Or are you just upset that you're fifteen years old and your fur looks funny and the baby always grabs your tail to keep you from running away? Is that it, you're jealous of the baby? Aren't you over that yet? He's staying, you know. And he'll be here a lot longer than you if you keep shitting on the floor. Remember what happened to Venus, the one who kept peeing on the couch? You don't know, do you? She just disappeared. Hmmm, I'd think about that if I were you. Think about that next time your ass is dangling over the edge of the litter box and you're about to plop out another little gift for me.

Oh, and guess what? As soon as we move we're getting a dog.

Your pal,