One day, your pet turns to you and begins talking. What does it say?
[It wouldn’t surprise me at all, the pet talking to me. I gather he has quite a lot to say.]
First, I’m really annoyed that you people took so long picking me out from the store. If you all had picked me out that first day you saw me, you could have kept me and my BFF together. But you procrastinated! No wonder I’m so neurotic.
Of course, it wasn’t ALL your fault that I’m the way I am. My birth family was not very nice. Still, I was pretty happy with you people. That is until you brought in that OTHER cat. You were probably smart to keep us apart early on because I would have beaten the crap out of her. As it is, I still mix it up with her occasionally to remind her that I AM the alpha cat.
And that unimaginative name you people gave me! Midnight, indeed. At least it’s better than what you told me your maternal grandmother used to do. She had a series of black cats and called every cat Blackie.
Because of my neuroses, and getting “fixed”, as you euphemistically call it, I just don’t like people in lab coats. At some level, I know that my behavior, which has made the vet ban me from his office, is not to my long-term benefit. But a feline has to do what a feline has to do.
As to my complaints: you don’t feed me nearly enough. I know that evil vet says I weigh too much. Phooey on that! It’s not like I weigh 20 pounds or something. And I HATE that rolly-polly little feeder toy designed to make me eat slower. It is VERY undignified! No wonder I chew on the window curtains; I’m practically wasting away to nothing.
Also, you should just get rid of that vacuum cleaner! I DON’T like it. It’s noisy and wants to take my fur!
You seem displeased when I lie down in the middle of the floor or in the entryway to a room. I just want you to notice me! Hey, you can just step over me. I MIGHT not claw you, or maybe I will?
I suppose I should explain that week when I hissed at you a lot earlier this year. You had picked up a red shirt, and like a bull in an arena, I reacted. It reminded me of a rag that my birth family used to hit me with. I still like to glare at you, just to keep you in line.
But I had to stop harassing you for a number of reasons. You’re the one most likely to scratch under my chin. I like your lap to sit on the best. And you feed me a little more than the woman does. So I’m sad when you keep me out of your office. You should be holding me rather than writing in your stupid blog. Where are your priorities, human?
I’ll admit I was a little scared when I ventured outside a couple of years ago. But you went looking for me, so that’s a plus for you.