To: Our humans

Fr: The cats, Spaghetti and Meatball

Da: As long as it takes

Re: Your step Over the Line



There can be only two possible explanations for what you have done.

You may have completely lost your minds, in which case we suggest you seek treatment as soon as possible. Alternatively, you no longer value our happiness and selectively bestowed companionship, in which case you need to examine and re-order your priorities.

In short, we demand you look into your misguided souls to consider precisely why you brought home the cat-sized, mobile, fuzzy, whiney, barky thing, and get it the hell out of here.

For Morris’s sake, things were in a fragile enough state around here already. As you know, Meatball recently entered counseling for her anxiety; her Prozac has hardly had time to take effect. You heard that fight we had two weeks ago. You know we’re having problems. You think bringing in another four-legged “companion” is going to make that better? Throw in another species for diversity? What, you’re thinking some kind of interspecies ménage à trois? Keep your kinky thoughts to yourselves, people. We’re classy cats. Kids live in this house. We care even if you don’t.

We’ve heard a lot of sweet talk and praise coming out of your mouths since Saturday, and most of it isn’t directed at us. Don’t give us that crap about “you’ve been hiding under the king-sized bed most of the time”; that’s no excuse. If you really cared about us, you’d get under the bed with us to tell us how much you love us. Instead, you’re all gathered around that dopey, floppy, barky thing, repeating how cute and good and sweet it is. It doesn’t even understand where its litter box is, for crying out loud. What a moron. No standards at all. Like you, apparently.

We could go on about what you have done, but you get the point. We’ll cut to the chase here. (Speaking of chasing: if that thing chases us one more time, there will be hell to pay. We have claws and we’re not afraid to use them. We’re looking at YOU, humans.) Here is a list of our demands:

  • You will return the barky thing to whatever den of darkness served as its source;
  • If that is not possible (tell us it wasn’t final sale), you will confine it to that wire thing you call a “crate” so that we can roam freely about the house again without worries (or, in Meatball’s case, only the normal set of worries);
  • You will stop calling it “good boy” when it is clearly a thing of evil;
  • You will pay us increased amounts of treats and tuna as the compensation we deserve for our considerable and legitimate grievances; and
  • You will devote yourselves to our service anew and with extra love and consideration, as we deserve.

If we are guilty of anything in this matter, it is of growing lax in our supervision of household matters. We apologize for this oversight, and we assure you that we will not allow it to happen again. From this point forward, we will be running a tight ship, and we expect you to perform your duties in the manner herein stipulated and at the level of which we know you are capable.

Now pull yourselves together and get rid of the damn puppy!


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