Open Letter to My Cat
Dear Carmen,
I think it’s time we talked. Both of us.
We both have done things for which we need to apologize. I know this, but I don’t think that I can allow things to go on like this. I have to take better care of my self, emotionally. I’m not saying you are the bad girl, but I feel that I’m at the end of my rope.
Because I want this to work, and because I believe you still do, I want to give you my perception of things as they stand.
The facial scarring is the biggest problem we’ve faced, because it has ramifications even when we are apart. I can’t hide real feelings of animus toward you when co-workers will not accept my feeble explanations of why my eyelids are bleeding. When I tell someone that I cut a gash into my earlobe while shaving, . . . Well, these are friends, Carmen. They aren’t accepting my excuses, anymore, and they care about me enough to want me not to be hurt like this.
I know that Dr. Lupusfitz said that I should not equivocate when it comes to physical abuse. I’m willing to accept scratches, of course, as part of your nature. I only wish you could confine it to hours later in the day; preferably, when I am not lying prone, and asleep. This is an unfair advantage.
I know the reason for your lashing out, but you have to look at my side of things. Just once, can’t you try to see things from my perspective? I don’t think you’re fat. I don’t think you need to exercise more. But she’s a Veterinarian, and when she tells me to cut down to a half can, . . . I can listen to my heart and your meowing, or I can try and be strong; for the both of us. [Tear stain] I’m sorry; I know that my tears are an unfair emotive argument. But so is your ceaseless moaning. Don’t you know how that tears me up inside?
Do you remember when we met? I chose you. I could have let those two brownie twins have you. Do you think they’d give you any better attention? Don’t you realize that they would simply have been enablers for your destructive impulses? In a few years, they’d be chasing boys, and leave you to the frightful care of their mother. Do you think that a family of four would afford you the Science Diet Chicken and Liver that you love; or the silica-crystal litter (which I’ve never complained about sticking to my shoes)?
I chose you. Once the shelter people explained that you would turn black (and that bit about de-clawing, and made me promise I wouldn’t do it), I chose to take you home. No, no, that’s not a threat�
You’ve always been there for me when I need you (even though you’ve never helped me cast a single spell). And I’m not playing some co-dependant game (anymore). I know, now, that it’s not simply because you are an indoor cat. I’ve come to accept that it is more than that. I believe that there’s still real commitment in your often-accusatory stare.
You simply have to put something more into this relationship. Purring is nice. I love your purring time. But it doesn’t make up for the bad times. And there seem to have been so many, recently.
So I’m asking, for both our sakes. We need to talk.
I’m looking at you.
Yours truly,
Bill
P.S. I didn’t mean to laugh at you during dinner the other night. I thought you were being funny for the guests. Sorry.
Please don’t leave.
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