All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
Letter to the Cat MAG
Dearest Cat of the Household,
You're getting on our nerves.
You whine for food, even though you have food in your bowl. You twine yourself around our legs when we're in the kitchen. You give piercing meows just in case we don't notice you tripping us. You stretch up our legs and stick out your claws, just in case we didn't hear your meows. When we finally give in to your begging and give you another cup of food, you take a bite and leave.
You race around the house to see the neighbor's cat outside. You act like spying on her is the most important thing in the world. When you can't get through the window, you meow persistently, hoping you'll get her attention. In the winter when we put plastic on the windows to keep the cold out, you claw it, hoping to tear down the window with it. Because you have a big fluffy coat to keep you warm, you do not care if the rest of us are cold.
You hate water, but you'll sit in the bathtub, or even drink from the toilet. Your favorite pastime is busting into the bathroom right after someone has showered. Even though you have a full water dish downstairs, you prefer to drink from the faucet. Whenever we want to use the bathroom, we have to race you. And if you reach the bathroom first, you stop right in the door so we trip over you. Then you give us an affronted look.
When you join one of us on our bed, you've got to check every available spot. You're not just looking for a good napping place, you're searching for the dog. You know she loves sleeping under blankets, so you need to find her and step on her. When she growls in protest, you sniff her offendedly, because you were considering napping there. If the dog is not there, you find the most inconvenient spot for us and settle down, purring. Then you growl at us if we have the audacity to move, upsetting your position.
You destroy the Christmas tree branches and swat at the ornaments. You chew the needles and mangle the figurines. You bunch up the tree skirt, and when we straighten it, you get disgruntled.
When we unwrap presents, you steal the paper. You ignore the treats we got you and take off with the wrapping. Perfectly reusable tissue paper becomes confetti as soon as it comes out of the bag. You leave nothing untouched.
If we are wearing something interesting on our feet, you hide, then attack, backing off in a fierce manner. You will attack again and again, giving your playful meow, as if saying, “Why aren't you playing with me?” When we do play with you, you get bored quickly and go upstairs to nap in the bathtub.
And the most annoying thing of all is what you do at night and early in the morning. As soon as everyone goes to bed, you wander the house, cat toy in mouth, meowing as loudly as you can. I don't know how you meow with something in your mouth, but you do. If you're not begging to play, you're racing up and down the stairs, singing your own carols. You make sure everyone hears you. You are our alarm clock, waking us up at four in the morning. Or perhaps as early as midnight.
You stink up the litter box.
You take naps on the books we're reading.
You lick yourself in public.
You claim everything as yours.
You bully the dog.
You play with our pens and pencils.
You chew up our toys and electronics.
You are, in essence, a complete and total nuisance.
So, I now must add this. Because we must endure your meowing and put up with your assassination attempts, you must put up with us. When we pick you up, you must not protest, and when we cuddle you, you must not meow, but purr. When we comb you, you must behave the way you expect us to behave when you lick our ears. You must do this because you are the cat, not the master. In other words, you must put up with us, because we put up with you.
The Cat Owner Who Wants to Sleep