Reply by the Feline Master of Richard Bleil
Yesterday, my human wrote a piece about how he “adopted” me a year ago. Let’s get one thing straight. I adopted him, not the other way around. Yes, indeed, he took me out of that stinky place with all of the filthy canines but if I didn’t want to go, I wouldn’t have. I just let him take me here so I could check out his house to see if it’s sufficient to fit my needs.
Yes, it’s a large house. Yes, it’s true that there are no other humans, including children, no canines and rarely other felines. Except for Mooch. He hung out for a month or so. Thank GOD that’s a thing of the past. We don’t know where he went, as he was an indoor and outdoor, but I know the human is hoping he found another home and has adopted the humans there, but I never liked having him around. The human here put extra food and water out for him, but the nerve of him actually eating it.
As far as my human goes, he does have food available for me all day every day, and water, but it needs to be made available more than that. Sometimes I can almost see the bottom of the bowl. How rude. He gives me wet food, but only once a day, and special treats but not nearly enough of them. I’m a big girl, you know, I need to eat. And he needs to feed me. It’s that simple.
I guess he’s okay, though. He lets me sit on his lap when he’s upright and lie on his chest when he’s horizontal. He pets me, and I bite him harshly when I’m sufficiently satisfied, but he is often reticent to begin petting me again fifteen seconds later when I clearly indicate to him that it’s time to resume. I mean, really. “But you bit me,” he’ll whine. Yeah? So? Pet me now!
I was outside once this past year myself. Didn’t care for it. I mean, where was the love? Where was the food? It’s like I would have had to hunt or something beneath me like that. Beg? Forget that noise. Begging is for Mooch, not me. I’m too proud to beg, and like being fat. Yup, not happy on a diet.
Personally, most of my time I think about how my human, this Bleil character, could do better. And he should want to do better. He needs to get into a new normal sleeping pattern. As it is, he stays up until way too late, and sleeps in far too long. I never know when he’ll get up, and he ignores me when he’s in bed, or worse, hides his, what, mitts, I guess, when I rub my hand on them as a sign that it’s time to get up and love me. Shame on him, hiding under those covers. And he needs to grow fur so he doesn’t have to waste time putting on those stupid cloth fur outfits before coming downstairs to feed me my wet food. What is up with that disgusting pink bald body, anyway? How does he keep warm? I’ll take my fur coat any day of the week. And I don’t understand it when he says I should be careful to avoid PETA people, so I don’t get paint thrown on my fur. Why would they do that? Humans. He says it like it’s some kind of jest, but it’s just not funny. Shame on him.
As far as humans go, I guess he’s okay. I’ve graced him with my charm and presence for a full year now, and I guess I don’t have plans to abandon him. Yet. Maybe when the weather breaks. We’ll see. But until then, my resolutions in the new year are to make him continue to clean up my litter box. And to bug him to get out of bed earlier every day. Heck, I keep going at this pace and I’ll be harassing him to get out of bed before he even goes to bed. And I resolve that he will feed me more wet food. At least three times as much. And I resolve that he will feed me more treats. And he’d better not make me break any of my resolutions. Oh, Lord help him if he doesn’t cooperate.
I don’t know who reads these things, but you’d better be feline. If you read this and you’re human, all I have to say is NO! NO! BAD HUMAN!!