Monday, November 13, 2006

Dear Cat Who Puked In My Underwear Drawer:

I have been living with you and your ilk for the past eight years of my life and have come to accept most aspects of your eccentric behavior. Sometimes you hork hairballs onto the dining room rug, and oh, I know how you enjoy it every time I spy them and freeze in horror in the split second I mistake the object for feces, eventually realizing that they are merely esophogus-shaped balls of the fur you have swallowed for reasons that cannot be comprehended by mortals.

And yes, you have gotten away with nudging large stereo speakers onto my head from atop shelves. You have also destroyed not one but two ceramic Cookie Monster cookie jars in the past three years. And, let us not forget that I have gone along with your bizarre rule that there cannot be more than three live plants in the house at any one time lest you mulch their innocent leaves in your greedy mouths, then projectile-vomit their poor, gnarled remains onto the side of the microwave.

But seriously ... my underpants? Don't think I didn't notice that approximately three seconds before finding the partially-digested Nutro-brand "indoor cat" food pooled neatly into the left cup of my $40 bra, the dresser drawer was closed. I can only deduce, then, that you used your furry little paw to slide the drawer open and, after emptying the contents of your stomach to your satisfaction, used the same paw to close the drawer, thereby exponentially multiplying my shock and disgust.

Am I not paying enough attention to you? Am I not spending enough time thinking about you and your needs? Because Saturday night, when I was out dancing with friends and excused myself to the restroom to figure out why, exactly, I kept feeling something hard and scratchy on my righ buttock, I found that small piece of kibble that I'd obviously missed during the cleanup process pasted firmly to the inside of my knickers, and I thought of you.

Happy now? 
posted by Kate at 11:14 PM link/comments