A list of grievances from butterscotch
You have been home a lot more than usual. I can’t say that I am happy about that. I’ve talked to Snowball about it. She’s not thrilled either. I’m not sure what prompted the change, but it would be nice if everything returned to the way it used to be. We had a satisfactory schedule, where you would depart promptly at breakfast o’clock every morning, Snowball and I would lay about, tear up half a roll of toilet paper, eat, take a bath, eat again, and then sleep the rest of the day. Then you would arrive home at dinner o’clock. We were glad to see you, mostly. We would tell you about our day, listen to you talk about yours, and show you the requisite amount of affection to make you satisfied enough to give us a treat before our evening prowl.
Now you are here constantly, fussing over us, talking in that patronizing baby voice, and brushing us twice a day. While the brushing can be enjoyable, twice a day turns it into a chore. You are giving Snowball anxiety with all the attention. And she didn’t have far to go to get to that point. She was already skittish. You know that, so why are you making it more difficult for her? You should leave the house. Get back to your routine, so we can get back to ours.
But perhaps this provides us with an opportunity to discuss a few other things that Snowball and I have been meaning to talk to you about. Firstly, the wet food surprise. I loathe to bring it up, as it’s not that we don’t appreciate it. Certainly, we thank you loudly when you open the can and scoop out that fantastic minced fish and shrimp delicacy onto a plate. But the whole can every weekend, it’s sort of like eating an entire birthday cake in one sitting. I may be getting too old for an entire can. Perhaps you can get the smaller cans and only give us wet food surprise every other weekend. I am ashamed to say that I can’t control myself, consuming everything on the plate. I feel a little sick after eating it. I apologize for the entry way carpet, by the way. I don’t think you’ve found that yet.
Now on to the topic of Snowball; let’s talk about the back garden. Every day she tells you about the ghost in the garden, that sad wounded man. He looks like a peasant or something, maybe from before cars. She warns you about him over and over. The way he just stands there looking through the French door windows. You open the door for her, she runs out to show him to you, and you close the door behind her, trapping her with that ghost! Then you get angry when she cries to be let back in. Why would you shut her outside with it? Cruelty! Please stop tormenting her. Acknowledge the ghost and let’s stop the indoor-outdoor fiasco.
Then there is the male human.
That abomination comes over too often. How many times to I have to tell you he is not a welcome addition? Sure, he’s appropriately hairy for a male of your kind and he smells musky, which is a huge improvement over that awful liquid you spray onto yourself in the morning. But he also makes mean faces at Snowball and me when you aren’t looking. And he says unkind things about your butt when you leave the room. Things like ‘Sassyass’ and ‘Varoom’. Those aren’t human words, as far as I know, and they don’t sound complimentary. Not only that, but Snowball saw him drinking out of your cup the other day. You yell at me for that! He’s all wrong for you. I have already peed on his shoes and scratched up his jacket. What more can I do to explain my feelings on the matter?
Finally, the vacuum. We absolutely do not believe that the wretched Satan-machine needs to make such frequent appearances. The noise is unbearable and stresses out Snowball (refer to the aforementioned anxiety), the spinning danger brush is a hazard to our tails, and it eats up all the hairballs we work diligently to create. We are at cross purposes in how we maintain our home. Perhaps we can reach a compromise and only vacuum after the pine tree holiday and again after spider season. Snowball and I think anything more frequent is excessive.
So those are our concerns, which we have tried to talk to you about since your prolonged stay at home. Snowball and I can’t help but feel like you are pretending to not understand us. We tell you over and over about these things and more: the ghost in the garden, the mouse in the wall that you can’t hear, the weird smell that comes out of the bathtub, the squirrel eating out of the bird attraction station, the dead moth in the light fixture, and any time someone walks past our front door. If you are going to continue to disregard what we have to say, then please resume leaving the house daily. If you elect to remain in the house, then hear our grievances and please stop overbrushing and terrorizing Snowball, stop letting man-abomination in the house, and cut back on wet food surprise. Oh, and one more thing, you should get that weird spot on your back checked by the vet. It might be melanoma.
