An Open Letter to My Cat

Hi Vida.

I hope you are well.

I have some things, complaints if you will, that I've been meaning to share with you for a while, but I just could never find the time.

Please don't take this letter the wrong way, and I know once I say that to a fellow human it is usually a trigger for them that they almost definitely will. You? Well, you are a cat and I'm not at all sure of your ability to pick up on nuances like that. I don't want to underestimate you, and in general, estimating in any sense rarely comes up in my life when interacting with cats.

Where to begin? I guess I could ask you a variety of questions on a wide array of topics, but since it is 2am and I should get to sleep, I'll get right to it.

For starters, you make me sneeze. A lot. All the time. I just sneezed before typing this letter and the countdown is on before the next eruption.

Also, my eyes must be rubbed all day and night until they are puffy and watery. And I itch and itch and itch! I just can't stop! My fingers are constantly covered with red dots that I must scratch or rub incessantly. All of the sneezing, eye rubbing and itching is starting to greatly affect my personal and professional lives. Women I am trying to date think that I have nervous ticks and evil eyes and that I cry too easily during movies (and once during a public service announcement about the benefits of quitting smoking).

My coworkers act like I should be quarantined. Even my boss is starting to wonder if I have a drug problem as my nose and eyes are suspiciously either red or crusty and I often look like I haven't had a solid sleep in weeks (that part is true). I try to tell them that cat hair is making me cough and wheeze, but the boss and my coworkers are looking more and more unconvinced as time goes on.

Doctors, experts and random passersby on the street have told me that I am highly allergic to you. In my weaker, more paranoid moments (Friday evenings through Monday mornings) I have this unshakable feeling that you are doing this purposely to me in your efforts to bring me down. Like you have been sent here from the cat world, to infiltrate my house, cozy up to me like you were a friend, and then slowly put in motion the plot to destroy me. One small step for felines?

But, you are so cute and I have a soft spot for cute and furry animals. You know where that spot is - right between my lap and my neck. I know, it's large. Hard to miss.

I’m sorry that I used to call you Furball. I understand now that a name like that may be considered offensive from your point of view. Those feline sensitivity classes I was court-ordered to take for 8 consecutive weekends were highly constructive.

You shed a lot! There are always piles of cat hair wherever I look and you never even lift so much as a finger to help clean it up. And don't tell me that you don't even have fingers, as I have heard the excuse a thousand times. I do feel some regret, because if I had planned ahead, I could have made quite the wig or small rug or at least better insulated my bedroom with all of the hair you have so graciously left for me around my apartment.

I've also been told that your hair is literally floating around in the air in my apartment and that I am breathing it in constantly throughout the day which goes a long way towards explaining the constant wheeze I have and the incessant coughing as well as the odd and slightly disarming texture that my skin has developed over time which one friend once described as animalistically coarse.

You are also quite the chatty cat! You meow pleasantly in the daytime when you'd like some food and it is quite lovely. However, something changes within you when it turns to night time when I'm trying to sleep. From the second I turn my light off and close my eyes, you howl and whine very loudly. Whatever you think that I've done, I'm truly sorry - I just want to sleep. I'll buy you some tuna in the morning.

I’ve tried to explain that going outside at night just isn't an option as there are raccoons and coyotes nearby. You'd be attacked and I'd never forgive myself, until after a short period of mourning, when I'd buy a new cat. I've said too much!

Those wild animals are vicious and always hungry and, how do I say this nicely, you are a bit on the large side. I'm sorry! In one sense, it's all my fault as I am the one that feeds you, but, in another, much more accurate sense, it is yours. It's hard to hear the truth sometimes, Vida, but you could cut back a bit on the eating.

A smaller you would be able to actually jump up on to the couch without assistance. A slimmer you and you'd be able to walk past the mirror with pride. A thinner you and you wouldn't entirely block the heat vent and I'd have to rethink all of my large cat remarks that I know hurt you on some level. I am insensitive when I'm freezing cold.

Finally, if you don't mind, I'd love for you to stop using my couch, chairs, and pants as your personal scratching posts. Stop thumbing your nose at the store-bought scratching post I bought! And yes, I'm fully aware that you don't have neither a thumb nor a protruding nose.

It seems that no matter how often I trim your nails, they grow and grow and are always very sharp. I'll be laying there on the couch after a long day and you will walk across me and it feels like you are poking me with nails. A friend once asked if I considered having you declawed and I haven't as that it cruel, but I wish you'd just let me know when it is time for me to cut your nails without clawing me or the furniture. That is not meant at all to sound like a threat, more just a plea from one sane being to another, shorter, more defenseless, easily sold or traded or given away being.

Anyways Vida, I hope this letter is not too harsh and that you understand where I am coming from. Just a few small changes on your part and our lives together can be even better.

with love

Tara