with help typing by Dr. Anna, Camden Pet Hospital
Oh, the humanity! They, the humans, are so foolish! It’s been years that I’ve lived in this inglorious dwelling they call a “home.” True, they took me here after I lived in a far worse situation: in a small cage surrounded by many other cats at a place I believe the humans refer to as the “humane society.” Though this dwelling is an improvement, it is a far meow from the decadent palace that I deserve.
I suppose the humans make efforts to please me, but they often fall short. They’ve begun to set out a miniscule amount of food, attempting to starve me, even though they know I prefer to eat the top tier of food for precisely the 13 minutes after it has been refreshed. After that, of course, it goes stale and I won’t touch it.
It’s pitiful, really, how the humans make such efforts. They run about, carrying things from one room to the next, go in and out of the front and back door every day, staying busy. Meanwhile, I try to tell them to slow down and lounge. They simply cannot seem to grasp how to be regal and luxurious like I am. It just comes so naturally for me, of course.
I suppose I don’t mind them staying busy and out of my space. After all, it’s much more peaceful when the humans are away. I prefer about 23 hours of quiet time per day, and can stand about 10-15 minutes of noise and talking at any one time. Longer than that, and I’ll likely retreat to a quieter area to recuperate from the cacophony.
Recently, the humans have really gotten on my nerves by having the audacity to rearrange my space. I have taken painstaking efforts to calculate the precise places to sit, stare and lounge at various times throughout the day. Now I am going to have to start over completely, because the couch and the dresser have changed places! Stupid humans! How dare they do such a thing! I’ll let them know how upsetting this is by leaving a bit of poo strategically placed in the lounging room. I’ll admit, the last time this happened – when they added another human for a week (I believe they said it was a brother they called “Gary”) and an inflatable bed, I was so offended and stressed by the situation I started to hold my bladder for longer than I should and the next thing you know it hurt to pee! I started to pee next to the litter box, or when I could find a nice soft spot to pee like a clean basket of laundry, I would use that as a litterbox instead. These silly humans! How dare they stress me so!
I know it’s not just me. All our feline kind prefer a nice, big, clean place to do our number one and two business. In fact, if we had our druthers, we’d have a litterbox the size of a kiddie-pool in the middle of the living room! It would be very deeply bedded and not have any silly scents added. That way, if we’re in the middle of going to the bathroom and we are startled, or sense something dangerous, we can escape any direction we want. These covered litter bins tucked away in closets, or beside the noisy washing machine are a no go! At least a “no go in there” anyway! I would never… ugh, the humanity. I mean, really? I doubt they want a tiny dark box to go to the bathroom for themselves. Why would they think that’s okay for we felines, who should be treated like gods?
Alas, though I’ve given hint after hint to make things obvious to these silly humans, they so often just won’t have a clue. It would be a good idea for them to ask their veterinarian, because it seems these veterinarian humans know an awful lot about helping make a feline environment better, even when there isn’t a palace or castle available. The veterinarian human helped me with my urinary pain too! What a relief! Now I just need to hope my silly humans will never invite Gary back again. Oh, the noises he made when he slept!