It’s Me, Your Cat and I’m PO’d

cat

Hey You!

It’s me, your cat and I’m PO’d. My first complains is you are a meddler. You think you rescued me, but I don’t see it that way. Did it ever occur to you maybe I ran away on purpose? That maybe I just wanted to see the world a little first before settling down? I just needed to find myself, but I never did thanks to you. Now I have to take baths and wear a sweater or a pumpkin Halloween costume. Lame.

My next complaint- privacy. You are constantly taking pictures of me. I feel like god damn George Clooney feels about the paparazzi. If I could wear big sunglasses and/or a trucker hat, believe me I would. And let’s get back to those pictures, shall we? Ever since LOLcats came about, you think you are Picasso. You photoshop them with poor grammar and spelling and think you can read my thoughts. You know what, lady, you can’t. That is not at all what I am thinking. You are not in my head, I’m in yours. I have thoughts beyond a word or phrase. I speak English, proper English. I know how to spell. I don’t spell things with a “z” instead of an “s” on the end, like “pawz.” I don’t do this because I am not a human tween.

Complaint number three- my name: Mr. Whiskers. What is up with that? Mr.? Seriously? What am I, a teacher or a gentleman? Whiskers, because I have them, but really? You’re not going to find that on the top ten list of baby names next to Aidan and Christopher.

Complaint number four-your channel surfing is ridiculous. Sometimes I just want to watch Dancing with the Stars and Hoarders in peace, is that so much to ask?

Next complaint- we don’t always need to snuggle. Sometimes I need my space. And when I do snuggle, it’s often just to warm me up when I feel cold because you refuse to adjust the thermostat. Since I can’t wear a blanket, I need to use your body heat. That’s it.

In conclusion, just leave me be. If you wanted a “best friend” we both know you should have gotten a dog. Just treat me like the roommate you got off of Craigslist out of financial necessity. I’m gonna bounce now.

-Mr. Whiskers out.

by Meg Scanlon

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