Thursday, March 07, 2013

A letter to my son in Navy boot camp from our cat, Beulah.

In a touch over three weeks my son should be graduating from Navy Boot Camp.  Mailing back and forth has proven to be an entirely new way to communicate with him.  I've enjoyed writing him letters in different voices.  It's a nice break from my usual weird meanderings which I'm sure he finds goofy and unsurprising.

I write this letter in the voice of my other cat, Beulah. 




Dear Kaelan,

I know that while you were at home, most of the time I ignored you.  Now I feel like a part of my life is missing.  No matter how much I increase the amount of time I ignore your mom, dad and little brothers, I can't seem to match my previous satisfying levels of ignoring everyone in the household.

This has caused me much distress and anxiety but one cannot appear upset.  Hiding my emotions  interrupts my beauty sleep.  Your mother left an empty Amazon box on the floor and no matter how much I turned around in it, I couldn't get comfortable.  Instead I've obsessively groomed and made absolutely no eye contact with anyone.

Unfortunately keeping my coat lush and gorgeous has it's down side.  I coughed up a hairball in my cat tree.   I wasn't so uncouth as to do this in anyone's presence.  This was quietly accomplished in the middle of the night when a proper cat can get some privacy.  Maybe your mother does understand just how emotional I've been because she's the one that cleaned it up. 

What?  I can't clean that up!  That's work!  There is no time for this in my busy schedule.

Now that the snow is melted there are birds outside and they mock me.  I watch them.  I give them dirty looks.  I curse them.  Someday they will know pain.  They will hurt.  I will get satisfaction.

Your family has talked of you learning how to swim.  In water.  What kind of ridiculous occupation is this?  No cat in her right mind would dare touch a paw to water and you human beings think that immersing yourselves in the stuff makes you superior creatures.

My family, my brother Chumlee (that simpleton), drives me into rages and hissing.  He will not leave me alone.  Shoves food in his mouth all day and then decides to ruin my well earned peace and quiet by moving in slowly to attack me.  He watches me every time I need a constitutional to the litter box.  It's really quite rude and someday I'm going to do something about it, maybe after my second afternoon nap, when it's not too sunny or to chilly, and the birds aren't out.

I'm looking forward to when you can come home in the future and I can ignore you again, even if you hold me up to the window and attempt engage me in conversation.  It'll be a moment I plan to forget promptly.

Love,

Beulah La Pants

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