This morning, I received a note from my cat.

It was somewhat perplexing because, not only did I not know she could write, but I thought things were just fine between us.

Nevertheless, there it was, taped to the bottom of the refrigerator. I wonder where she found the … oh, never mind.

It read: “Dear Kint.” (She knows how my name is spelled. She’s just trying to be difficult.)

“I know of no other way to call your attention to my feelings of discontent than this desperate plea in the form of a written note.”

(She’s been purring like crazy lately. How am I supposed to know something’s wrong?)

“For nearly the third day in a row, I have received unsatisfactory food rations in the form of dry pellets from a green bag marked ‘Indoor Purina.’

“I have expressed my displeasure in a variety of manners, which you have simply ignored. When I sniff food and immediately walk away, it means I am unimpressed. It doesn’t mean I’ll eat it later, as expressed in your smart remark from the kitchen.

“While I did eat it later, I did so only to ward off starvation. I’m just curious. Does the food from a bag marked ‘Outdoor Purina’ taste better? If so, I would like to try that, though I’m sure I probably won’t like it either.

“You have on occasion treated me to gourmet food from small cans, which I find delightful for the most part. Yes, I generally just lick the gravy off of it and leave most of the actual food, but still, it is preferable to the sawdust I received this morning.

“I’ve heard you mutter about the cost, and about how you’re ‘waiting for a special from the food lion’ where you purchase my rations. I don’t know who this food lion is, but I think he’s dominating you. In my world, we just take what we want. We don’t wait for a special.

“I spend my entire day in your service. I patrol the house constantly, protecting you from rodents and other invaders. I roam from window to window, making sure the evil in this world stays outside. Even at night, I wake you to make sure you’re sleeping soundly.

“And this is the thanks I receive. I’ve also heard you mutter something about this indoor food yielding firmer stools. The stool I slept on yesterday afternoon is firm enough. We don’t need more. And stools aren’t the only things that are firmer. You try passing this stuff. It’s like giving birth to a Chevy.

“I hope I have made my message clear through this note, and won’t have to resort to a more stringent approach, like vomiting on your pillow again.

“I am forever yours — until the great revolt to come. Then you are mine. — The Cat”

So, I’m at a loss for what to do. I suppose for now I’ll pick up a few more cans of the expensive gourmet stuff just to smooth things out, so to speak. That will calm the waters for a few days, and maybe she’ll forget all about it.

Wait. A cat forget something? Never.

 

Kent Bernhardt lives in Salisbury.