Letters From Sophie
Dear Boopsy or Boppy or Poopsy or whateveritis they are calling you.
I don’t particularly care. What I do care about is that you are IN MY HOUSE.
MY house. Mine.
You foolish feline. You bounce around as if you own this place! Do you not know that you look ridiculous attacking that piece of paper? Have some decency, some decorum, to behave appropriately, at the very least. Sleep with your head neatly tucked upon your paws, tail curled around your feet. This sloppy manner in which you flop yourself higgledy-piggledy upon any surface without even bothering to lay down is a travesty for our kind. Running laps around the furniture makes you look idiotic, not cute. The family room is not your own personal obstacle course. Here’s a tip: when we jump from one surface to another, we do so with the full confidence of elegantly attaining our goal. If you cannot make it to the top of the chair, do not arrive halfway and then scramble to the top by your claws, or worse, fall back off again. Have some decency! It’s just embarrassing.
And stop eating my food.
Who do you think you are? You small, scruffy thing without a respectable tail. You have more fur projecting from your ears than on the rest of your scrawny hide. You can’t even meow properly. You sound continually as if you were being stepped on. You don’t even know how to respond when I warn you with my vicious growl. This submissive playing-dead thing you do is embarrassing. Fight back, run away…something. Anything!
You are hopeless excuse for a cat.
We are a dignified race. We allow the humans to occupy our homes for the simple reason that we cannot clean our own sandboxes. If it were not for that service, we would have no need of them at all. Although, I will admit that a warm lap is quite pleasant on a chilly evening.
Dignity is our middle name, moron. If you are going to play, you may bat delicately at a toy mouse. We do not roll upon our toys, or kick them with our feet. Another tip: do not eat the ribbon. You will be very sorry for this act later. And if you feel yourself about to be sick, make sure you do so on the white carpet in the den. When you are feeling ill, it is much more comfortable there than the cold wood floors in the rest of the house.
As it has now been nearly two weeks, I conclude that I must, at some point, tolerate your presence but that doesn’t mean I have to like you. I will continue to ignore you as much as possible, as long as you keep to yourself and stay off of my King-sized bed at the end of the hallway. I allow the humans to sleep there for a few hours per day, but it is, otherwise, mine.
P.S. The sand box at the end of the hallway is off-limits. There, I draw the line.
P.P.S. Smell my butt again and I’ll hit you with my claws out, next time.