Smeagol;
Just because the door is closed does not mean you have to go through it. The front yard is the same as it was ten minutes ago, when you came in. I am not doing the open the damn door thing all flippin day. And no, it isn’t staying open. I don’t care if you like it or not, it’s cold out there.
Junior;
It is not funny when you crawl under the blanket and put your wet nose on my leg. I know you think mommy is laughing as she jumps into the air out of a dead sleep, but really, that’s a scream. And sharpening your claws on my tires? Fur mittens, buster, if I catch you again. Got me? Good.
While I’ve enjoyed our time together immensely, I feel there are a few things we need to discuss.
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Please stop putting crack in your cat food. The resulting spurts of mindless running, jumping, and tearing at the walls seems obsessive. And the repairs are costly.
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While I understand that you enjoy your time in the litter box, I really must insist on a 20 minute limit. You spend one minute crapping, and 99 other minutes scratching at the walls.
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That leads to point number 3, the scratching. No only do you rip up the walls, the furniture, and any article of clothing I may leave laying around, you seem to have developed a teddy bear fetish. Stop it, they’re mine.
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The carpets mean you no harm, please stop attacking them at random, and ripping them to shreds. I don’t get this one, it doesn’t make sense. So knock it off.
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Stop eating my shoes. Seriously, stop it. It’s not funny. You’re costing me a fortune.
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Why the closet fetish? You’re not happy unless your in my closet, eating my damn shoes! Why closets?
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And finally, damn you for pissing under my desk!
Dude:
You are not being chased by demons, gremlins, bigger cats, pink elephants on parade, killer mice, the Terminator, me, or your evil twin.
What, then, is that freaky thing sneaking up on your haunches, you ask? Let me tell you: it’s your poop. Yes. Your poop. A natural bodily function.
I know you sat in your box for a minute. That minute wasn’t long enough. You need to relax and just let the poop escape your body through your anus. Do not fear the poop. It means you no harm. It just eliminates waste. It’s friendly.
Running around like a mad bastard really isn’t productive. Nothing is chasing you – not even the poop, which is just trying to squeeze out through your clenched ass.
And when you stop running and huddle under the desk or in the corner? You notice how the thing that chases you seems to disappear? That’s because you pooped under the desk.
Yeah, I know you didn’t mean it. I know. but you’re going to do it again in a day or two anyway, aren’t you?
I love you, man, but you’ve got some bodily function acceptance issues.
Also, those things in the hallway? Shoes. They didn’t try to kill you yesterday, last week, last month, last year or ever. No need to approach with caution.
Thanks.
Your loving owner,
Interrobang!? (and Mrs. Interrobang!?, to boot)
MixieArmadillo – Have you tried putting something bitter on the cat litter? Non-toxic of course. This http://eastbayspca.org/petownership/commoncatbehavior.cfm recommends, if your cats are eating houseplants, to spray something to keep them off the plants. Cat repellent probably wouldn’t be the best thing for the litter box, though. Do you think some lemon juice or vinegar on the litter would drive him completely away from the box or just stop his litter-eating behavior?
And, Morton, you do not need to stop your kittens from nursing just to greet me when I come to play with you guys. They are hungry; this is why they are feeding. Steven, the air conditioner is not your personal playground – just because you sit on it doesn’t mean we’ll let you in the house. Yes, you are a big fierce tomcat, who looks like a pirate, but your sweet little meow gives you away for the big softie you are. Lovely kitties!
Climber,
I love you and respect you. Let’s get that clear up front.
I am not going to die in my sleep. So stop checking to see if I’m still breathing. I get freaked out, you get freaked out, it’s a lose- lose game.
What’s with the butter? You usually come and investigate my food, decide it’s not actually your type of food, and let it be. So why do you lick all the butter off my toast when I’m not defending it? (Oh, and licking my lips to get that last trace of butter is just not on.)
I know you think my job when I get home is to play with you. If you let me in the house long enough to put my crap down, I would.
I know you think I should just stay my ass on the couch, so you can sleep in my lap. I like it too, when I have the leisure to do so. Please understand I am studying hard, and not enjoying it much, and you looking at me like I am Evil Person does nothing for our rapport.
However, thank you for putting up with silly little homeless kitty. He was a punk, and you were very gracious to him anyways.
Thank you for letting me sleep in on my days off. It’s a lovely thing to wake up with you curled up next to me, knowing I can go back to sleep with you keeping me warm.
Thank you for never actually telling me what you think of my life. I have a feeling I am grateful you don’t speak English.
lillalette, thanks for the suggestions, but it’s a clumping litter, so any bad tasting liquid would just make it into a large, solid cake of bad tasting corn crumblies. Plus, knowing him, he’d eat it and like it anyway. I swear, that cat will eat absolutely anything I give him.
I am, to say the least, reluctant to put any sort of cat repellant on the litterbox, since it does have some useful functions ;).
And so, in summary:
Dear Poe-kitty,
You have piss-breath, but I love you anyway. Except for the whiskers on the face thing at 3 AM.
Love,
Mom
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There are better ways to get mom’s attention than scratching the arm of the Queen-Anne style arm chair at 3 am.
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If you’d just hold still and not bite, combing and claw-clipping would be quick and painless.
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You’re white and hairy. Mom’s wearing black slacks and on her way to work. Don’t rub on the legs. Please?
Mixie have you tried the litter crystals? I think they’d be about impossible to eat, and bonus? No cat piss smell!
I do like the idea of the crystals, however one major benefit of the World’s Best is that it’s both flushable and not messy at all. This makes it very easy to keep the box clean (scoop the clumps, flush 'em down the toilet, end of story), whereas with other litters I’d have to bag it separately and take it out every day, forcing me to be more intimate with his excretions than I’d prefer, heh. I’m not sure if it’s a stereotypic (compulsive) litter eating behavior, in which case I’d be afraid of him eating the crystals. If, however, it’s just an attraction to the corn, then maybe I just need to suck it up and get something else. I’d like to stay away from sillica, though. There’s a wheat-based litter, which he may not be as attracted to as the corn, however I’m told it’s a lot gunkier than the corn stuff. Hrmph.
Dearest Z:
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Rubber bands ARE NOT FOOD.
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Your voice is indeed lovely, but sometimes it would be nice if you’d be quiet while I’m on the phone.
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If you feel a barf coming on, please make the attempt to aim for carpet. Barf does not belong on my bed, or on that magazine I carelessly left on the floor. It does not belong on the top of the wicker basket. The floor will do nicely, thank you.
Geek … Buddy…
1: I do appreciate the vigor with which you attempt to conceal the evidence of your doings in the litter box. But please… Keep the litter IN the box. Stepping on litter while barefoot on the way through the kitchen first thing in the morning doesn’t tend to aid my somewhat tenous grasp on a good disposition.
2: I appreciate that you are happy to see me when I get home. However, stopping in front of my feet to get my attention in the hallway on my way in serves only to get you kicked (Accidentally). Its been 6 years now. Please. Buy a clue.
3: I have come to terms with the fact that you are not a lap cat… usually… Why is it, then, that you feel the one time when you simply MUST sit on my lap is in the bathroom? It is a very strange habit you have which factored heavily in the choosing of your name.
4: For some reason you have decided that getting to bed at night is a race. Yes, you always win. I’m proud of you. But since you continually choose to get on the bed at precisely the spot where I need to turn back the covers, you will get moved. This happens every night and has nothing to do with me being a sore loser, so please spare me the indignant looks. Jump onto the foot of the bed and you won’t get moved.
5: I am very happy that you have suddenly decided that being brushed or having matted hair trimmed, is not in fact some sort of sadistic torture I perform for the sheer joy of bandaging my wounds afterwards. I do wonder, though, just what sort of alien life form has possessed your mind to bring about such a profound change in your personality. Whoever you are, please don’t hurt me. I feed you.
Duffy,
I have never beat you. Therefore, there is no reason for you to cower and/or run every time I reach out for you.
Ashleigh,
I appreciate the fact that you need to run. However, please do not use my crotch area for a trampoline as you pass on each lap around the house.
Pearl,
Karma really sucks, doesn’t it? While you stayed at our cousin’s house, you bullied their Kiki cat into submission. Now that you’re home, Duffy is bullying you. However, staying under the bed or inside the kitchen cabinet all day and night is not acceptable. You do need to eat, drink, and pee/poop once in a while.
Rico I love your kitties’ names. 
Mixie I only pack out the used up litter. Otherwise, just give the poo a few hours to dry, then scoop it up, rattle it in the scoop to shake off the excess pearls, and flush. Nothing to dispose of in between (bi-weekly for two cats, monthly for one cat) changing out litter, except for the poos themselves. It would be a Bad Thing, though, if he ate the crystals.
Dear Catman,
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Do you have to constantly put your butthole in my face? I’d rather not see it, thank you very much.
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Can you make an effort not to scratch the litter box and everything around it for what seems like hours at a time? Also, could you not do it at four in the morning?
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You know we have a dog, right? We’ve had her for nearly three years. Why is it that every time she enters a room, you freak out as if you’ve never seen her before?
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You know I have a live-in boyfriend, right? I’ve had him for nearly eight years. Could you please try to get over your insane jealousy of him? He’s a nice guy, and I’m sure you’d like him if you’d give him a chance. Attacking him when he doesn’t expect it, or glaring at him every time he enters the room are not good ways to make friends.
Dear Pup:
I miss you little buddy. For sixteen years you were my furry friend. Wherever i went, you followed. If I went walking in the woods, I always knew you were there behind me. You moved with me from California to the east coast and learned to be an outdoor cat…and loved it, even though you always walked on grass like it was somehow dirty.
Every single night when I pulled into the driveway you were there, waiting. It’s so strange now that you are not. It’s been two weeks since you passed but I still wake up expecting to see you curled up at the bottom of the bed.
Pup, I wish cats lived as long as people.
P.S. I hope cat heaven is full of humans. I know how you hate other cats.
I’m so sorry, wakimika
To the rest of you: Thanks for the laughs.
Oh… Geek… One other thing…
That squirrel in the yard would most likely kick your ass… Stop sitting in the window staring at him twitching your tail like you have a chance. He’s a street fighter. The most you have ever killed was a stuffed mouse on the end of a string. Relax.
Dear Cookie,
You’re adorable, and I love you, but you’ve got a problem. Cookie, this is an intervention: you are fat. You are an obese cat. It’s not healthy for you - the Vet told me so. (You know, the nice lady whose eyes you tried to gouge out? That’s her.) Therefore you’re only allowed a controlled diet. Me standing at the sink does not mean I’m going to feed you. Nor does me coming through the door in the middle of the afternoon. Nor does me opening the fridge. I don’t keep your food in the fridge. Nor does me sitting on the toilet. I’m. Not. Going. To. Feed. You. It’s working, too - you’ve lost a pound in the last six months. Well done, we’re all very proud of you.
There’s another thing, too: when I’m lying in bed at 6.30 am, I’m not going to get up to feed you. You know I get up at 7.30, and coming in to wake me up an hour early every morning simply isn’t working; nor has it for the past 2 years. Give it up. And when you do wake me up, please try not to use your claws. I found a huge scratch across my stomach the other day, that I presume you inflicted on me in my sleep. Please also don’t use your teeth. I liked it when you tapped me on the shoulder with your paw - that was anthropomorphic and funny. I liked it when you hit the alarm clock to try to make it go off, or threw mrs jjimm’s rings on the ground. I laughed my head off at you. But not when you sank your fangs and claw into my toe. That was irritating. One day I might just lash out in my sleep, and I truly don’t want to hurt you.
Admitting you have a problem is the first step to curing it. Please stop nagging.
Oh, OK, but just a couple of nuggets. But only because you’re doing that meercat standing-up thing I taught you, and it’s soooo cute!
*hehehehe, Poor Cookie. *
Dear Frodo (and, to a lesser extent, Mischief):
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Stop running outside. You are not an outdoor kitty. Even if you were, you would get far more food, love and cuddletime being ALIVE and INSIDE than OUTSIDE and possibly dead (and very cold).
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Stop running outside. There is no prey for you to stalk, unless you count dried leaves and bark. I do not enjoy running after you nearly as much as you must think.
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Stop running outside. Some day, before I lose the ability given by my opposable thumbs, I would like to be able to leave both front doors open for more than the half-second it takes you to go from the upstairs to 50 feet into the yard and under the barbed-wire fence which I must climb over (there’s a gap, sort of) to fetch you back into the house again … without seeing a gray blur move at the approximated sped of fifteen miles per half second. I enjoy seeing you set land speed records, but please do not do it at my expense.
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“Look at me, I just went potty in the potty place” is a fun game to play. We enjoy it, because otherwise we would have to do a lot more than just scoop up litter and throw it in the trash. Scratch the litter box all you want, and maybe we will come tell you to shut up, so to speak. But when fizzy has gone to bed and we are having cuddletime, we are not going to come and see that you just laid the stinky poo by which all others are measured. In actuality, we are going to ignore you until the stench goes away. Or possibly longer.
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The door is closed. Again, the door is closed. Please do not come traipsing in like you are God’s gift to everything that is, was, and ever shall be … especially if you have just drunk from the toilet or gone potty. Cleaning litter out of the bed is not my idea of a fun time, especially when I must do it in the dark so as not to wake up the one who wanted you here in the first place. Having wet paws on my face is even lower on my list of Happy Kitten Things.
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Do not sit on my face. I, ah, really don’t know where you got the idea that I like for living things to sit on my face (shut your faces, all of you!). It is not my idea of a good time for you to come waltzing in and sit on my face and vibrate.
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The door is STILL closed. And we have locked it, though why I have no idea, because you paw at it for about ten seconds and it opens and you come walking in. Or running in. Or you and Mischief decide it is time to practice your newest obstacle course, which involves roughly 15 laps on top of the bed, over the bed, onto the bureau, into the door, through five bags, over my face, up and down the bedposts, nothing but net.
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The computer screen is not attacking you. It is neither prey. The mouse is not an ACTUAL mouse, and the mousepad is not your personal pad (eg living quarters). I WILL MOVE YOU FROM THOSE PREMISES. Do not try to hop up and cover the computer screen with your entire body or I will toss you (literally) from the room.
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Fine. I just tossed you from the room. Do not come back in and try to do your floor-my lap-computer desk-computer-screen hop. I will catch you mid-lap and toss you from the room again. I may well use five-letter words, or my usual 7-letter ones.
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The sink is not an acceptable place to take a nap, especially when we are doing something in it. I have no qualms removing you from it and tossing you onto the floor. Having seen the grace with which you land, I know that I do not have to exert much effort to ensure your survival.
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Yes, I have gotten myself something to drink. It is not for you. You have two toilets and a water dish to use. Neither fizzy nor I got ourselves a drink in a container thinking “Ah, lovely! Perhaps the cat would like to share in this drink by putting his paws in it, drinking from it and/or tipping it over, hoping to catch some of the refreshing liquid within!” You are crestfallen, I know. Diet Vanilla Coke is not a beverage made for, or marketed to, cats.
Sincerely,
iampunha
This cannot be left alone. When I stop laughing myself sensless I may well make some witty reply to this… In the mean time I must attempt to regain my composure before the rapidly approaching time for my date tonight. Suffice it to say, though you may not like such things… I’m rather hoping my date turns out that way…