To: Ellie and Rocky, AKA "My Caretakers"
From: One small, fluffy, beleaguered kitty who really deserves none of this
Re: Whatever the HELL happened this week
Hello.
I have been under your care for two and a half months now, and while generally it has indeed been the best thing to ever happen to me, I have some things to say. Mostly, they concern the absolute trauma and strife you have put me through in the past week, apparently "for my own good," as you keep telling me. Are you not aware that that's what the bad guys in movies always say??
First, two weeks ago, I was unceremoniously stuffed (yes, STUFFED) into the plastic cage you brought me home in. Not even my most plaintive, dramatic meows would get you to soften your hearts towards one Rosie Poulin-Cascolan. I was taken against my will to "The Vet," and after I realized that my cries were not to be heard, I gave up and stewed in silence, my cage carefully buckled into the passenger seat.
I thought I got off scot-free, saved by the bell, as The Vet told you that I wasn't fit for anesthesia because I had eaten during the night. I didn't know who Anesthesia was, but I rejoiced as we returned home, and immediately hid under the bed – I knew you couldn't get me down there, and I basked in my success.
It was all for naught – you, who I trusted, who petted me at 4am when I needed attention lest I perish – you did it again, the next week! Once again, forced into the carrier, once again, put in the car, once again, brought to The Vet. I acknowledge that you told me I was "a brave girl" and that you knew I didn't like it, and that I was "being so good" and "such a sweet kitty." Thank you. It is nothing less than what I deserve.
Ah, I lost the fight with Anesthesia that day. She's a slippery spectre, and I hope she faces me like a woman someday. I must have passed out, and when I awoke I was in my carrier again, alone. You LEFT me! You DROPPED me OFF! But then you came back. And again, you told me that I was "so brave," "so cute," and "doing so well." Again, thank you for the bare minimum.
You give me love, you give me food, you give me treats and soft places to sleep – but you let Anesthesia TAKE my TEETH! If this is about the biting, I PROMISE I'll never bite you again. Even though I always mean it in a playful way, and I never broke skin after the first time. I saw that it hurt. I'm sorry – I'm still learning to be a cat.
Sigh... two of my teeth are gone. And you keep trying to wrap me in a blanket, and shove a nasty-tasting syringe in my mouth. I do like being a blanket burrito, and the syringe seems to make the pain in my gums go away, but the INDIGNITY of it all! My ancestors roamed the deserts, respected and feared. And I'm told daily that I'm "too fluffy for my own good."
I do feel better though. I'm looking forward to eating my favorite dry food and crunchy treats in a few weeks, and my teeth won't hurt as much. Even if it takes some drama to get healed, I suppose I'm built for the drama. I'm a cat after all.
And you are... you are pretty alright Management, all things considered. I might even start to consider you my parents. I don't know what "work" is, because I'm not inclined to it, but every "work" day I look forward to you coming home and being together, the three of us. I suppose it's alright here.
Best,
Rosie
P.S. Please stop telling people that I am "not a go-getter" or "not adventurous" or "not a problem solver." I am conserving my energy for world domination via cuteness, and solving the problem of "how to get my humans to snuggle me on the bed." I'm BUSY.