Dear Little Joe,
First off, I’m sorry for calling you a “Jerk Face.” You’re not a Jerk Face. That was wrong of me. You might be acting like one. Like when you ate three lizards and then … there’s no pleasant way to say this … hacked them up on the back steps. You have to admit, that was a little Jerk Face-y. But you’re just my mother’s cat. You’ve had a lot to deal with. She’s been in rehab recovering from a broken hip and a fractured knee. I need to be cognizant of that. You’re not a “Jerk Face” and I’m sorry.
But I’m writing you this letter because we have to come to some kind of understanding. You and me. Mano a gato. Because, Little Joe, do you have to be so difficult? I mean, we’re all dealing with a lot here. It’s not easy. But we’re a family. We’re in this together.
For instance, like when I call you for dinner and you just meow back from the other side of the fence. What’s that all about? “Little Joe,” I call. “Meow?” you reply. “Little Joe, come on. It’s dinner,” I say again. “Me-ow!” you cry. It kind of sounds like you want me to come around the fence and pick you up. Like you want to be carried to dinner on a golden chariot. But I’m not some Roman kitty chauffeur!
When I told your mother this, she said you’re “just scared.” That I should go get you. Forget about it. You’re not scared, Little Joe. You’re lazy.
Or remember how you “marked your territory” in the utility room. What were you thinking? You sprayed the curtains real good. Took me forever to find the smell. I was down on my knees sniffing every corner of the floor. I inhaled some kitty litter! But where was it? Way above the washing machine. How did you even get up there?
Not cool, Little Joe. Not cool.
Your mother chalked that up to you needing an outlet. But you have an outlet. It’s called the litter pan! Please use it.
Or remember how you came home one night with a lizard hanging out of your mouth. Did you think about how that poor critter felt. Luckily you dropped him when I screamed, “You Jerk Face!” I had to give that poor fella’ CPR. He’s going to make it, Little Joe, but no thanks to you.
Or the broken picture frame. Or the smashed bird figurine. What do you do in the house at night? I’ve talked to you about roller derby.
As this long saga comes to a close, I just wanted to clear the air between us. Your momma is coming home and I need you to be a good kitty. Things are going to get back to normal. So you do better about spraying the curtains and I’ll do better about calling you “Jerk Face.”