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 … Continue reading A letter to Little Joe, the cat