Dear Meow and Roar,
The two of you absolutely crack me up. You are the most fun and cute cats we could ever have found to become a part of our family, and I’m so grateful to my friend that she found you and brought you to us. Even when you aren’t trying to, your antics keep me in stitches. It may drive the wee ones bonkers how you have chosen some of their stuffed animals – and truly, just a select group – to be your “babies” that you carry downstairs and take care of, but I think it’s sweet.
And the irony that you have chosen primarily the Angry Birds stuffed animals Santa brought the wee ones years ago? It’s perfect. Because I’ll let you in on a little secret. Those stuffed animals aren’t actually “real” stuffed animals. They’re actually dog toys. You see, the real stuffed animals were ungodly expensive and didn’t have fun Angry Birds replicating noisemakers in them. These? Well a pack of 3 of them cost less than $10 and the Angry Birds noises sealed the deal. I love that you’ve retaken them as pet toys. And especially, Meow, that you’ve figured out how to throw the yellow bird in such a way as to set off his noise. And then freak out each time he does it and run away.
I love the way you’ve adopted the wee ones as your own. The fact that you sleep with Little Miss and Mister Man for at least part of each night makes them so incredibly happy. And the fact – Roar, I’m looking at you – that you get upset when I don’t go to bed early enough to suit your preferences and start to meow at me to hurry up the stairs so you can come cuddle with me is really sweet.
That said, not everyone appreciates your need to be in the bathroom with them at all times. I can deal with it because I grew up with cats and learned to expect it from my own previous cats. Mister Man does not like it when you force your way in to join him, however. I can always tell when you’ve finagled a bathroom visit with him because he’s constantly scolding you. I do sometimes wonder what you’re doing…. It’s my husband that I feel somewhat sorry for. You need to just learn to spend the last portion of the night sleeping in my bed so that you don’t have to meow quite so piteously from outside the bathroom door begging him to let you in. He’s not a morning person, you know.
I have to apologize for my own teasing of you, too. I know you adore playing with the laser light. And it’s hilarious to watch you skitter across the floor trying to capture it. I hate to break it to you that it’s just a light and not a fearsome monster you must defeat. That’s exactly how you react, you know. And poor Meow. You are so incredibly offended when I “accidentally” have the laser touch you or – worse – rest on your paw. You remind me of a kid who’s just been told he has cooties every time you notice the light landing on you.
We do all rub along together pretty well as a family, I think. I love watching the two of you groom each other, and Roar, I appreciate you taking the time to be thorough with Meow since we all know he is just a tiny be slovenly. I know you see me as part of your pack, too, and you are so happy whenever I walk in the door if I’ve been away for any length of time. Your run to greet met with happy meows always makes my day.
It’s nice to know you want to help me with my work, too. You both do such a great job of cuddling up with me to keep me warm even if I don’t need it. I promise, however, that my wrists are generally not cold. There is no need to lay across my forearms and wrists to ensure that I don’t freeze. It merely makes it difficult to type. Or move, for that matter. Instead, go ahead and curl up next to me. We’re both happy that way, and I promise to give you a few extra scritches if you do.
Thanks for being awesome. And loving the wee ones. We can’t imagine our lives without you!
The post is inspired by the book “A Letter to My Cat: Notes to Our Best Friends” by Lisa Erspamer. As a part of the From Left to Write book club, we receive books, but instead of writing traditional book reviews, we write posts inspired by the books we read.