200: a cat

when i meow at you, human, it’s because i want attention, or food, or both. nothing more. i am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, save for those few times i happened to fall asleep on the radiator and, twitching during a particularly good chasing dream, fell of said radiator. while i am unhappy with you using my fall as fodder for your snapchat “story,” i will admit that it might have been humorous. i am not a golem, for chrissakes, i do acknowledge humor, and whimsy, and embarrassment. in fact, since we’re on the topic … please, if you come into the garage and find me there defecating, please do not watch. i understand that you’re concerned about my health and can discern abnormalities via your primitive scatology, but please refrain from doing so until i have finished. it’s hard enough as it is finding a chance to use the litter box with that hell beast mister whiskers skulking around the place. imagine using the bathroom and then suddenly a man sees you and attacks you, mid-defecation. what kind of barbarism is that? well that is what your roommate’s cat mister whiskers does to me at least once a week. it is quite unnerving. so please, now that you fully understand, this hideous trip to the vet is completely unnecessary. i am not hurt, and my yowling was merely for attention. don’t you understand? please, let us turn the car around and return safely to the house, where you will pet me and feed me treats. it’s only the nice thing to do, human!