Dear Cat

Dear Cat,

Thanks for being an asshole and tagging me last night. Now, thanks to you, it looks like I carved a number seven (or the letter L, depending on how you look at it) on my right hand.



I was walking past the bed last night, on my way to the bathroom to put some towels away when OldLadyCat tagged me. She didn’t hiss or give any indication she was going to reach out and whack me one either, which is unusual for her. I think, with it being not especially bright in the bedroom at the time, she thought maybe I was my son who she doesn’t particularly care for. At nearly seventeen, I think her sight and sense of smell are starting to go which would kind of explain why she tagged me the way she did. I don’t blame her for it..old age sucks that way.

Over the last couple of years, she’s also gotten more clingy. I think she’s been developing the kitty version of Alzheimer’s and it’s made her want to be around us (especially me for some reason) that much more. She started sleeping up in our faces (which she’d never done before) a lot more which means that at least three mornings a week I wake up with a smelly cat butt in my face.

I realize that she’s not gonna live forever and every day, when I see her napping, I poke her to make sure she’s still alive. Because I’m dreading the day I find her asleep and I poke her and she DOESN’T look up at me with that “Why the hell did you just poke me?” look. When that day comes, I know it’s gonna just tear me the heck up. We’ve had her pretty much her entire life and she is as much my child as my own son.


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