Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Dear Stupid, Wonderful Cat...
Dear Stupid, Wonderful Cat,
I love you dearly, but if tonight is anything like last night, I may be forced to strangle you with my bare hands.
You're fourteen years old. You've been around long enough to know that waking us up at 2:30 in the morning with repeated meowing may be effective at getting our attention, but is not the best way to endear yourself to your parents.
If you didn't get the hint the first five times I yelled at you -- "FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY, FREDERICK EYNSFORD HILL-CAT, WILL YOU PLEASE SHUT UP!" -- I really, really, REALLY wanted you to stop talking. But did you? No, you didn't.
How many times have we told you this before? There are only three valid reasons for waking us up in the middle of the night:
1) There is an intruder in the house who is stealing all our stuff, and possibly intends to harm us.
2) The house is on fire, and we are in imminent danger of asphyxiation from smoke inhalation.
3) The Publisher's Clearing House Prize Patrol is at the door, waiting to award us with a ginormous check, which will allow us to retire early and travel the world.
Any other reason for waking us up at that ungodly hour is unacceptable, and will be responded to with unmitigated fury at worst, or severe annoyance at best.
Being lonely is not a valid excuse. Wanting to be petted is not a valid excuse. Being bored and seeking adventure in other parts of the house which we are occupying -- also not a valid excuse.
Do not be confused by the ultimate result of your plaintive pleas. You will not always be lucky enough to convince your mama to let you in so that you will shut the heck up. This was a one-time-only occurrence, not a new precedent we have set.
You have good hearing, I know you do. If you come to our door and hear snoring -- and you will, as both of your parents have recurring sinus problems -- this is not an acceptable time to announce your intentions to visit us.
I love you dearly, and in general, enjoy your company quite a lot. You are adorably cute, your meow -- known by most of your family members as a merp -- is really first-rate, and I miss you when you're not around. But not in the middle of the night. Never then.
Remember this, as in so doing, you may save your own life.
I love you dearly, but this has got to stop. Immediately. Or else.