A Letter To The Cats

Dear Cats,
We need to talk.

When I say to move, it means go someplace else, not switch positions with each other so there are still two
cats in the way.

The dishes with the paw print are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my
food. Please note, placing a paw print in the middle of my plate and food does not stake a claim for it
becoming your food and dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.

The stairway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a racetrack. Beating me to the bottom is not the
object. Tripping me doesn't help, because I fall faster than you can run.

I cannot buy anything bigger than a king size bed. I am very sorry about this. Do not think I will continue
to sleep on the couch to ensure your comfort. Look at videos of cats sleeping; they can actually curl up
in a ball. It is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other stretched out to the fullest extent possible.

I also know that sticking tails straight out and having tongues hanging out the other end to maximize space used is nothing but feline sarcasm.

My compact discs are not toys for you and your friends to play with.

For the last time, there is not a secret exit from the bathroom. If by some miracle I beat you there and
manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, try to turn the knob, or get your paw
under the edge and try to pull the door open. I must exit through the same door I entered. In addition, I
have been using bathrooms for years and I know that feline attendance is not mandatory.

The proper order is kiss me, then go smell the other cat's butt. I cannot stress this enough. It should be
such a simple change for you.

Sincerely,
The Person Who Lives Here
(and buys your food)