Dear Mookie, Laney, Leo, and Turtle,
We need to chat.
Over the past week, each of you have engaged in some questionable activity, leading me to believe that you have taken leave of your senses and are possibly on drugs. There are certain house rules that have been flagrantly disobeyed and such behavior will not longer be tolerated.
I'm serious about this.
I'm considering withholding the kitty pot and fifth doggie treat of the day.
Turtle and Leo, let's start with you two and the "accidents" you keep having in my bathroom.
While I understand that it's dark at night and it might be hard to see where you are going, I find this excuse weak. Leo, dark or not, unless you feel fresh air on your nose and dirt under your paws, you should not be going to the bathroom anywhere. And Turtle, you're a cat. You can see in the dark. And we both know it.
The next excuse, while creative, is equally unacceptable. It's MY bathroom, folks. Not yours. I'm the only one allowed to go to the bathroom in there.
So, let me reiterate the rule: TURTLE: littlerbox only. LEO: outside only (and preferably not on my flowers).
Laney, you are next.
I'm not sure how, after 12 years of not being allowed on the couch you have suddenly decided that it's totally OK. It's still not OK and it's especially not OK when you have muddy paws.
Furthermore, I need you to STOP chasing your sister, Turtle, all over the house. It scares her and makes her wet her pants. Which makes me angry and I'm the one who hands out treats around here, so you want me decidedly not angry.
But Mookie, your antics are of the greatest concern.
First, and I know we've covered this many times, but you insist on repeating these behaviors. Let me reiterate that the items on the list below are never acceptable:
1. Face-swatting to get your way
2. Walking on Leo
3. Chasing Turtle (see Laney's section above)
4. Overdosing on cat nip
5. Knocking over bedside lamps to annoy us into getting up to cater to whatever whim is currently on your mind
6. Knocking over floor lamps when you are racing around the house chasing invisible chipmunks
7. Speaking of chipmunks, NEVER ACCEPTABLE TO LEAVE INTESTINES AND BRAINS ON MY FRONT STEPS
8. Crossing the street
9. Sleeping in other's beds -- and if you keep that up, any one of the three of them are going to murder you in your sleep
10. Swatting Laney's tail
11. Batting Leo in the face
But it's not just your antagonistic behavior that's on my mind this week. I've been accepting that ridiculousness since day 1. I've aalso ccepted that and the fact that you are pretty darn clumsy for a cat. Not many felines fall off of counters. Granted, you had a bag on your head, but still -- questionable intelligence. Which leads me to the activity of greatest concern....
You know you are not supposed to go outside.
And yet, you escape daily.
Because I am your care-giver, I worry.
You often escape early in the morning when I'm cranky and sleepy.
Which means that you spend the day outside while I earn money to pay for cat nip and treats. We live in Rochester.
It rains.
It snows.
It sleets.
It's cold.
And that's not ideal for a little white kitty.
So I built you a house to protect you when I cannot.
It's the same color as our house, so you will know it's home.
It's got your favorite little bed in there (Leo's).
It's got cat nip and a toy (Turtle's) in there.
It's made of solid wood with a raised floor to keep you warm and comfortable and dry.
It's a nice house.
And you were not interested for days.
You sniffed it.
You walked around it.
But you would not use it.
You stubbornly (stupidly?) remained in the elements.
And then there was the rainstorm yesterday morning.
You escaped (as per usual).
You got stuck outside (unsurprising).
But you saw your house (shocking).
Built to shelter you from getting wet and being cold (by the one who loves you the most).
And when I came downstairs, I was hoping I would find you using it (and that I would find chocolate).
And, little Mookie Boo, you were!
All parents want to believe their children are of superior intelligence.
But for most, there comes a moment when you realize that your child, like you, is just average.
And that's fine.
For a few, however, there comes a moment when you must accept that your child is, perhaps, more than a few crayolas short of a box.
And you have to decide if you are going to be embarrassed for their deficiencies or celebrate their accomplishments and see everything you possibly can as an achievement.
Yesterday morning, looking out into the cold, rainy outdoors, I found myself realizing I am one of those parents.
I decided to be the latter.
So, Mookie, I am very proud of you for using your little house.
It's very smart of you.
Even if you thought the best way to use it when it was sleeting was to sit on top of it, getting drenched, rather than sitting in it. Where it's warm. And dry. And generally awesome.
You're very special.
