Honesty Time

Keeping it real since 2013

A Message From The Cat

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I write to you because my owner (aka MOOOOOOOM) is not capable of doing so herself. 

Similar to how she is incapable of feeding me at 4am. Or tolerating my Velcro tongue kisses on her hands for the full required 20 minutes. I don’t know what fibromyalgia and eczema are, but I don’t care. I shall lick. And whine. 

My mother is busy because she has been using a loud machine every day and she says funny sounding words at it and then yells. 

Actually, the same words and yelling she directs towards me at 4am. Which must mean that she loves and worships that funny machine.

I know I worship it. Because when she uses it, she drops small, thin snakes on the ground. Then I get to hunt the snakes and eat them. Then I get to throw them up before the sun has come up because I don’t really like to eat those little snakes, I just want to show them who is in charge. 

Lately, Mom has been coming home very late. She complains about kids and some things called “costumes” and “microphones”. 

She doesn’t even have time to feed me. So her mother, my grandma, has to feed me my gooshy food at night. But I am fussy, and will only accept the food from mother’s hands. So I run away from my grandma. Then she chases me. This must be what you humans call exercise. You’re welcome. 

When my mother comes home, many hours after my dinner time, she yells. Again. It must be that she is glad to see me and is so happy that I am still awake, out of my room, and that I waited to eat until she got home. That must be it. I am so kind to her. 

On nights like tonight, when she arrives home way after my bedtime, I eagerly await her so that she may worship and feed me properly. But she gets right into my big bed and turns off the lights and flashing picture box. And gives me no pets. 

I must stage a protest. I will. Perhaps at 3am this next morning. Perhaps I shall vomit. Or knead her sore legs. Or jump on the large wood box where she keeps her sticks and snakes and bottles. Perhaps I shall bring her a mouse to show her that I harbor no hard feelings to her recent neglect. But I must do so with much fanfare, and announce my gift, so that she knows how sincere I am. Yes, 3am will be the perfect moment for this.

I am aware that Mom says that she is “almost done with this work”, so I assume that means that she will soon pet me for hours again. She is doing a poor job serving me. Good thing I love her. 

I must take my slumber now, as I have to wake up soon and commence running from one side of the room to other in order to stay limber. 

A cat’s life is so busy. I don’t know what my mom is complaining about. Busy? She doesn’t even bring me feather demons like I do for her. She is lazy. Oh, you humans. 



(The cat)

(The superior one)


Author: Allyssa Ellen

A costumer, a makeup artist, an educator, and a librarian, all rolled up into one convenient, fun-sized package.

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