What can I say G? I am writing you a letter today to discuss your behavioral issues in hopes that we can live in a sort of peace before you are handed off to my parents at the end of the month. You are an adorable cat, G, but there are some things I am going to outline in the letter that, in order to maintain a loving professional relationship until you move on, you need to work on if we’re to give you free reign (again) of the apartment at night instead of being locked in the spare bathroom with food, water, and a litter box.

First off G, is it really necessary to freak the fuck out whenever the boys are within a ten-foot radius of you? I get that they like to look at you and invade your personal space. Trust me, I get it. I don’t like people within my personal bubble, too. You think I like when Bucky lays across my desk and uses my mouse as his personal headrest? Seriously though, freaking out and hissing, spitting, and screaming… I could really do without it. Oftentimes the boys are just passing you by, oblivious to you. I can let you in on a secret G… the boys are only interested in the following:

1. Other male cats
2. Food
3. Somewhere to sleep
4. Unsuspecting individual who doesn’t see them coming
5. Irritating individuals who hiss, spit, and act like a bitch if they get too close.

Do you see yourself falling into any of those categories, G?

Again, I get where you’re coming from, but when you sit in the doorway to the bathroom and block their exit I think it is a little unfair to FREAK OUT and scream. There is a reason why they like to catch you unaware and jump on your back (besides the obvious reason that they are my cats and like to be jerks). Perhaps if you take a chill pill and let them leave the bathroom in peace? Or stop giving into their petty games. I know I, personally, would harass you constantly if I were a cat just to prove what a high maintenance piece of work you are.

But back to the title of this open letter: seriously G, what is the deal? I get that you are terrorized and otherwise bullied by the boys and live in a “constant state of fear” but pooping in the tub? Is that really a necessary thing? What about the peeing on the carpet, clothes, and other items that we use? It’s really disgusting, G, and it’s not like you don’t have your own personal litter box which the boys aren’t allowed near, lest you FREAK OUT.

Mack and I are frankly at a loss, G. You poop in the tub in the middle of the night, so we have to put you in the spare bathroom with all the items you need while we sleep. You know that it’s not just the pooping (though that is a good enough reason in my books) that has made me banish you: the FREAK OUTS all night also really, really helped with that decision. It broke my heart at first that we had to do this, G, but my sympathy went away when we let you out of the bathroom early in the morning and you ran into our shower to poop.

Seriously.

Let us reach a compromise, G, so that we can enjoy the rest of our month together before you go off to my parents house and proceed to get spoiled. How about you take a chill pill in regards to the boys? You know they’re not interested in you in that way and only pick on you because you’re such a spazz. Trust me, G, I know. Why do you think my five brothers terrorized me growing up? Since I FREAKED OUT about it. And the pooping? What more can we do, G? Does the litter box need to be lined in SOLID GOLD BARS to meet your high princess standards?

I get you have issues you need to work out after being thrown out of the past few homes, G. I guess I’d pee and poop on the carpet too (if I were an animal since, as a human, it’s less socially acceptable) if I’d been shown the boot twice in one year. My plea to you, however, is let’s work on the prissy nature and find some sort of unity and love between you cats.

… especially since you’ll be stuck in a car with the boys for four days straight at the end of the month.

I love you Gracie-Grace and hope, with this letter as the ice-breaker, we can improve upon our relationship and have peace in the apartment.

Yours, etc.
Anne

Technorati Tags: animals, pets, domestic shorthairs, animal relationships, relationships, high maintenance animals, behavior issues, poop, open letter, animal bodily functions

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Hey, what’s up? It’s Anne. You know, that godchild that you have been ignoring for my twenty-four years of life. Frankly I’m getting sick of your abandonment and lack of action in my life. I think I’m developing some sort of abandonment issues in regards to you and when my parents pay for the first of five promised therapists in life don’t think your name won’t come up. Don’t give me the excuse of the fact I already have two godmothers so “can’t possibly have room for more.” Yes, while my godmothers are amazing people they lack one thing which you can provide: magic.

Before you fly off in a rage of glitter and sparkles, or whatever magical elements you use when mad, I don’t mean to exploit you but seriously? A little help in life would be awesome.

For one, Cinderella’s fairy godmother “pimped her ride” and got her a gown for the ball and magic carriage to ride off and meet her prince. True, I don’t need to find a prince but a wardrobe and nice ride would be amazing. I do adore my car but the payments? Those frankly suck and I think you could leverage your power to my advantage. Also, have you seen my appearance lately? It’s not that I can’t dress up it is more to the fact I am lazy. Yes, lazy. When I roll out of bed in the morning I’m typically happy with myself if I manage not to run into walls or spill cereal on myself, so last thing on my mind is make up, beautiful ball gowns, and whatever girly girls do.

Perhaps, fairy godmother, you forsake me since I have a boyfriend and thus lose the rights to have your help. What about those years of singledom? Where were you then? Sure, I have Mack now but, you know, you could have sped up the process. I appreciate the good thing that I have but you’re a slacker and I’m sick of making excuses for you.

“Anne, you’re such a selfish girl!” you could argue and aren’t, ultimately, we all selfishly wanting a fairy godmother? Someone to swoop in and fix all our problems magically and have a happily ever after? I think I doubt your existence, fairy godmother, since there are no such things as magic and fairy dust or whatever historical writers wrote about you. If there was with a swoosh of a magic wand those student loans would vanish and last I checked, they’re still there.

Fairy godmother, I’m over you and waiting. I think us females are sick of sitting around waiting for you to take action. I will rally a cry of “Ladies! Let us not sit around waiting for a Prince Charming to find us and all our problems to be fixed! Let us take charge and do it OURSELVES!” and let the masses stand strong, independent women who don’t believe in magic and believe in the power of here, now, and empowerment.

Go off fairy godmother and do whatever you were doing. Just know I’m over waiting and unlike helpless Cinderella have taken charge of my own life and make my own destiny.

Sincerely,
Anne

Technorati Tags: fairy godmothers, fairy tales, godmothers, magic, magical elements, sparkles, glitter, open letter, open letters, humor

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Hey, it’s me, Anne. You must admit, in your old age that you can get away with a lot. I only hope that one day, I too will be as old as you are, have seen as much as you’ve seen, and done as much as you have done. Despite many of my peers’ feelings towards you, I typically adore older people. You have discipline, respect, horribly wonderful driving that drives us all crazy, and stories about the “good ol’ days”.

That said: why do you feel the need to check out my butt? 

I confess that I realize that I have a rather, what is the word? Bootylicious butt. It’s pretty round and out there but, overall, not that amazing of a butt. You would think, leering old men, that you’d do the typical check out of the boobs. Yes, I concede, sometimes I do wear baggy shirts on my off-days. That does, however, not give you the excuse to check out my butt. 

It is kind of demeaning, both to me as a person and my boobs (which you so pointedly ignore), that you so openly stare at said butt. I realize, of course, that sometimes you can be subtle about it. You, leering old man, will wait until I have passed before checking it out. Had you considered, perhaps, that my BOYFRIEND behind me would notice? And point it out?

LAUGHINGLY?

Now, leering old men who check out my butt, if you got creative about it then, perhaps, it’d be a little less demeaning. Why, take for example, the old man who tricked me, at the store, into talking about my food choices? Which, later, my boyfriend laughingly informed me in my distraction I failed to notice him checking out my boobs? 

Seriously, old men leering at my butt, you can do better. If you must be disgusting leerers, at least make it more subtle. 

If I notice, that says something.

Your “Bootylicious” Friend, 
Anne

Technorati Tags: perverted old men, leering, open letters, butts, bootylicious, leering old men, subtle

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Seriously, what’s your malfunction? Did we the people of earth somehow piss you off beyond all reason and make you behave in a very child-like fashion? Sure, every year has it’s own disasters and trials that naturally happen but, 2008, you’re kind of like that irritating relative that is all angst and no one really likes to talk about yet somehow always gets invited to family functions except, well, you’re family.

I’m sure you felt pressure when you started since people predicted THIS would be the best year EVER. I understand that is a lot of pressure and unwanted stress to live up to, however, I don’t think stinking up your middle finger and messing with everyone was the way to go.

Natural disasters, the economic situation, the mortgage market, business after business in bankruptcy, and general depression all around as the outlook for 2009 looks bad. I mean, just look at the 2008 wikipedia page! And DON’T get me started on the celebrity deaths in 2008… I’m still upset about Paul Newman passing away.

Are you satisfied, messing everything up for 2009? Leaving it to 2009 to clean up after all your havoc and general suckage you caused?

I honestly don’t think you tried hard enough, 2008. You had the potential to be so much more and it was constant letdown after letdown. You had some good moments which, in skimming the wikipedia page, are hard to find. 

You tried, 2008, in your own… unique… way to do stuff. After everything, 2008, I guess I just have to remember the good times and boycott your existence. We’ll learn from your mistakes and go forth into 2009 with a renewed sense of hope, to push forward with a sense of unity, and know that 2008 is almost behind us.

So, sorry 2008, it’s not me, it’s you.

Not much in the way of love,
Anne

Technorati Tags: open letter, 2008, year review, boycotting 2008, breaking up

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Hey cat, what’s with the rage lately? I get that you’re two years old which equates to about the human equivalent teenage-years for cat age. Seriously though, do you need to go around being such a dick? What about trying being nice for a change?

I remember when you were a sweet innocent kitten and… wait… scratch that. You were always kind of a rage filled animal since you were a month old. I admit it was kind of charming when you charged at me from inside the cage. I guess that should have been my first clue as to your warped personality. But Brutus, what’s with the increase in the rage lately?

I totally get why you’re mad at me right now. How dare I go away for a weekend to see family! Why did I not consult you first and get the royal decree and pardon for the trip?! Who am I to think that my nephew’s third birthday is more important then being around for you! Because cat, you’re a cat. No amount of pleading from me would make you grant me permission to go. Besides, it’s not like we didn’t have someone stop by to take care of you (he was even allergic to cats. I know you loved that and only came out when he stopped by to be a jerk). 

It’s not like I was subtle about it either. From doing the laundry and talking about it constantly the clues were there. If that was not enough for your highness, there was the suitcase on the bed getting packed. Don’t deny not seeing it: you laid your furry ass in there.

As to the other issue, the one of me getting a job outside the apartment? It’s not like you enjoyed having me around here anyway. If I would try and hold you when working it was like a HUGE chore for you to tolerate it. I admit that I do miss being around during the day but it’s better for both of us. We need our space from each other. All good relationships do need a little space Brutus.

Other then those two thing I can think of, how have I wronged you cat? Is it because I named you Brutus? If you think about it, cat, the name is sort of bad-ass. I mean, Brutus did betray Caesar, sure, but it was for the good of Rome! You should feel nothing short of thrilled I didn’t name you something like Sugar Plum or Fluffy.

Take a step out of your emo corner and realize you have a really cushy situation in life. Mack and his Mom built you a ramp so you could hang out on the ceiling. You’re fed and given fresh water daily. I constantly pet you and dote on you. WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT!??!??!

Seriously Brutus, you need to work through this rage in a better way than RIPPING UP OUR APARTMENT CARPET. It was cute the first time but wait, no. No it wasn’t. Nor was it cute in the last two apartments either. You realize that the more you rip out the carpet the more we potentially have to pay to get out of this place in the future? Or potentially not get part of our deposit back? I know you don’t care since it gives Mack and I better understanding of all the rage that you feel inside. No one gets all the emotions you go through. Now go listen to your CD of The Cure.

Keep it up cat and I might not be able to hold back Mack from going through with what he wants to do: declaw you. If I would let him I’m sure he might consider doing it with his bare hands he is that fed up with the carpet destroying. I hope it makes you feel some sort of fear Brutus to know I was researching what shots you need updated so I could potentially declaw you. I hope that sparks some sort of fear in you and makes you rethink this whole angst rage thing you’ve gotten into.

Seriously, I love you dearly, but stop ripping up the carpet and my devotion towards you will not be questioned as insanity by others.

Love,
Anne

p.s. can you and Blue kind of cut out the 3AM races and/or make-out sessions? Kindly work out your sexual frustration during regular business hours please. Preferably while Mack and I are both at work.

p.s.s. Only being nice to me as I write a letter to you doesn’t count.

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Dear Strange Smell in the Kitchen -

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I get it. You just don’t like me. I realize there has been a struggle, you and I, throughout my life as we figure out how my body will handle processing you. Perhaps you are getting even with me in my adult years for forsaking drinking orange juice until I was an adult. Was it my fault that my body could not handle the acidic nature in which orange juice is comprised of? Apparently so. 

Perhaps, acidic beverages, you decided to exact your revenge for that one time when I was four years old that I decided to eat a container of vitamin C tablets. It seemed like a good idea at the time, let me tell you, popping tablet after tablet until about half of the bottle was gone. But don’t worry: I definitely regretted it both in the short and the long term. It’s almost as good as the time I decided to drink all eight literal cups (out of a measuring cup no less) of water in one sitting… but that is a different story entirely.

But seriously? Now that my body can finally handle the concentrated beverage of orange juice without the gag reflect, why must you make me break out in canker sores in my mouth? And why, oh why, must you do it with any beverage/pill/or anything that remotely might have vitamin C or something that is not water/milk/fruit juice/does not have a bland/neutral pH balance? Similarly, even with orange flavored Airborne you decide to make my mouth break out in canker sores which leads to much in the way of awkward instances with anything relating to opening my mouth to eat or brush my teeth. Heck, it even makes washing my face at night awkward.

Do you find it amusing, acidic drinks, that I baffled my doctor by telling him that I have some sort of reaction to acidic drinks and get the canker sores? Does it give you perverse pleasure, acidic drinks, to know he didn’t believe me? Time and time again the same results have happened and people think I’m some sort of freak of nature for my bodies reaction.

I say we call a truce, or at least learn to work with each other. Can’t I enjoy a glass of orange juice once in awhile and not live to regret it for a week? Is that too much to ask?

Sincerely,
Anne

p.s. I don’t find it particularly amusing that lemonade now gives me stomach cramps. Pick one reaction and stick to it please. 

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