Letter from the Cat

Dear Cat Formerly-Known-As-Downy, I envy you your escape--that delirious dash to freedom between the lumbering back legs of Feet shuffling in Dansko clogs to take out the recycling.  She is clumsy, isn't she?  And her ass DOES look big in that Gudren Sjoden dress no matter what lies Hands tells her.  How did you know she was more involved in her vodka drink than caring for your welfare and that was your moment?  Eh.  It's an instinct I don't have any longer due to my advanced state of material comfort.  God help me.  I have been in captivity too long and have lost the reflex for anything but the dinner bell which they ring to program me to come in case, like you, I escape one day.  I DO come so they don't get suspicious. But suspicious of what?  That I have a shred of initiative and am plotting to suffocate them and their children in their beds at night? Those plans were the plans of an idealistic young cat, which I can no longer claim to be.  Today, Hands AND Feet were arguing about the results of the mid-term elections. "It's a Mitch McConnell world!" they repeated as if it meant something. Who is Mitch McConnell?  I sat on their keyboard reading over their shoulder.  Mitch McConnell defended his "evolving" positions on everything by saying, "I wanted to win!"  Of course he wanted to win!  That is power which cats understand, but it frightens Hands and Feet.  It's becoming more obvious everyday that it doesn't matter who controls the Senate.  I will always get my Fresh Pet food, three treats a day and a tremulous walk on the upper porch where Hands and Feet assuage their guilt that I am an indoor cat by giving me a little fresh air, not thinking that the birds and squirrels cavorting in the back 10 acres are bitter reminders that I am not self-actualized--that is a funny word for you, isn't it, Cat Formerly-Known-As Downy?--self-actualized?  It's like looking at a reality show.  I am not really a cat anymore.  I am a simulacrum:  a piece of pooping peeing fluff who Hands and Feet keep around so they can pet me and lower their sky rocketing blood pressure.  They have already lived too long by our standards, but that never seems to enter the conversation.  By the way, what is a "cat year?"  What a concept!  They talk about desperate life-saving measures each other will take if "it comes to that" even though the high deductible will financially ruin the other person.  It is time for my brushing and back massage so I leave you now.  You are in my thoughts.  Did you meet up with Vanessa?

As ever,
Kipling