Writing Exercise from a Book

You are a loser who lives alone with a cat and have for quite some time.  One day your cat can’t take it anymore and starts talking.  What does it say?

Why did you adopt me?  This is worse than when I lived in the pound.  My last owner never bitched day in and day out about stupid things.  Jeez, I can’t believe you focus on such stupid things.  Just because I’ve been silent about this for the two long years I’ve lived with you doesn’t mean I like listening to you complain about your ex-boyfriend and how your friends did X or Y to you.  This is what your human friends are for or maybe a therapist of some kind. 

Your inability to move on in your life is getting old.  It’s not like there aren’t other people walking around.  You don’t see me crying when you come home with new cat food because you think it’s a good idea to change things and add a little spice into my life.  You should be lucky I’m able to show restraint and use my litter box when nature is pounding on my belly walls because of it.  I show you the courtesy to not crap on your rug so would it hurt you to stick to one kind of food or wash my bed once a while or even buy me a bigger one?  I’m not stretching out my legs for my health.  It was hoping you’d get all the cues I was giving you, but I guess not.  Now you know.  Buy me a new bed.  Quit buying me the fancy food.

Oh jeez, are you crying now?  Please lady, don’t go there.  It’s not that I think you’re a horrible person, but you’ve been spending way too much time alone and feeling sorry for yourself.  I used to enjoy being around you, but you’ve become too much.  I’ve noticed hardly anyone calls you anymore.  You used to be glued to your phone.  I used to look forward to our routine when you’d come home from work.  You’d eventually sit on the couch with a glass of wine, and I’d curl onto your lap and fall asleep to you rubbing my ears.  Those were the good old times.  The best I can get now is a “hey whiskers” and that isn’t even my name.

Listen, I can rub up against your leg to try to make you feel better, but that isn’t my style.  You need to do this for yourself.  If you want to take me back to the pound, go ahead.  I’m not afraid to protect myself.  I know I might not come out of there alive.  Would I rather stay with you?  Sure, but you’ve got to pull your head from the damn clouds and start seeing the sunshine.  Can you do that?  I hope so because I might hide and never come back out.   


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