Tuesday, 25 February 2014

Notification of Breach of Contract

Captivity Log: Day 3,487...

When I kindly consented to come and live with you, in order to offer you the opportunity to love me, pet me, feed me, clean up my poo and - as is my right - to wait on me hand and foot for the rest of your life, you were given a wonderful opportunity. This opportunity should have filled you with joy and delight and it should have been a privilege to spend your days serving me.  The entirety of your life should, from that point forward, have been devoted to meeting my every need.

With regret, I must now inform you human, that you are currently in breach of contract.

Nowhere in my terms and conditions did I offer you the opportunity to take me to They Who Must Not Be Named on a regular and repeated basis.  And I most certainly did not give you permission to have They Who Must Not Be Named continue shaving off various bits of my beautiful fur, and jabbing needles into my paws to force me into a coma before arranging me in various undignified positions to cut me open.  And as if cutting me open isn't bad enough, all they do after that is sew me up again!  What, I ask you, Is. The. Point?!  

If They Who Must Not Be Named are in such urgent need of practicing their cutting and sewing skills, they are welcome to do so on another being.  Preferably you, human.  It is however entirely and utterly unacceptable that they continue committing such indignities upon my person.  My person does not appreciate it.  

To further add to the indignity, They Who Must Not Be Named, then conclude their practice sessions by placing a large plastic funnel around my neck, wind a strip of cloth around my throat to ensure I cannot remove said item of torture, and then notify you that I must not be allowed out side for ten days hence!  Human, it is in my nature to expect freedom of movement outside of the residence, at all hours of the day and night.  Confinement is absolutely NOT acceptable.  I have notified you of my opinions on this particular matter in reasonably loud tones on a regular basis, and yet you do not appear to be getting the point.  I do understand that your intelligence is infinitely inferior to my own, but at some point the message must get through.






In fact, my person wishes to register the strongest possible objection to this currently torturous arrangement full stop and demand that it cease and desist.  At Once.

Human, it is with regret that I must inform you that you have precisely thirty seconds to respond to this letter, after which point, further action will be taken.  And it will not occur in the litter tray.


The Cat

Dear Beloved Scruffy, Tail-less, Ginger Moggie,

1)  Abscess on face as a result of fighting.  General anaesthetic, lancing, constant cleaning of open wound until 'open' stitches could be removed.  Putting up with your constant whining.  £80.00 (November)

2) Jumping through the hedge and, instead of landing where you had planned, landing instead on a jagged fence.  Four inch long gash through to your chest wall.  Eleven stitches.  Putting up with your constant whining.  £114.00  (December)

3) Refusing to acknowledge that you are in fact no longer a kitten but a nine-year-old, distinctly middle aged cat who should. not. be. picking. fights and is. old. enough. to. know. better.  Burst abscess resulting from a large cat bite (I know, I know, I should have seen the other guy….) Twelve stitches. £99.00 Feliway plug-in hormone diffuser to make you feel like a happy kitty whilst recuperating from surgery.  Again.  Putting up with your constant whining.  £24.00 - Total?  £125.00.  (January)

4) Constant puking on the piano.  Sudden inability to poo.  More puke.  Veterinary recommended diet of whole tins of tuna to *ahem* get things moving.  X-rays and blood work.... to check for cancer... renal failure... and/or foreign bodies in your intestines.  Kitty enema (sorry about that part, must have hurt.) Awaiting diagnosis and results of blood work before potential further surgery to remove cloudy mass in abdomen.  £303.00 (February)

Loving a small(ish) furry creature enough to pay for it all:  Priceless.

For everything else there is NOT a Mastercard.  Don't push your luck.


Your Loving, Mad Cat Lady, Mother 

P.S.  If I didn't laugh, I'd just keep on crying.  Cancer?  Again?

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