Friday, September 18, 2009

An Open Letter to the Cat Who Lives With Me

(With apologies to Diona)

Dear Rufus,

You might not know this (I do not know if you have a sense of time, or access to a calendar), but you have now lived with us for almost two weeks.  In that time, I like to think that you and I have bonded, much more so than I have bonded with any other cat.

More to the point, Rufus, I like you. I like how you greet me at the door, and how you never seem to mind when I pet you.  I even like this thing we have going where I sit on the couch to read and you sit on the other half of the couch to nap.  It feels like home.

That said, Rufus, you and I need to talk a bit.  As much as I appreciate you, there are times when I appreciate you less than I otherwise might: namely, the hours between one and five in the morning.  Even this is flexible, as my sleeping schedule is pretty erratic.

Now, I leave my bedroom door open (we all do, since Diona told us about how it freaks you out when people are behind closed doors.  I swear, you knock louder than most humans, and for much longer), so that way you can come and sleep on my bed if you so desire (or just hang out in my windowsill; that one works, too).

I do this for you, Rufus. I really do.

But like I said, there are hours when I do not appreciate your attention as much as I otherwise might.  Specifically, when I am sleeping and you wish to let me know that you are there by biting me, or by putting your paws on my face (or, last night, both).

Last night, for example, I stayed up with you until about two, and set my alarm to go off at six.  You, however, perhaps in your desire to stop me from snoring, or in your desire to make sure I do not oversleep, woke me up at 2:30, 3:15, 3:30, 4:00, 4:15, 4:30, and 5:30, either by biting me, poking at my face, or poking at me while attempting to fit your head in my mouth (for the last time, I'm sorry that I snore).

I do not attribute your actions to malice.  And I still appreciate you very much, and would be more than happy to scratch your tummy, or behind your ears.  Heck, I'll even make sure to be very careful such that, when you are trying to walk as closely to me as possible, I do not fall down the stairs again.  I'll even come play with you in the basement, because I know that it freaks you out to be down there by yourself.

But you gotta leave me alone when I'm sleeping.  That's all I ask.  Okay, leave me alone while I'm sleeping, and catch a mouse or two. Those are the only two things I ask.

So please, Rufus, in the interest of making sure that I do not feel compelled to kick you out of my room and rely on the one-two punch of my snoring and my hearing loss to justify not hearing you to let you in, leave me alone when I sleep. You can curl up next to me. You can sit in the windowsill. You can even sit halfway beneath my bed and twitch your tail.  But no biting, please?

Your roommate, Andrew

p.s. We still love you. Very much. And we'll be sad when you go home.
p.p.s. Sam might or might not try to run away with you to Canada. Or Honduras
p.p.p.s. There's pizza in the fridge. Help yourself if you get hungry.