Hi Emily, this is Oscar. Your cat. We’ve been living together for three months now and I have a few things I need to say. You seem to like writing. You’re always doing it. So I thought I’d write to you.
Firstly, I do not appreciate being called furry pants, silks or ‘my gorgeous lovely’. My name is Oscar.
Secondly, when I drink the water in the sink that you’ve just washed your hands in, it’s because I like the way it tastes. I’d rather you not lift me down and place me in front of my water bowl. If I wanted to drink from my water bowl, I would drink from my water bowl. I know where it is.
I singed one eyebrow on the candle on purpose. It’s hipster. Please stop pointing it out to visitors.
I would prefer not to be referred to as ‘a cartoon comedy cat’ or for you to point out my, as you so eloquently describe them ‘Albert Einstein old-man ear tufts’. I am distinguished. That’s how I’d like you to describe me and my ears, if you feel the need to describe them at all.
And when my eyes are closed and you say “Oh, Oscar, I love your ears” I pretend I’m sleeping but I do appreciate it. It helps me to understand you do really love me and my ears. I’d just prefer it if you didn’t point them out to visitors. I feel conscious about going grey at such a young age and I don’t want to draw attention to it.
With purrs and affection,