Sunday, 30 November 2008

The Cat Complaints Commission


The Injured Party

I have come to the conclusion that my cat finds me unsatisfactory in every respect. As a caregiver, feeder, companion and playmate, I suck. If it were possible, I believe she would have no second thoughts about having me hauled up in front of some sort of Cat Complaints Committee or Ombudscat. How this would work, I have no idea. But there I would be, head hung in shame, standing handcuffed in front of a panel consisting of a bullet-headed, battle-scarred tabby, a very superior and dissatisfied Siamese, and a kindly but disappointed ginger cat. The list of charges would be very long indeed. The chair cat would point out the most serious of them by tapping decisively on a piece of paper with a precise foreclaw. They would be unanimous in finding me guilty. My cat would coldly avert her gaze as I was led away and we would never see each other again.

I think my husband agrees with the cat, but at least he has the ability to voice his complaints.

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