My Poor Sweet Mommy

[as dictated to Tanya]

Sometimes I am naughty. Sometimes I am a handful. Sometimes I do get into mischief. Sometimes I am ornery.

My poor sweet mommy.

I try hard to be good. No. Really I do. I do not wake up with plans to be naughty and make my mommy upset. But sometimes I cannot help myself. It hurts my feelings when my bedroom privileges are revoked. Do I not have the right to show my frustration? I feel bad when mommy steps in my retaliatory pee-pee puddle in the bathroom. But really, she should look where she steps, so I cannot help but feel she is partly to blame too.

My mommy is a good mommy. She pets me whenever I meow politely. She spreads out the snuggie so I can nap on the couch on my blanket. She stops typing on the computer when I decide to nap on the keyboard. She takes me to vet when I have private personal bathroom issues (although I still maintain those issues are a figment of her overactive imagination).

She tells me I am handsome, smart and funny. All true. So I feel extra bad when I get mad and pee on her favorite pair of flip flops. I feel extra, extra bad when she finds her replacement flip flops uncomfortable. I feel awful when I snore so loudly she cannot sleep at night. I feel even worse when I hog the bed and blankets.

Please, please take pity on my poor sweet mommy the next time you see her. Give a red velvet cupcake. Or a new pair of flip flops. But not a new kitty. She already has a real sweet kitty in me.