Why Do You Hate Me, Brutus?..........

Dear Brutus:

Why do you hate me? I have wracked my brain, and I cannot come up with a single reason that you might harbor hatred toward me.

First of all, I KNOW your name isn't really Brutus. It's Olive, but you can't hold that against me. Sweet Girl named you. Actually she named you Olivia, until we took you to the vet for the first time. But Hubby has called you Brutus almost since the day we got you, and when Missy came along she became Little Brutus, and it's just easier to go along with him than call the two of you by four names.

I feed you regularly. And I'm talking R-E-G-U-L-A-R-L-Y. You are very vocal with your demands for food, and I give in to you rather than listen to you. If you were a child I would give you a toy and put you in front of a DVD or something, but you aren't that easily distracted. [Give me a break, folks, I'm only kidding.] You even have your own special place to eat, so that the dog doesn't get into your food.

It's not like you don't have a constant supply of dry food available. Why can't you be like your sort-of sister and be happy with dry food? She never utters a sound, she just sits patiently beside an empty food dish and waits for someone to notice. Are you happy with that? Oh no. You have to have WET cat food, served to you on a paper plate. I even buy you different types and flavors each and every week so you don't become bored with the same old thing. And don't get me started on how you've started sitting beside me while Hubby and I eat, begging for table scraps. Curse Gus for teaching you THAT little trick.

I allow you to sleep on our bed, in spite of the fact that you take up waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay more than your share of space. You have your very own wall heater in the hallway, and we don't even kick you out of the way when we need to pass. When you climb up behind my head when I'm in my recliner, I don't even knock you off when your ponderous weight makes my chair go back too far.

I get up to let you out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in. And out. And back in.

And this is the thanks I get for your luxurious lifestyle.

This is what I come home to after a long week at school, consisting of two days of testing, one day of evaluation by an outside committee that didn't give us glowing remarks, one day of regressive behavior by students who should be desperate to get their courses finished, not clamoring for drama, and one all-day field trip. On top of that, the weather has turned ugly, cold, and wet, and God did NOT put me in the South to be this cold. And wet. Ugly I can stand.

I realize this may be a delayed reaction to our having you declawed as an adult several years ago. But really, we had just bought new leather furniture, and if you had done this to brand-new furniture, I'm afraid you might have gone to that great litter box in the sky.

While we're on the subject of claws, exactly how long does it take you to do this much damage to a roll of toilet tissue, since all you have to work with are your TEETH? Is this to show us how bored you are while we are gone? Why don't you play with Gus? He's not all that bad. You outweigh him by at least five pounds, and I believe you could hold your own with him.

The tissue thing, though, is getting old. I could do the smart thing like Hubby does in HIS bathroom, and just put the tissue up where you can't reach it. Because Lord knows you can't haul your gargantuan rear-end up on the countertop. Unless there's food up there, of course.

I don't want to give in to a cat, though. I want to win. And I don't care how many rolls of toilet tissue I have to go through to prove that point to you.

Love,

Bragger
Your OWNER

The one who feeds you.