Dear French Fry,
It was the happiest day of seven-year-old Megan's life to find out she was getting a kitten. Twelve years later, I'm grateful my standards for "happy days" have raised quite a bit. I look back and think, why didn't I go with a fish or another puppy... perhaps even a pet rock would have been a better option. You have easily become a worse pet than a pet rock, French Fry. As I sit here, immobile, because you occupy my lap, let me count the ways.
First of all, I wish you would control your need to lay on my head. I'll be sleeping, minding my own business and wake up only to find I'm suffocating. Enough is enough. There are hundreds of places to sleep and you chose my face, why.
Second, your food dish is still half full, so stop staring at me like I'm starving you. Food waste is not a joking matter, French Fry, and I would appreciate it if you would finish your bowl prior to asking for more.
Speaking of food, baby bunnies, chipmunks, mice, toads, etc. are not. Stop leaving their entrails on our welcome mat, you sociopath. Fish are friends, not food.
Just to clarify, I don't care how cute you are, when I wear black I refuse to touch you for a reason: to avoid cat fur. Why is it that every time I wear black and need to avoid all contact with you, you actually want to be friendly and adorable. There's confusing, and then there's you, French Fry.
After twelve years, you have no doubt become a part of the family. I can't imagine my childhood building forts with out you reeking havoc and completely destroying them. I can't imagine getting ready for prom without you sprawled across my make-up, making things 10 times more difficult. I can't imagine packing for college without you trying to sneak into my suitcase.
Part of me wishes you could read this and understand what I'm saying to you. The other part is grateful you can't understand me because then you would risk exposing twelve years worth of knowledge and secrets about me to the world. Can't have that. You know too much.
I can always count on you to be by my side/on my lap/curled up on my face no matter how long I leave you or how "empty" your food dish. If that isn't loyalty, I don't know what is.
Love and ear scratches,
Megan
