Dear Judy the Cat,
I honestly thought we could make this work. Back when we got you and you didn’t protest when I squeezed you in my arms, I thought we stood a chance. Even though cats don’t really like me, I was willing to give it a shot, and it looked like you were, too.
I could deal with the way you pick on my dog. I get that your differences with her are irreconcilable, and I’m more impressed that concerned when you spit at her after she tries to corner you.
I could almost deal with your hormones, which seem to be on all the time and force you to do stupid things like collapse right under my feet or prowl the hallways yowling all night long, preventing my dog from settling down. I still hope we can get those issues taken care of eventually.
I could deal with the shedding, my share of the litter box-cleaning, the torn window plastic, and finding you on the counter or table. You’re a cat and that’s what cats do, right?
I can’t accept the “that’s what cats do” bit for this one. I recognize that I ought to have checked that my door was closed, but by now you should have got it through your head that my room was off limits.
I almost could have dealt with it if you had limited your nibbling to the plants on the window sill. I would have been ticked, but there were only two of them, and they were replaceable.
But no. You had to tear at every single pepper seedling within your considerable reach. Half of my stock, wiped out inside two minutes. Some of them you didn’t even bother to fully destroy; you let them with half their leaves, weakened beyond repair but still standing to mock me and my lack of responsibility.
It’s bad enough when the chickens peck my tulips to bits before they’ve even bloomed, or dig up all of my freshly-planted seedlings, but for those I knew the risks. My room is supposed to be a safe place, where the only one killing plants is me.
So I could overlook your other quirks, but not this. You destroy my plants and you’ve officially gone too far.
You can expect no more grudging scratches under the chin from me. Those days are over, plant-gnawer.
The awful human with the dog