a letter from rosie

Hello People of Journal Land,

The human known as Mara, who thinks she owns me, made the mistake of leaving the computer on.  She thinks I can't read, but...suffice it to say, she suffers a great number of misconceptions about me, as evidenced here in this journal.

That's right - I read what she has written about me.  It's lies.  All of it, slanderous lies and I am here to set the record straight.  ALL of you need to hear my side of the story.

About the cigarettes...I swear, I was only looking out for her best interests when I took them and hid them under the couch.  Smoking is bad for you - and should she get sick, who would fill my water bowl?  As it is, she doesn't pay attention to it until I climb her back while she's washing dishes.  Or while I'm sitting in that pitifully dry, empty bowl.  The woman cannot take a hint.  Meow doesn't mean squat to her.

And then to read what she says about me - I'm hurt.  Genuinely hurt.  And vengeful! 

I actually do a lot around here, and don't know how she would live without me.  For instance, the toilet paper.  How do we really know what ply it is unless we investigate? If 4-ply is what the package says, then that's what we should get.  Truth in advertising is an important issue for me; therefore, I check it out by ripping it apart.  So far, so good! But you never know when a company might try to slip one past you, so it's a continuous effort.  It's a messy job, but somebody has to do it.  Same goes for the paper towels.

I also sub as the teenage daughter.  THAT'S why her makeup disappears.  It's why I take her jewelry and clothing.  I heard her once, moaning over the approaching empty nest deal, and decided then and there - with LOVE, mind you - that I would make sure she didn't miss having children in the house.  It's also the reason I fight her for her blouses.  And they're pretty and soft!  I like the black ones best - my hair looks so nice on black, and seems to cling better.  And when she wears black, she's taking a little bit of me everywhere she goes.

And I give her a sense of purpose.  If she didn't have me, she would plunge into the deep, dark abyss of depression.  But she does have me, so there's no need for lexapro.  She doesn't need that, either.  And that's why I took it!  Taking care of me should be sufficient.

So, you see - I don't have to be like that cat in Ohio who dialed 911 when her human fell from the wheelchair (it was for selfish purposes, trust me.  How else was she gonna get fed?).  I have my own agenda.  And if I were truly as she portrays me here, I wouldn't even consider letting her out of the bathroom, where I have her locked up so I can DEFEND myself in this letter.

Oh - and if anybody out there has been discouraged from getting a cat because of anything the human, Mara, says about ME. Well, here you have it.  You NEED a cat like me to take care of you.  Take one home today!

I hope this letter has exonerated me in some way.  And now, I must go.  I hear her banging on the door and yelling - ROSIE, LET ME OUT OF HERE! 

That's so annoying.

Regards,

Rosie

P.S.  Send kitty treats

P.S.S.  I like this computer.  It's mine, now!