Wednesday, April 7, 2010


Dear Cleveland,

We brought you home two years ago when you were just a wee baby, mew-mew-mewing all the way home in your Oregon Humane Society box. Back before we got you I have to admit I told Kathy I wasn't a big black cat person, in the same way that before we got Lily I didn't think I was a big cat person in general, and of course now I love both of you in completely gross and pathetic oodles and oodles of ways. I hope you don't hold it against me; it was back in the day when I held opinions about things without any real reason or merit behind them. Like thinking all people who like sports are stupid. Or not liking black cats. Etc. People having such meritless opinions--which also spirals into and encompasses things such as, say, not liking Jewish people because your parents don't like Jewish people, and so on--is certainly the downfall of society, but what saves society is of course being able to change, i.e., realizing how silly we were all along.

Since we brought you home as a little sweet kitten you have developed into a crazy little terror, and when I am not completely in love with you I am screaming at you like a crazed person and referring to you as "a little bitch." I hope you don't hold that against me either.

There is almost no nook and cranny left in the house that you have not conquered/somehow climbed your way into/on top of. You use my (musical) keyboard as a constant sitting/resting place, cramming remnant specks of litter into the speakers. You jump on top of the refrigerator, purring and rubbing your face all over the place, knocking off an assortment of magnets. You jump all around the kitchen counters when I'm trying to cook or clean and I fear the day I am going to inadvertently chop your tail off or you jump onto the stove and burn your face off. You jump on the table and drink from the cup of fresh water I just poured myself. When I'm doing homework on the computer you jump on the desk and rub against my monitor, or jump on the shelf above my desk and knock over books and whatever else is in your way. The other week you knocked off and broke one of my favorite frames with a picture of my family in it. You bitch. If for some reason I am doing homework at the table, my pen as I'm trying to write becomes your favorite new toy. You nibble at all of my plants. When I am standing still, minding my own business, you jump on the back of my legs and somehow CLIMB UP MY BACK. My legs and arms are pretty much constantly filled with scratches and bites from you. You attack Lily for no good reason a lot, and when we pull her away and yell at you, you often look at us with this crazed look on your face and a big wad of grey fur still in your mouth. You bitch. Recently you've been getting bold enough to start swiping at Toby when he walks by you, even though he is at least three times your size. All of this makes me feel like we are bad cat parents but no matter how we try to discipline you, you just think being yelled at/getting sprayed in the face with water/being scared with loud noises, etc., are all really fun games! Yet at the same time that you are fearless, you are also the biggest scaredy cat I've ever met. Randomly, when Toby moves too suddenly or the TV makes a loud noise, you will run like a madwoman to the other room/run yourself straight into the table/scurry your little paws around our hardwood floor in a frantic way/jump straight up in the air/fall off the couch. When the pizza delivery guy comes to the door and you're feeling very nervous, you will puff yourself up and walk across the floor in very, very, very slow motion. You can also jump higher than any other cat I've ever met.

In other words, you are really quite something. If my grandmother knew you, she'd call you a "piece of work."

At the same time, whenever it is night time, you immediately turn sweet and affectionate, rubbing against our faces when we get into bed, sitting on top of our chests, digging your way underneath the covers, sleeping at our feet. Whenever we are curled up with a blanket on the couch either reading or watching TV, you always curl up right with us, too. You make the weirdest, cutest little noises. Sometimes when I call you a little bitch I am really, really mad, but a lot of the times right after I call you a little bitch, I laugh a lot.

To be honest, you are pretty much my favorite. I think you are one of the most specialist things in the world. And we are going to be best friends for a long time.



  1. After we saw JCM perform live in college at the Nissan Pavilion (which was phenomenal), Kashi and Lissa and I agreed that Pink Houses should be the national anthem. I stand behind this.