Sometimes, it is nice to know what your cat is thinking. Here's what I think via letter, the things my girlfriend's cat is thinking when he is eating his duck in gravy supper....
"Dear Mum, Dad and the Cats at the Cats' Home,
Enclosed is a photo of me in my new abode. No, I'm not eating (again): somebody glued my paws to the floor and I can't move. Hehe. Just yanking ya chain. I wanted to tell you life is good out here. In fact, I think I have got it made. Plush carpet, nice chair, cranked-up thermostat, toys, food for life (all the duck in gravy I can eat). I still make a mess when I eat, I must say. Nothing's changed, I hear you say.
In the evenings, I sleep on the sitting room carpet, next to a piping hot radiator. It's sheer bliss, you know? And my owner's like, "Aw, he's got Chewbacca legs and rabbit teeth," and I'm like, "What rabbit teeth...?" Later on, I get to sleep on the bed with my new owner and her boyfriend. I think it's fun, especially when the light goes out. I don't fall asleep straight away. I think cat thoughts. I feel wanted, you know? Sometimes, I even sharpen my claws on the quilt in the middle of the night. I can also sharpen my claws on the sofa and the carpet:
My favourite item to claw is the sofa because I like the scratchy noise. Sounds like tearing velcro, you know? When I claw it, she's like, Oy! But I scratch it three times then give up. Very soon, she will have to buy a new sofa and it will serve her right for telling me off.
When she's at college, I scratch it five times without stopping. I repeat this six times in six hours.
I might start clawing the curtains, too. Who knows? I have to keep my claws sharp. Maybe film and post a video online about my exploits? It's exciting stuff.
Oh, and I can jump onto the dinner table in two clean leaps. Chair, then table. Around six in the evening on a Saturday night, I have been known to tuck into the remains of an unwanted supper. Scientists got it wrong: fish and chip suppers aren't fattening.
My favourite toy is a long strand of thread. I go absolutely nuts when I play with it. Sometimes I have a mad half-hour when I run up and down the landing with my yellow ball. See, I pretend he is the mouse I am hunting tomorrow.
I wanted to say there is hope out there for you, even if the boss woman of the Cats' Home said I wasn't fit for re-homing. (Ex-squeeze me?) Daft mare.
Keep well and hear from you soon.
Lots of love,
Waylon (my new name--I like it: makes me feel like an outlaw.)xxx"