|Stormy, photo by Hope Weber|
Dear Two-legged One,
You recently wrote about someone who said he was a dog man. I think his name was James Thurber?
Obviously I don’t know this person. Anyone who knew me would not prefer dogs to cats.
I believe you also mentioned this person was a writer? He must have been a rare genius who could arrange words properly on the page the very first time. His ideas must have been so amazing that he deserved to have his dog look at him in this adoring fashion.
You, however, are not a genius. You feed me and your lap is warm-–at least warmer than the sofa. But you are not nearly as clever as I am. It’s only because you are mine that I bother to tell you the truth.
You're lucky to have a cat like me because you need to rewrite. Many times, in fact. You must dig deeper, delete those second rate sentiments, and above all never be satisfied with your first thought. Lucky for you, I'm here to tell you that whatever you've written today isn’t quite good enough. You can do better. If you ever forget that, my stare will remind you.
Go on. Get back to work. After you’ve given me my dinner.