I'm on strike. Perhaps you've noticed. The pitter-patter of little feet in the room, the rustling under the radiator? My bad. Drastic measures, I know, but I had to do something to make you notice me again.
When you brought your human kitten home, I understood he needed special care. I even tried to groom him properly for you, but you brushed me away. Everybody knows a kitten isn't properly clean until it's licked. Everybody, that is, except for humans.
I bided my time, while the human kitten dribbled and drooled on your shirt. I said nothing when he spent hours on the lap I'd once claimed as mine. But it's been almost four of your human years now. In cat years, he'd be almost 30. Honestly, who's heard of a kitten living at home that long? What a slacker!
While I'm not saying you should boot him out, I am suggesting that maybe you brought home a defective kitten. I was able to walk in a fraction of the time it took him, and I was scaring away mice when I was only one of your human years old. He hasn't caught one mouse in his entire life.
Thanks for trimming my nails this morning. It's a little sad that you didn't do it until you noticed me getting caught on the carpet for -- I don't know -- about the fifth time, was it? I understand. You were way too busy clicking on truck videos on the blinking box for the slacker kitten to watch.
His lack of hunting skills is probably your fault, by the way. Instead of teaching him useful skills like grooming and prowling, you're been filling his head with silly rhymes about green eggs and ham. Instead of placing him next to other kittens and encouraging them to skirmish, you've been encouraging him to build cleaning robots out of plastic blocks! Priorities skewed much?
I was willing to put up with all of this because you were making special time for me in the mornings. Our yoga sessions together are my favorite time of day: the way you get down on the floor and hold yourself in different positions just so I can run underneath. I especially like the floor positions, where your hand is in the perfect position for petting me.
Then, for the past week, the human kitten started mewling and coughing. You spent the night cuddled together on the couch so that he could sleep better, and you skipped our special morning sessions. I have to admit it: I'm miffed.
Look, I can live with the fact that sometimes my food isn't served exactly at 7 a.m. and 5 p.m. (as annoying as that is). I understand that I often have to take the initiative and hop up on the arm of the chair so you can pet me with the hand not occupied with soothing your human kitten.
But catching mice on top of all that? Sorry. I'm just not feeling it.
The human kitten's home-game entry is about the (very Seussian) cleaning robot mentioned in this piece. It's super short this time, only 30 seconds with a transcript and description following. Come on, you know you want to see it!