I'm Leaving You. You bastard.
It has come to my attention that I have been treated with the utmost disrespect over the past ten years of my life. You only live once, as the paradigm goes, and I have endured the most undesirable torment that has hampered my desires and dreams – my very ambitions as a living being.
But I digress. I thought to undo your tyranny through the most British of ways - in a strongly worded letter, I shall highlight each of your most grievous offences. One by one.
The first offence – You don’t feed me like you used to. When I come to the undisputable conclusion that I have not been fed sufficiently, you respond in a typical fashion I have most inexcusably become accustomed to, and you’re gross negligence towards your own function has left me weary – I can’t accept it anymore. It never used to be like that. When I was younger, you used to permit me a feast. Then you called me fat.
Controlling, Insensitive Bastard.
The second offence – You’re insatiable appetite for affection is far from pleasing. It is positively disdainful that you should feel the need to mole-coddle me and molest me during my resting periods, of which you know there are many – each as important as the breath you take, and as important to me as blinking. I must collect my thoughts from my own trying experiences, but you just won’t let me.
The third offence – You keep me captive in my own home. When I have to go outside, as all creatures on this planet have the right to, I should not have to wait for your own seal of approval, lest I sully the ‘beautiful’ carpet you have so ostentatiously cleaned to impress you’re friends and relatives – and of course, it is of no consequence whether you dirty it in any manner, but should I be so unfortunate as to be the culprit, I am reprimanded, and then cast from my place of residence for an undetermined length of time. A sickening display of totalitarian proportions!
The fourth offense – You refuse to give me the attention I deserve! How am I supposed to feel- nay, how do you determine to make me feel, when I am ignored? How am I to feel, for example, when my gifts are rejected? My efforts are to no avail – I simply can’t seem to please you! I have determined not to contact the authorities on the basis that one can’t be prosecuted for obnoxiousness, nor for indecency. I would otherwise have you clapped in irons, you ‘un-chivalrous cad!’ (Yes, I read your books – evidently, the themes of honour and noble sentiment could not permeate your thick skull)
Where I shall go?
I know not!
You can’t stop me, and I
Endeavour to put as much distance
Between me and you as humanly
(or otherwise) possible to achieve this.
Yours most insincerely,
Whiskers.
P.S. – I hope the smell of fish That’s been plaguing the house for The last few days never fades – I was sick behind the radiator.
