Cat Interrupted

Dear Dr Sylvia,

My name is Kozmo, and I am a cat. Before you refer me to a veterinarian, or dismiss me completely, please consider that my reasons for consulting you have to do with a certain human being and how his behavior effects my emotional well-being. He tells his friends and family that he is my “owner” which I find ludicrous, so for the purpose of this letter, we’ll just call him “Jeff”.

Two weeks ago, Jeff received a new computer in the mail. It was nighttime and he was kneeling on our livingroom floor between two large, empty boxes. I sat behind him in the entryway and watched him separate bulky pieces of styrofoam and long strips of plastic wrap from the hardware. If you’re familiar with cats, Dr Sylvia, you would know that I was curious about those empty boxes.

I walked over, hopped into the smaller box and made myself comfortable. Jeff was holding the owner’s manual and I watched his eyes dart back and forth between the parts list and the merchandise. Then he lowered the booklet, his face narrow and pinched. “Shit,” he said. I stood up as he began casting aside pieces of cardboard, plastic and styrofoam.Something was missing. He looked in the bigger box then reached for the one I was in. I started to jump out, but lost my balance as he yanked the box toward him, which caused me to slip and land awkwardly. He took a moment from his search to laugh which pissed me off. Embarrassed and offended, I started to leave the room, but turned around in time to see him sit back on his heels, look at the pile on the floor, and say, “Where’s the mouse?”

Now Doc, I’m a house cat. The only place I’ve ever seen a mouse was on the television - Jeff doesn’t think I pay attention, but I catch the important stuff. When I heard the word “mouse,” an image of a disgusting little creature with grey hair, black eyes and a rubbery tail flashed in my mind. My paws got sweaty, my ears perked up, my eyes widened and my sense of smell became razor-sharp; I was in hunting mode. With a clear objective, I converged on the pile of packing materials only to be restrained rudely by a human hand. “This is no time to be playing,” Jeff said. He lifted me clear off the ground, and set me down several feet away. Obstruction by force; I’m telling you Doc, if I could be big just once.

Next thing I knew, Jeff was on the phone asking where the mouse was. He was impatient, which I found puzzling; I couldn’t figure out why he cared so much about this mouse, but I was rooting for him. He spoke into the phone, apparently repeating what the person on the other end was saying, “So you’re going to send me a mouse in a separate shipment,” and then, “3-5 business days.”

I began watching for the mailman - strange behavior for a cat, I admit. Each day, I’d sit in the easy chair by the front window and wait for him to come up the front walk. I found it strange that during the first couple of days Jeff appeared to be as disappointed as I when the mouse did not arrive.

On the fifth day, the mailman tossed a small package into our front foyer. I heard it tumble over a few times before coming to rest outside the door. I was concerned with the rough treatment; I didn’t want anything to happen to the mouse before I could sink my claws into it. I pressed my nose to the gap under the door to see if I could pick up any enticing aromas, but got the usual dirt, grass and pine needles instead. I listened, but heard nothing.

Jeff walked in at the usual time with a handful of letters and the package. On his way to the kitchen he dumped the mail on his desk. More rough treatment. I lingered for a moment by the desk then hurried into the kitchen for dinner. I figured I’d better act natural in case he was planning to surprise me with the mouse.

I ate with my usual vigor, but was distracted by the sounds of the mouse-box being torn open. I finished quickly and moved toward the desk, ready for action. I was getting fed-up with Jeff and the reckless manner in which he was handling the box when a piece of the tail slipped between his fingers. It was black which wasn’t what I had expected, but my heart quickened and I found it difficult to sit still. Then he pulled out the body which was also black, and motionless. First I thought it was dead, then I knew it was never alive. The clincher was when he pulled out the rest of the tail; it was four feet long, and there was something bulky hanging off the end of it. I watched Jeff’s face as he examined the imposter with satisfaction. I stared at him with pleading eyes, “No! That’s not a mouse you jackass! You got screwed again!” My anxiety peaked when he took the end of the tail and jammed it into the back of his computer, then set the body onto a rubber pad and began sliding it around and tapping it with his finger.

For two hours, I sat there watching in disbelief as he played with his new toy. I was thinking there had to be a simple explanation when the computer spoke in a strange voice, “You’ve got mail.” Jeff smiled as he read the screen, then began typing and talking at the same time, “I’m...doing...great,...how...are...you? The...new...mouse...works...fine...”

How can that thing be a mouse?

I was completely distraught. Later that night, after Jeff fell asleep, I climbed onto his desk to get a closer look. I studied his mouse for a few moments then slunked down to smell it, ready to strike if it made a move. Then I batted it with my paw and the computer made a clicking sound as the screen came to life. I sprang from the desk sprinting away as the room filled with light. I slept under Jeff’s bed and didn’t come out until morning.

Doc, I’m at my wits end. I need to know, is the human a moron? Or am I a dog?

Desperately yours,
Kozmo