When Things go to Shit — Diaries of a Russian Blue

Source: Leonardo on Pexels.

The ways of my human are troubling. For one, difficulties understanding how precious I am are growing. I am certain that one day I will have to find a new one.

I was taken from my mother approximately 50 years ago, in my time. I was just a child.

Since then, I have learned a lot. For one, my human is a thief.

Who does he think he is? My aroma goes into the sandpit by way of my fecal matter. When I’m not watching, he trashes it away and refills it fresh! I don’t even understand the purpose of this. It’s a glorious build-up, only to be squashed away. I’ll endlessly dig in search of my goods, and they’re nowhere to be found.

Over these years, it’s been wearing on me. I might be losing this battle. I’ve learned to accept that my human is selling these treasures for all the new things in the house. I will scratch them appropriately as revenge.

My entrance.

My human doesn’t understand the complexities of my ways. The night is young, as they say. I must be able to run around and do a few laps at 2 in the morning. If the door isn’t open, I panic. Does my human hate me now? What have I done to be locked out of the sacred bedroom? I cry and I cry, I scratch the carpet and the door, to no avail. I find that I may die out here in the loneliness.

These are errors in my human’s ways. Sleeping throughout the time of the day when my peak agility hits. It’s a gracious and magnificent thing to watch. Sometimes, in the middle of the nightly hour, I will catch a bug. I won’t kill it, of course. I will leave it slightly alive as a present for my human when he wakes up. At least then he will understand my value in this household.

The perfect number.

If I have to explain the stochastic process to him one more time, I might scratch him every time. It’s three pets on Sunday, five on Tuesday, and none on Wednesday. If it’s the 4th Friday on a full moon, then you’re free to pet me however many times you like. But, if the clock strikes 11 and we’re not on your bed, then you’ll get clawed in the face.

Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you. I don’t make the rules, I just make them up.

Woe is me, Sisyphus the Kitten.

It’s not my fault. Sometimes I eat really fast. I’m excited for the day to start. I might eat, poop a little, and then it’s running time. I forget the order, you know. I vomited in your bedroom because I was having the most fun in it. You should be happy you saw all those chunks of food on your bed. At least I was having fun there and nowhere else.

Yes, if you are trying to ask me whether I ate some of it, I definitely did.

Written by

UC Berkeley, mathematics. Los Angeles. Long-time runner. Top writer on Quora, 100M+ total content views. New to Medium. Inquiries: Moumj@berkeley.edu

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