A mutual acquaintance has brought to my attention a website, advertising Valentines Day cards both for and from pets.

Now I’m sure you’ll agree this is absurd. First and foremost, as a cat you lack the necessary motor skills and financial backing to make the purchase yourself, so I can only assume the responsibility would fall on me. Which brings me to my second point; if I bought (and signed) a card from my only pet to myself, it would not take the deductive powers of great detectives to discern who the card was from.

Furthermore, I refuse to have the validity and nature of our relationship marred through enforced consumerism.

That being said, you may notice that your cat biscuits are arranged in a heart shape this morning, as a cursory nod to the occasion. There also appears to be a handmade card addressed to you by your basket in the living room, but I can’t think who would have put it there.

All the best.

Crispin

Under no circumstances are you ever to lick my eyeball again. I am willing to admit that I may have inadvertently encouraged you by continuing to pet you as you purred in my face but I never expected you to actually lick my eyeball. It sent shivers down my spine as if a hundred people were scratching blackboards and now every time I close my right eye it looks like it is raining.

I hope to goodness there is no permanent damage or there will be hell to pay.

Love from Crispin

Please understand that this lampshade thing that Mr. Veterinarian gave me to put on you is for your own good and no amount of glaring or sulking will persuade me to remove it until the two weeks prescribed has passed. I can assure you that it is fastened quite securely and you will not be able to do away with it simply by walking slowly backwards. It may well be possible to kick it off with your back legs but rest assured the victory will be short lived as I shall replace it immediately.

It is now two days into your sentence so I think we can put a stop to this farce of crashing into every possible obstacle, making a fuss in the middle of the stairs and squawking at your dinner.

I hope I have made my position clear on the matter.

Love always

Crispin

P.S. Meals will be easier if you get the collar on the outside of the bowl rather than trying to use it as a spoon to get the biscuits out.

Christmas day is soon upon us and with that so will be my family and doubtless other house guests. Seeing as this is the season of good will and all, and there appears to be so much of it about, I was hoping that you might see your way to extending some of this surplus towards them.

I don’t mean to imply humbug (or that you are some sort of Scrooge or Grinch) but I fear that your composed demeanour, whilst elegant and reserved could be misinterpreted by some as a general lack of Christmas spirit ~ and we wouldn’t want any of our guests to be mistaken now would we?

Additionally, let me extend to you my immense gratitude that the Christmas tree and decorations remain relatively intact and everyone’s presents, including your own, show no signs of claw damage or overenthusiastic investigation.

With that said let us break out the mulled wine and mince pies and make a toast to peace on earth and goodwill to men (and cats).

Merry Christmas

Lots of love from

Crispin

I really am so pleased with your progression at the sport of fly killing. I think it’s safe to say we are now both fully convinced that paws and claws (more so than eyes, as  previously discussed) are better suited to the task in hand. However, I do still feel that there is slight room for improvement in your technique ~ you see ideally what we are looking for here is a clean quick kill, one in common with/demonstrative of a benevolent and merciful assassin, the likes of which I am sure we can both agree you aspire to be. I would like to remind you that there is no place for torture in our house, we are civilised decent people and I really would like for you to try, at least, to bear that in mind.

In other words, what I am pushing for, is for you to refrain from just biting their wings off and leaving them to spin about the floor like fitting raisins until I come in, the ‘clean up man’, to chase them about with a tissue.

Warmest regards,

Crispin

P.S. Please do not allow my criticism to detract from my praise.

Catnip. There, I said it.

This wont of yours is something we rarely discuss – or should really. However, whilst I fully appreciate that our vices are our own business, I feel it not only necessary but in good nature to point out that recent weeks have seen your little habit increase to an alarming level. Let us call last night to our attention. When Wicker and I returned from the pub we discovered you sitting on the shelf gurning your face off, tongue hanging out, eyes pointing different directions with barely half a smile offsetting your whiskers. And this is not by any means an isolated occurrence – to be frank I don’t think I could hope to count the number of times in recent weeks that you have been quietly ‘off your face’ in my company …and this appears to be accelerating.

We don’t want a repeat of that ‘incident’ years ago do we? The time you did a 25 gram bag in one go and couldn’t close your mouth or stop looking at the ceiling for a week?

All my love,

Crispin x

I have it on good authority that while I was away last week you were caught three times by Wicker ‘Baking Brownies’ on the living room rug. Now these dirty protests MUST STOP. You are not in prison, you are not maltreated, you are not a rescue cat, you have a litter box and it is always clean.

I am at my wits end and furious beyond measure. I swear, as God is my witness, if you drop tuppence on the rug one more time i shall shave your tail and put your toys in the cupboard forever.

I strongly advise you to take heed as this truly is your final warning.

Your adoring friend

Crispin

I have reached the end of my tether with regards to your continued and steadfast insistence of staring at the wall. You may notice that I have pinned photocopies of poems by Keats, cummings and Larkin as well as couple of Shakespeare’s sonnets around the flat just above the skirting.

I am not trying to force poetry upon you, but I am aware of how difficult it is for you to turn pages.

Love from Crispin

On Monday I saw a television programme which featured a woman who claimed she could speak the language of cats. Now, a sensible person would be hard pushed to regard this as anything less than absurd, as I do. And yet you persist in squawking at me when it is quite clear to all that I have absolutely no idea what it is that you are trying to convey.

I think it best all round if we continue with me speaking English and you pretending to listen.

Love from

Crispin

There is no need to dance when I am preparing your breakfast. You are never starving. In fact, to be blunt, I think you might be more than just a little overweight.

If a meal consisting of biscuits that smell of old chicken bones and shoes truly is the highlight of your day, I fear you may be beyond help. Why don’t you sit down and have another think about taking up a hobby?

Love always

Crispin