Dear Buster,
Despite what you may think, or perhaps what you may have experienced before coming into my life, I am NOT a tree. God did not create me to be climbed, even though you have witnessed this from my children. Have you not noticed how I cry out in anguish when your claws enter my thighs? Have you not heard my screams as I nurse the four deep puncture wounds in my forearm? Also, if you cannot jump high enough to land on top of the bed during the night, just stay off my bed altogether. One does not like to be climbed at 3:00am, only to notice the swollen whelps on the body once morning arrives. Your meat scavenging perturbs me. Your thieving ways frustrate me. The way you claw at the carpet will surely get you killed. When I lock you outside, please don't scale the house using the window screens. Not only will it tear them up, it is rather disturbing to look outside the window and see a kitty seemingly floating in midair, suspended against the window, like one of those Garfield window suction things from the 80's. If you cannot show more respect, I shall wrap the pads of your feet with masking tape and put a tube sock over your head. Sleep on that, kitty cat.
Your loving owner
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