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A Letter from Blaise RE: COVID19


Dear Humans,

It has been over two weeks now since you started working from home due to this "COVID19" as you call it. Apparently it's a really big deal... but you know what is also a big deal? You're not just "working from home", you're working from MY home, and I have a few bones to pick with you about that.


You see, I'm used to this life. My primary occupation is "Stay-at-home-cat" amongst other very important duties like neighborhood patrol and birdurer-for-hire, but that's neither here nor there. You're in my hood, my territory, you're encroaching on my operations, and my peaceful, quiet headquarters. You are all having a hard time adjusting, and frankly, I'm having a hard time adjusting to you being in my space all the time.


At first I thought, "swell" . So many legs to rub on, morning snugs, and extra snacks throughout the day, AND you open the door for me to go outside whenever I want... which you're quickly figuring out is about 72 times per day. Me-in, Me-out, me-in, Meowt. This is the only part of this letter where I tell you that I appreciate you.


Here's the issue. I'm getting tired of all of you people wanting to involve me in our minute-by-minute day-to-day activities. No, I don't want to sit at your desk while you conference call your peers. I don't want to play your board games, I'm crappy at doing puzzles, and I absolutely do not want to be held like a "beebee". Which brings me to another point, my floof is not your comfort floof - it's mine.

At the beginning of this outside-world-shut down I was under the impression that everyday was going to be tuna day. I watched you as you unloaded 8 cans of tuna from the shopping bag. I wait patiently as any can of anything is opened, but more often than not, this leads to my deep disappointment with you as you open a can of pineapple or tomato paste. My daily tuna juice dreams crumbled before my whiskers.


I also wish you would just leave me alone to rid of my floof on the couch and on the floor as I please. Each day now brings the ominous threat of a fur-sibling creation with all the fur pulled off you steal from me with your sneak-attack brushings.


I've requested that my office get moved outside so that I don't have to be pet all the time, but can still stare at you through the window whenever I want. No, I don't want in. STOP asking. I like it here under my rain shelter, in the coziness of my outdoor office, and would appreciate if you would open up the kitchen for delivery treats like all the other restaurants in the area... I may also request to go out, even though I just came in, and then in again, ok now out.. Ok now half-way in... tuna? Ok out, no inside, or.... yeah out.


I have pleaded with you all to return to our daily habits of going to work, school, or weekend hikes, and am frankly miffed by your lack of response to my requests.


But all this invasion of my privacy has me exhausted, so for now I'm giving up, and giving in until you exit my house and resume your daily activities. Or when I may want out again.


Sincerely,

The cat.




Here's to hoping you all stay a little bit more sane than Lazy Blaisy.