Memo to the Cat

Above - a major dose of lovecat meditation, Maru on a shelf doing nothing

My creativity these days is lending itself to poetry, I am very glad to say, including the major task of cleaning all the art supplies off the work table so I can strew poetry all over it.  But I roamed back in my files and found this, obviously written at a time when my almost limitless patience with the cat must have worn thin.  It does have a rather unfinished feel to it, for which I apologize.  Suggestions for an ending are welcome.

Memo to the Cat

The fact that I walked from my study into the living room does not mean you get treats, even though it is true that I passed physically through Treat Zone.

Meowing loudly, monotonously, repetitively will never break my spirit.

There actually is such a thing as enough petting.

It costs well over a thousand dollars to reupholster the sofa, whereas cats are cheap. 

I moved your chair back where it’s supposed to be, okay.  I’m sorry I moved it.  I wanted to put the printer where it is more convenient for me.  How selfish of me.  I need to remember that I only work here, and you are the Queen.