Letters From the Past to My Future Cat

By Bernice K. Milton

Dear, Orange You Glad I Didn't Name You Orange,

Daylight Savings Time has begun. The days are short and lethargy has descended upon me.
The slumminess of my studio dwelling is becoming more apparent with each drop in temperature degree. The drafts through the window are unavoidable and the vague smell of shit in the laundry room is a bit disconcerting, but the amount of space and light I have in the apartment...unbeatable. As they say, nothing is perfect. Especially when one is "poor." At least my living compartment is adequate in space.

The gainful employment landscape has been as harsh as the subzero windchill, but I push forth despite the oppositional gusts. I do quite enjoy my job working with the children. After all, where else can you be paid a decent wage for coloring inside the lines, building Lego, and creating an atmosphere of general merriment for sweet, innocent, yet occasionally impudent children? If only they could provide me the wages and benefits that befit a fully formed adult, I could rest a bit easier at night knowing that you would be well fed and free of feline infectious peritonitis should the disease invade your delicate body. Perhaps patience will befriend my weary dejection and one day, we shall be united.

My constitution has been a bit bothered in recent weeks. I fell ill with the infection of the sinus cavities and was prescribed an antibiotic that woke me up with a turbulent case of the runs. However, due diligence in my probiotic intake has rectified (no pun intended) the situation, and now I fear I suffer the opposite problem. Oh, dear. I'm not worried, as I will simply need to increase my fiber intake and I should be as regular as old Arthur Bigglesworth before he retired from the gumshoe factory.

Well, that is all I have to report for now. I look forward to your cuddles during my home bound cinematic experiences as well as your light and not excessively needy snuggles.

Yours lovingly,
B.K. Milton


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