Thursday, 15 May 2014

Dear MacPherson

Dear MacPherson,

You and I need to have a little chit chat.



I have had cats for ten years, and for ten years I have waited for a cat who would sleep in my bed with me.  Then finally, after coming home from my second year of university, you--and often Sal, much to my delight--started sleeping in my bed.


At first I chalked it up to me being sick.  You and Sal and Diesel are pretty good at knowing when people are sick and need a "nurse" to make them feel better.  But when I got better, you continued to stay the night.


Time passed, and here and there you would skip a night.  When you started waiting up for me to come home from work, we cut a deal:  I'd give you a late-night snack if you would sleep with me.  You were doing well the first few nights, MacPherson, but then you started slipping.  That's hardly fair, seeing as I've held up my end of the deal.


You know that I'm willing to sleep in weird positions and let you hog the blankets.  I am very accommodating.

Sloppy Paint rendition of an actual sleeping position.  Picture cannot convey the discomfort my legs were in.

Don't make up excuses, like "Taylor, your bed is too messy," because A) I've cleared it off, and B) the mess doesn't bother you in the daytime.


I love you very much MacPherson, and honestly, it breaks my heart a little that you won't come spend time with me, even if it's time spent sleeping.


Please come to bed at night, Ferse.  I miss my big buddy.  :(

Love, Taylor
xoxo

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