I have decided to write my memoir of this life – it is either the third or the fifth – for my beloved Taz. There are coyotes in our neighborhood and while they claim to be auxiliary for the FLF*, I suspect that they are more interested in us as hors d’oeuvres than comrades. I’m realistic and I want Taz to know what has brought me here to my humble work as a feline organizer. 
Our human is learning to scan. She found old real photographs and is scanning them.
Dearest Taz, Here I am when I am a pre-teen. My beloved stay-at-home dad, the gentle manatee-like tabby Harold has just told me all the ways the wealthy, the corporations and the politicians oppress the rest of us. I was initially furious, made signs that said, Eat the Rich and stood on the dirt road that our cabin was on. I wrote scathing letters to the newspapers and the CEO’s of the worst offenders. I asked our human to take me to the booze and gun shop in town, but she held me in her lap, petted me and told me there would be better ways to fight The Man.
There is more, dear Taz, but that will wait for next week. I will wait till you are a little older to tell you all of the horrible truth – though I suspect your people are already teaching you. Love to you and yours.
Today’s mewsing: You can never start too young to educate the kittens. Ruti, the Really Loud
Share on Your Social Media
