janet

Dear Janet

I would like to point out that sometimes when you think I am asleep I am not. I can clearly hear you getting up to all sorts of naughtiness such as eating my plants and using my speakers as scratching posts.

I have been compiling a dossier on your actions and we will discuss the ways in which you can recompense at a later date.

Regards

Crispin

P.S. I dread to think what you get up to when we are at work.

Dear Janet

Contrary to your belief Jim does not hate you. There is a plain and valid reason that he neglects to pay you the same attention you so deservedly receive from me and our other housemates. He is allergic to cats. If he were even to stroke you once his eyes would swell up to the size of eggs and he would cry like a little girl thus betraying his macho exterior.

I hope this information goes some way to easing any paranoid thoughts you had and trust that you will not use it for any sort of mischief such as rolling about on his pillow when we are all out at work.

Dear Janet

I would like you to redouble your efforts on rendering my bedroom a spider free zone. This morning I saw one with a huge sausage of a body and whiskers almost as big as yours. His presence did not aid the recovery from last nights over indulgence of gin and quite put me off my breakfast.

I don’t mind if you must eat them but you must remember that I would rather not bare witness to the meal.

You help in this matter is greatly appreciated.

Crispin

Dear Janet

I would like you to explain why you insist on drinking the water from my glass beside my bed. You, I’m sure, are full aware that you have your own water in a bowl in the kitchen. You may consider this jovial mischief but frankly you look like an idiot with your face half way down a pint glass and I feel it only fair to point out that you use that same tongue to lick places that I would not. This resultant flavour, however delicate, is one that I would rather not have as an addition to my morning glass of water.

Love from Crispin

So I moved house, left the Frat House on Brodia Road and all my fraternity brothers behind to live like a grown up accepting responsibility for my own utility bills, washing up and missing socks, finally making an honest cat of Janet. She is, of course, here too, ending her days making a cuckold of me by purring on Corpsey’s lap while he ‘works from home’ or slutting it up on Adam’s bed while I drunkenly cry myself to sleep.

In between me viewing the property and moving in the landlords moved the walls making all the rooms in the flat approximately two feet smaller in all directions. They also interestingly put a shit old cooker in the kitchen three inches in front of one of the largest cupboards. Presumably I am supposed to keep spaghetti in there as that is the only thing I could possibly get out of the fucking gap – and only one portion at a time – which is convenient now I only cook for one.

I also very cleverly told the letting agents that I didn’t want them to supply me with a sofa or any tables or chairs as they looked like people of questionable taste. Consequently I was living here almost a week before I even got round to borrowing a chair from my sister so all I have been able to do in my new place is stand to attention surrounded by boxes of random old bollocks that I don’t know what to do with and a vast amount of over packaging from all the pots, pans, plates and shit that I had to buy. Luckily the majority of this time I spent drunk or elsewhere.

Janet  has been demonstrating her appreciation of our new flat through the medium of ‘dirty protest’ – the first was nicely assembled in a towel I was using as a stand-in bath mat which resulted in me doing a big cartoon nudey grapple with the shower curtain as I was getting out the shower in an attempt not to stamp my niceandclean bare feet right in it - then two days later on the actual white bath mat I had bought (it really tied the room together).

Anyway I just gave Janet her flea treatment and now she is looking at me like I shat on her carpet.

Dear Janet

You are a Cat. Your enemy is The Mouse (I have enclosed a picture for your reference). To my knowledge there are currently two mice behind the cooker. I would be most grateful if you would kill them before they have a chance to procreate.

Love from

Crispin

Dear Janet

Further to our discussion on inappropriate places to sit I would like to add newly washed clothes to the list.

While not directly hazardous to your safety in the same way as the toaster, the owner of the clothes may become upset and irrational and potentially violent on discovering his garments covered in cat hair.

Take special care over suits and shirts the evening preceding job interviews and weddings.

Lots of love

Crispin

Dear Janet

There is no need to dance when I am preparing your breakfast. You are never staving. In fact, to be ruthless, I think you might be just a little overweight.

If a breakfast consisting of biscuits that smell of old chicken bones and shoes is the highlight of your day, I fear you may be beyond help. Why don’t you have another think about taking up a hobby?

Love always

Crispin

Dear Janet

My friend Toby told me of a dream he had where he was suddenly back in the computer shop in which he used to work but his name was Bob and he was turning the shop into a restaurant whose speciality was to be three metre long stewed eels and this was ‘London’s best kept secret’, although the critics did not agree.

The point of this letter is to demonstrate that, for all your idiosyncrasies, you still possess a stronger grip on the real world than some of my human friends.

Love from Crispin

P.S. I hope you at least dream about catching mice.

Dear Janet

I want you to stop making romancey eyes at that ginger tom from down the road. I have seen him skulking about the street at night up to all sorts of mischief no doubt. I believe him to be an immeasurable oaf and frankly, he smells.

I hope this does not come between us.

Love from

Crispin