Dear Cat,

What do you have against us?

We give you food, water, nice windowsills so you can sit and make strange noises at the squirrels, and a cardboard scratcher-thing with catnip in it. We leave our clothes on the floor so you can curl up on them and get them all hairy. We keep you safely inside, because you’re deathly afraid of the outdoors. Sometimes, when your lingering instincts—which are, at this point in your domesticated evolution, useless—make you think you want to go outside, we hold open the door for you. We continue to hold the door open until the breeze of the outdoors freaks you out and you slink, low to the ground for protection from the unknown forces, back inside. We let you bite and scratch us, and, in those rare moments when the voices in your head have silenced enough to let us, we pet you and scratch under your chin.

So what compels you to keep breaking our drinkware? We know we should wash the dishes before we go to bed instead of leaving them on the counter, but frankly, you shouldn’t be up there in the first place. What is it that tempts you? It can’t be the water, because you have plenty of that in your plastic dish on the floor, not to mention in the toilet, a source you’ve availed yourself of in the past. Perhaps your super feline sense of smell tells you that there was, hours ago, chicken on the counter, even though we’ve wiped it down with Method magnolia dish soap. Or maybe it’s the magnolia scent, reminiscent of the outdoors of your blood-memory, that inveigles you to leap. But regardless of why you jump up there, it seems to be only malice that drives you to break our glasses. Though you may think your technique is a secret, I’ve seen you try to push an object to the floor. You bat it repeatedly with your paw, like you’re putting in mini-golf, until we yell at you and you run to your scratcher, which you seem to consider “base.” But when we’re in bed, there is no stopping you, and the incidents end with our cheap Ikea goblets and Pier 1 tumblers shattered on the floor. At the sound of the breakage, we wake up and you run and hide under the couch, leaving us to clean up the shards, which are not only saddening but dangerous. Cat, do you want to see us with stitches?

I have to tell you, Cat, that if this behavior doesn’t end soon, we are not going to have any glasses left. And because we are broke, we are going to have to buy you cheaper food so we can afford to get more glasses. You think that Meow Mix is bad?

Jonelle and Radford Seitz