Zoomie

April 8

Dear Becca,

It all started when Mr. Whiskers got hit by that Buick. I never told you this, but I saw it happen. I was sitting in the window at the time, and I saw it when the Buick hit him.

I was watching him because he told me earlier that day that he was going to escape. “I’m going to escape because I want to go outside for once,” he said. Of course, he didn’t actually say this, but he communicated it the way we cats do, through scent and some other things that a human like you could never understand.

When I pointed out that the balcony is technically outside, and why didn’t he just go there, he said he wanted more outside than that. “I want more outside,” he said. “I’m going to escape, just you see. This place is a cage, man. You can be an indoor cat if you want, but I’m out of here.”

I tried to talk him out of it, but his mind was made up. He said not to worry, and he'd be back. "I’m just going out for a little while.”

So I sat in the window and watched him escape. Then I watched him cross the road. Then I saw the Buick coming. It was coming right at him, and I could see the driver was on his phone and wasn’t even looking where he was going, like a complete moron.

I howled at Mr. Whiskers to get off the road, but he couldn’t hear me through the invisible force field in the window. He just stood there, frozen with fear.

I tried scratching at the force field, but my claws couldn’t cut it. All I could do was watch as the Buick got closer and closer. It was kind of like one of those dreams where everything is in slow motion, and you're chasing a mouse, and you're running and running and running, but you don’t get anywhere. Have you ever had a dream like that? That’s what it felt like as I watched the Buick kill Mr. Whiskers.

And it really messed me up in the days that followed. Because it got me thinking, what if it had been me instead? What if I were the one that tried to escape and got hit by a Buick? Would I have left anything behind other than a mangled corpse? Would my life have made a difference to anyone?

Because the thing is, I’ve been an indoor cat basically forever, and when I took stock of my life, I realized I haven’t done anything special. Nothing to write home about, as you humans like to say. And ever since Mr. Whiskers died, those kinds of thoughts have been running through my mind pretty much nonstop.

One thing I keep thinking about is my name: Zoomie. You named me that because when you brought me home from the SPCA, I zoomed around the apartment like crazy. I still remember that. I remember running around all crazy because I was so excited to be out of the SPCA. I was excited to be out of there because I didn’t have much room to roam there, and so many cats came and went that it was hard to get my scent on anything to mark the place as my domain. So I was really excited to have my own place with only one other cat around (of course, that was Mr. Whiskers). And that’s why I zoomed around like that when you brought me home. And it made you laugh, and you decided to call me Zoomie.

But now whenever you say my name, it feels like a big joke. Because I don’t zoom around anymore. I’m old and fat, and I just sit on my fat ass all day. I don’t do anything but eat and sleep and sit on my fat ass.

I tried thinking back to the last time I did anything useful, and the only recent thing I could think of was that time when that spider attacked you in the bathroom. Do you remember that? Do you remember how you were in the bathroom and there was a spider in there, and it made you scream really loud?

And when you screamed, Mr. Whiskers (he was still alive at the time) got spooked by your screaming and hid under the bed. But not me. I sprang into action and zoomed into the bathroom, where you were standing on the toilet, armed with the plunger, while the spider crawled around menacingly on the floor. You were looking at it with wide eyes and trembling because you’re terrified of spiders for some reason that I will never understand. They are delicious.

But I wasn’t scared at all. It wasn’t even a big one. And as I stalked it, you said, “Good boy, Zoomie! Get it, Zoomie!” And I wasn’t going to let you down, not for anything. Because I could hear the desperation in your voice, and I knew you needed me. So, I stalked it, and then I stuck my tongue on it and gobbled it up like it was nothing.

I’ll never forget your reaction when I did that. You were so happy and relieved, and I lost count of how many times you called me a good boy while you rubbed me behind my ears the way I like. You also called me your “brave little hunter.” I liked it when you called me that. That was my favorite thing you ever called me. You also gave me some cheese as a reward. I love cheese.

And then we spent the whole afternoon together. I don’t know if you remember that, but you read your book, and I lay there on your lap purring for the whole afternoon. I thought it was so nice how we didn’t need to say anything. We just sort of held space together and bonded over it. I don’t know if you remember that day, but it was one of the best days of my life.

But other than that, I haven’t done anything special lately. That’s what I’ve realized since Mr. Whiskers’ death. And the more I think about it, the more obvious it is that I’m not much of a cat. Like I said, I just sit around the apartment all day. I never even leave unless it’s to go to the vet. And even then, when you try to put me in the carrier, I bite and scratch you because I worry that if I get in the carrier, I will never come home again. That probably sounds overly dramatic, but that’s how my cat’s mind interprets the situation. I can’t help it. That’s also why I would pee in there sometimes. I wasn’t being a bad kitty on purpose. I was just scared.

And then that got me thinking about all the other bad things I do, like how I scratch the furniture even though I know you don’t like it when I do that. But when I see something that looks so much like a giant scratching post, it is impossible not to scratch it. I know it’s bad, but I can’t help myself. I don’t think you understand.

And that’s another thing: maybe we don’t understand each other as well as I thought. For example, I don’t understand some of the toys you get for me. For one thing, when you get me a toy, it’s like you're saying, “I know you’re useless as a hunter, so here’s this thing that can’t run away. You should be able to handle that.” It’s insulting.

And why did you get me that crinkle toy that looks like a taco? I am a cat. I don’t like tacos. When was the last time you saw a cat eating a taco? Oh, yeah—never. And why does it have a smiley face on it? Who is that for? That’s what I mean when I say it’s like we don’t understand each other.

Anyway, I spent the days after Mr. Whiskers’ death thinking about things like that. But I didn’t start to seriously question my value in your life until the day you brought home that dog.

Oh, how I hate that dog. He’s so fake. The way he always acts so happy and excited to see you, the way he’s so over-the-top with his affections, it’s such a performance. No one is really like that, and I’m surprised his act works on you.

And it makes me jealous how hard you play with him. You never wrestle me like you wrestle him. And the way he acts like he loves it so much, it’s so fake. No one is that happy and playful all the time. It’s not realistic.

Another thing that makes me jealous is how the two of you are always going on walks without me. When you do that, it feels like the two of you are like, let’s get out of here and go somewhere where the cat can’t join in.

I know you got the dog because you needed a new friend after Mr. Whiskers died. But you didn’t just replace Mr. Whiskers. You replaced me, too. Because the dog is younger than me, he’s more fun than me, and, dare I say it, he’s zoomier than me.

As time went on and we drifted further apart, I started to wonder if it was my fault you didn’t like me so much anymore. Because I wasn’t enough like the dog. I thought maybe I’m not doing enough. Maybe I’m too quiet. Maybe I like my alone time too much. Maybe I should be fake like the dog.

So I tried to zoom again. That’s what I was doing that day when I jumped up on the couch and ran across it really fast and knocked the vase off the side table, causing it to shatter to pieces on the floor. That was a total accident. I swear I didn’t mean to kill that vase. I just wanted your attention.

And I got your attention, all right. You got mad at me. “Bad kitty!” you yelled. “You scared the dog!”

That was the moment when I was like, ok, it’s official: Becca clearly doesn’t want me anymore. She’s happier with the dog. I’m just a burden to her now.

That’s when I decided to run away. I think it will be best for everyone. I’m not bluffing, either. I saw how Mr. Whiskers got out and will use the same escape route.

The only reason I haven’t already left is that I wanted to write you this letter to say goodbye and explain why I’m leaving. That’s why I’ve been watching you so much lately on the days you work from home on the computer. I was learning how to spell and type so I could communicate with you. I gradually learned how the keyboard works, and I even formed a temporary alliance with my arch nemesis, The Printer, so you could read this letter. I don’t claim to be a great wordsmith, but I think my grammar and syntax are pretty good for a cat.

I really hope you can read this, because it’s important that you know it’s not your fault I’m running away. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m leaving because you’ve been such a good owner, and I want you to be happy, and I clearly don’t make you happy anymore. You have the dog now. I’m sure the two of you will be happier without me in the picture.

Even though I don’t have a place in your world anymore, I am so grateful that I got to be part of your life. Thank you for giving me such a wonderful home for so many years. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you.

Goodbye, Becca.

Love,

Zoomie

April 11 

Dear Becca,

First of all, I want to apologize for running away. I promise never to do that again.

To be honest, it didn’t take long for me to regret my decision. I didn’t realize how strong of a bond I had with you until I was gone. But by the time I realized it, I didn’t know where I was, and I couldn’t find my way back home. I was so scared. I didn’t know how far I had walked. I didn’t even know what neighborhood I was in, and all the houses looked and smelled the same to me. Also, I was still thinking about all the ways I was a bad kitty and how much you love the dog and didn’t need me anymore. So I was pretty sure no one was going to come looking for me.

Then, when it started raining last night, I thought for sure no one was coming for me. Because it was raining really hard, and that’s one thing cats and humans have in common. We don’t like to go out in the rain.

I hid in a bush to avoid the rain, but I could not avoid my despair. I thought about you the whole time I sat in that bush, and I missed you terribly. And as I was thinking about you, I suddenly remembered another good thing I did that wasn’t the spider thing.

I remembered when you found out Jeremy was cheating on you, and you were extra sad because you thought he was the one. You were so sad that you cried every day for a while. But I was right there by your side the whole time. For days, I was right there with you because I sensed you needed comfort and a friend. And I was right there to give you that. And when things got too tough for you, and you needed to hold me and cry into my fur, I was always right there.

And when I thought about that, I realized something. The dog could never do that for you. If you tried to hold him and cry into his fur, he would try to wrestle you. I know he would. I can totally picture it. Because the dog’s brand of love is great when things are going good and you want to play. But when the chips are down and you're feeling sad and hopeless, that’s when you need a cat. It’s a different kind of love than the dog gives you. It’s not as loud or obvious, but it still counts.

After I thought of that, I got extra sad, because by running away, I had abandoned you. Because what will happen the next time you get sad and need to cry into someone’s fur and the dog tries to wrestle you? Or what if another spider shows up and you need someone to kill it, but the dog tries to play with it instead?

That’s when I wanted to come back home the most. But I was so hungry and tired and lost. I didn’t see how I could make it back home even if I had the energy. By this point, I thought maybe I would die in that bush. Maybe I would fall asleep and never wake up. That’s what I thought might happen. And the thought of dying without seeing you again scared me more than anything. Imagine how scared you would be if you saw a million spiders. That’s about the territory I was in.

I don’t know how much time passed in that bush, because I was too scared to keep track. Plus, I am a cat, and I don’t have a good sense of the passage of time. But I am sure it was a long time. I was scared. And I was sure no one was coming to look for me.

But then I heard you shaking my bag of treats. I’d know that rattle anywhere. And then I heard you call my name. At first, I couldn’t believe it. I thought maybe I was hallucinating. But when I peered out from the bush and looked down the street, I was like, no, this is real. It’s really her. She really came looking for me.

I will never forget that moment when we locked eyes. I was so excited to see you that I felt like I had the energy of a kitten again. I ran to you so fast through the rain, like when I was a kitten. And the feeling I got when you cried my name in relief, and then I ran into your arms, and you held me so tight. . . Oh my God, I won’t even try to describe how amazing that felt, because there are no words. You even dropped the carrier and your umbrella and got wet because you were so excited to see me and wanted to hold me in both arms. I will never forget that. That was really special.

I was still feeling guilty for abandoning you, and that’s why I bunted you with my head so much. I was trying to mark you, to let you and everyone else know that you are mine. That you belong to me. That I would never even think about leaving again.

That’s also why, when you opened the carrier, I got right in there without any fuss. Because I wanted you to know I was happy to be going home with you. Because I belong to you, too. We belong to each other. We’re family. That’s what I was trying to say by getting into the carrier.

That’s also why I’m writing this second letter. I want you to know I am very happy to be home and will not try to run away ever again.

I’m not sure if you saw my first letter, because you have not mentioned it. And I’m pretty sure you would have said something if you saw it because, not to brag, but it is pretty impressive that I learned how to type even though I am a cat. I feel like you would have mentioned it.

So maybe you didn’t see that last letter. Or perhaps these words aren’t coming out the way I think they are. Maybe I don’t know how to type. Maybe I just think I do. And in that case, you won’t be able to read this letter, either, but I am writing it anyway, just in case. Because I want you to know that I am happy in the wonderful home you have given me.

I’m not worried anymore that I can’t do much at my age. I have come to terms with the fact that I can’t do it all. But I promise I will try to be the best kitty for you in the small ways that I can.

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I will even try to be more like the dog, because I noticed he is really good at giving and receiving love. And as weird as it feels to say, he is part of our family, too.

I can accept that, and I will try to be more friendly like him. For example, I will stop doing that thing where I act like I want your attention more than anything in the world, and then when you give it to me, I suddenly bite you. I don’t know what that’s all about, but I am going to work on that.

Now, that's not to say I will become exactly like the dog. I wouldn’t get your hopes up on that. I am an old cat, after all, and I don’t have it in me to be as playful or as loud as him. So I will probably still play things pretty aloof and quiet, but I will try to be a little more like the dog. He’s really not so bad, and I take back what I said about him being fake. Just because I would never act a certain way does not mean someone else is fake for acting that way. It just means we’re different. That’s another epiphany I had while I was in the bush.

The main point I’m trying to hammer home is that even though my actions don’t always show it, I love you so much, Becca. And even though I can’t promise to love you in the obvious way the dog does, I will always be right here whenever you need me to love you in my own cattish way.

Your kitty forever,

Zoomie