This is Chester. Our discussion about me going away is not finished.
Not by any stretch of the imagination.
I’ve been trying to make the bed, fully away of the icy stares I’m being given. THew old age issue is still very raw, and I found him back in his bed, frumping.
You do realize, comes the plaintiff cry, that no one ever remembers to come and refresh the water and food.
News to me. Every time we go away, he had a constant stream of people coming to see him.
Old age, I say, is making you forgetful.
And when you sent me away to your brothers, I could barely tolerate that cat of his. Common alley cat if there ever was one.
Class distinction, I didn’t see that coming.
We’re not all just cats, you know.
Perhaps not, but over the years we’ve had a variety of different cats, but not a purebred like Chester. I’m not sure how that came to pass, but I think I preferred the non-fussy, undisdainful, and easily pleased ‘alley cats’.
Would you like me to send you to my brother’s then?
No, I didn’t think so. Bed made, the discussion is over.