Dear Oliver

This letter is to my kitten, Sir Oliver:

I am tired of you biting my ankles and feet. Your tiny teeth are pointy and sharp. You ferociousness rivals that of a lion, yet you are but a mere wee kitten. Please stop biting me. Please stop waking your adoptive father up in the middle of the night. We're trying. I know we're not home a lot and those two big cats knock you around quite a bit, but we love your furry ass. Really. We do.

I just called the vet and she said we have a "potential behavior problem on our hands." I don't want a behavior problem, I want a furry, sweet kitten. Like you were just a mere week ago. Was it the houseguests? Did Thanksgiving push you over the edge as well?

The vet is making lots of suggestions, but paying animal behaviorists and finding a "kitten kindergarten" just seem a bit ridiculous. Do you want to go back with your siblings and mama cat? I know where they are, but it's cold out there. And pretty rough, truth be told.

Also, while I'm making requests, please stop taking our socks and then growling at us when we try to reclaim them. You, kind sir, are NOT a dog. I repeat, NOT a dog. A cat, C-A-T.

I promise to play with you more. I can't get another kitten for you to play with, because four is just too many cats in one home. But, I can play with you myself. I'll start doing that more tonight. We'll have feather toy time and I'll try to run you ragged. I promise.

Love,

Mom