My Cat’s Role Model Is Mike Tyson

Dear Esme,

W. T. F.

You suck.

I’m so mad I can’t even talk to you right now.

Not Sincerely,


Ms. Appear (We are no longer on a first name basis.)

Does this look infected to you?

Dear Esme,

I’ve calmed down a little, but you still suck.

What were you thinking? I’ll tell you what you were thinking: You weren’t thinking.

When I am laying on the floor doing crunches, I am off limits. Do not jump on my head and attack my ponytail. My ponytail is not your toy.

I do not appreciate the giant gash you left in my ear the day before BlogHer. If I wanted my ears pierced, I’d go to Claire’s thankyouverymuch.

As punishment, you are no longer allowed to hang out with Mike Tyson…ever again. Don’t even speak his name to me.

In the future, please refrain from scratching me and keep your paws claws to yourself.



PS: You’re still in trouble.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “So if I go into a vodka-induced coma, I’m going to have to hope I have more than little boys around. Wow. That MIGHT be the creepiest-sounding thing I’ve ever said.”—Go Jules Go


About thoughtsappear

I eat lots of sugar. It's the only way to keep up with my new baby and to outrun zombies. View all posts by thoughtsappear

53 responses to “My Cat’s Role Model Is Mike Tyson

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