Scotch the Cat Replies to Emails from Some of His Beloved but Possibly Twisted Fans

Yep, the rising feline star receives actual fan mail from time to time, a clear indication that we have some folks who might need to get out of the house a little more. I thought it was only appropriate that Scotch respond to these missives, since these folks took the time to correspond with a kitty, but you know how cats are. They aren’t interested in doing anything that wasn’t originally their idea. But eventually, after I pretended to no longer care and went into another room to make fake busy noises, Scotch padded over to my desk, slipped into my fancy office chair, adjusted some of the controls with his tail, picked up the first letter, and began to read…


Deer Skotch…We luved your Store Ree. It sounds like our house too eggsept we have 2 Mommies that won’t let us on the toplap to make our reports. Keep up the faith, our brother from another mother….Piece Out! Your Ginger Brothers from across the pond, Angel and Spike Aten-Shearwood


Dear People Who Wrote This,

Why are you talking about deer? I don’t think I like deer. I was watching a dockingmentary on the NayChore channel the other day, because my daddies left it on that stupid station and I couldn’t press the buttons on the Ream Oat because my stupid daddies didn’t trim my nails and I kept making the sound louder instead of making the picture change and I was not very happy.

Oh. I don’t think I should be saying my daddies are stupid because they feed me and stuff and I really don’t want that part of stuff to stop because I’m hungry a lot. All the time. I don’t have any brothers and sisters so I just eat and sleep. I don’t know any different.

But I do know that I didn’t like the deer on that show. I don’t like horns. Nobody I know has horns. So, horns are bad. I think. I don’t know.

I don’t know what I’m talking about right now. I get confused. Sometimes sunshine comes in my favorite window and sometimes it doesn’t come in. Nobody told me why, I just wait for the sunshine and keep myself clean.

Oh, wait, you have two mommies? I think that’s good. Better than dockingmentaries about stupid deer with stupid horns. And those co-mershal things, with stuff to buy.  Why do the Big People need something so they can clap and make lights turn on? Just go ask a Daddy. He can turn it on for you. And maybe give you treats if you did the right things that day. Or are cute. Cute means treats sometimes, so I try that a lot.

Why are we talking?

Oh yeah, two mommies. I have two daddies, so we are just alike except your Big People have to sit down when they squirt water. And they don’t have dangle balls that I want to scratch when they are sleeping and making loud roaring noises with their mouths and I can’t relax. Tabby Lee, the cat who gets to run around Out Side and sometimes talks to me when I’m in my favorite window, she says that I use to have dangle balls too, but I think she drinks a lot, so I don’t know. But I kind of remember having berries. Wait a minute! I’m having a backflash! Because I really DID have berries and then one day…

No, I better not think about that anymore.

But what is the ginger stuff you are talking about? What is ginger brothers? I was in the pantry one day, because when somebody opens that door I know I need to run like crazy because I might be getting a treat, the pantry is the Treat Kingdom, there are treasures in there. So, I was sitting there all nice and not-clawing anything in the pantry, and one of the daddies knocked over something and it fell on the floor down where I live. A bag of something.  I can’t read very well, because I hit my head when I was little, trying to fly, but I think the bag said “Gingersnap Cooties”.

Is that what you and your brother are? Ginger Cooties? I don’t know if that’s really fun or not, because I don’t know what that is. And I don’t know why you would want to be in a bag that can fall down, unless you just have to do that because your Mommies said you had to. My Daddies make me do stuff all the time that is not right and doesn’t make me happy, so I understand if you have to live in a bag, because I have to stop scratching stuff even though it feels good and I like the sound of things being ripped to pieces.

Oh. That made me think of something. Have you ever played with the fancy machine in the bathroom that gives you paper if you just pull on it? I think it’s called the Twyla Paper Distemper. I love that thing. You can whack at it for a long time and paper just keeps coming out. Until it doesn’t anymore. Then it’s kind of sad, like when there’s something floating in your water bowl and you don’t want it in there anymore, even though you put it there. I don’t know why I do stuff sometimes but I think Daddies should just fix it when I don’t like it and not just tell me it’s my fault.

But even when the magic paper stops coming out, there’s still fun. You can roll around in the paper and play games about being trapped and you have to kill the paper and rip it up. Then you can hear one of those noises that the Big People don’t hear you hearing, and you can pretend to be scared and go running all over the house without knowing where to really go. And that makes some of the paper be in every room and that’s a special thing I like to do. I’m an inferior decorator!

The Daddies don’t think so, though. They say bad words when they pick up all my presents everywhere. They don’t understand that I’m giving them nice things. I have to hide for a while until they quit stomping around and talking about trees dying for no reason. But then I get them back when they try to pick me up and love on me, and I get to act like it hurts me and I just want to get down or I’m going to die. Daddies can’t scream and twist like me, so they need to understand that my fighting makes me very important. And they need to give me treats for my special skills.

Okay, I think that answers all your questions, fan mail writer person. You said more stuff about “Angel” and “Spike”. I think those might be your names, because names are at the end of stuff you read that you find in the mailbox, but those words make me think of a TV show that my Daddies used to watch, one that I didn’t like when they watched it. That show was about van pires, people that bite you in the night.  But I can bite in the night too, and I do, all the time, so they just need to turn the TV off and wait for me to get bored. Anyway, bye bye.


Dear Scotch,

My name is Princess Noelle. I am a supurr sexxy sleek jet black kitty with purrty gold eyes. I live in a catsell with my Queen Mommy and King Consort Daddy and my Prince Poodle brother. I would love to trade my brother for another daddy like you have though.

My hobbies are laser light shows, making things go bump in the night, ambushing my brother and all things shiny and sparkly (I get that from my mommy). I also enjoy indulging in a bit of herbal relaxation on occasion. Maybe someday we can meet, enjoy some fresh grown herb and learn all about who, what, when, where, why and how together. Maybe even get Mary’d and share a sunny window.


Dear Princess No L,

How did you become a princess in our land? My daddies say they don’t have royal T’s where we live. They say this while we are watching dockingmentaries on TV where they are talking about Egg Land, where they still let people wear crowns and long robes that I want to jump on and rip and then act like I don’t know what people are talking about when they don’t like ripping. (Try it! It’s fun!) I think one of my daddies really wants to be a royal T, because he likes to wave like that one queen woman, queen Liza Beth, where she waves like her arm is broken or something and she needs to use the litter box real soon.

What is super sexy? I don’t know anything about sexy. Because my daddies ripped my berries out when I was too little to fight (I remember!) and now I don’t think of sexy. Well, they didn’t really do the ripping (they don’t like ripping! bad kitty!) but I saw them sign a little piece of paper and give it to the man who did the ripping. If you sign something and give it to people, that means you are saying “yes, do a bad thing and here is my otter graph”. I learned that watching Cord TV.

But I do know what a catsell is. I learned that watching the stories about Queen Liza Beth, her ugly children with big ears, and lots of catsell staff who did jobs I could do, like wind a clock or make sure there were seven doves flying in the air when Liza Beth had to go tinkle. I think I would like to live in a catsell, because with that many people, somebody is gonna have treats in their pocket.

Why do you want to trade your brother? I had a brother and a sister who had to go to a resting place with angels, and I didn’t want to trade them, but it happened anyway. But if your brother is fussy and makes people look at him instead of you, well, that’s not good. You have to always be the cutest if you want to win. My mommy told me that, before I didn’t listen to her and ran away and was very scared until my new Daddies found me in the pumpkin patch at their house. My new house is not a catsell, but there is always food in my bowl.

What is a hobbies? Are those the little people in those movies about the Lord’s Ring? Those really long movies where I fall asleep trying to be cute and I wake up two hours later and movie people are still talking about a ring that I don’t care about? I think you don’t need hobbies. Too long.

But laser light shows? That would be when the daddies make something shiny dance on the floor and I go a little bit crazy because I must kill that light spot even thought I can’t catch it. (My friend Tabby Lee says daddies making lights dance that you can’t catch is child abuse. I never know if I can believe her or not.) Making things go bump in the night is good, though. I’m trained for that, even if I don’t remember who trained me. Maybe the angels who are resting? I don’t know.

Okay, the other stuff you are talking about. I don’t think you should ambush your brother. That’s silly. He’s a poodle and he’s a dog. He’s going to ambush himself, so just let it happen without getting off your special pillow. I do like Shiny and Sparkly, they were my favorite characters on “Will and Grace”.  But I didn’t like how that show ended. I thought it was stupid. But maybe I shouldn’t call things stupid, because I lick my own boo-boo.

Now, what is this with herbal? Herbal Essence? Like the shampoo, where the commercials had people telling two friends and telling two friends and the TV screen was full of hundreds of big-hair women who just should go to a disco and leave me alone? Oh wait. I might be mixing up my shampoos. I don’t really use one (I have a tongue!) so I should maybe be quiet. But if you want to share shampoos and talk about why and how, okay, but I don’t want there to be water. Especially if there is something floating in it that I threw in there but then decided I shouldn’t have done that.

Thank you for asking to be Mary’d and sharing windows, even though I can’t have sex and I will claw you out of the window if I want to be in it. But I can’t do that. I can’t be Mary’d. Not until my daddies can be Mary’d too. I have to protest and wave a sign and smile for the TV people and vote for progress people. Everyone should get a Mary if they love each other. I learned about that watching the Ellen show while I waited for my puff balls to dry out after I Bap Tithed them in my water bowl.

Okay, I have to go now. My daddies will be home soon and I need to make sure that I have the magic paper from the bathroom spread out in a way that will help me win Design Starch. Bye bye.


P.S. If you have extra treats that you don’t like, please send to Bonny’s Wood Man Her. Thank yoo.


Old footnote: Originally published in “The Sound and the Fury” on 07/26/12. Revised and updated with extra flair for this post. For Those of You Keeping Score: This was written in the interim period when Scotch was the only fur child at Bonnywood, before his newest sister, Cleo, made her debut from West Texas. Scotch was, indeed, found quivering in one of our flower gardens, a tiny orange blob (he is a ginger, he just doesn’t know it), therefore the pumpkin patch reference. Cleo found Terry whilst he was visiting his sister in Odessa, and her diminutive but insistent actions made it clear that he was not to leave without her. He didn’t. And thus a family was made…

New footnote: Also published in “Bonnywood Manor” on 06/19/17. Minimal changes made from that last version. As mentioned in yesterday’s post, the Scotch Train is nearing the final station and we’re about to disembark. I think I’ll do just one more, and I’d like it to be the post where I formally introduced Cleo, Scotch’s sister, who is equally neurotic in her own way. But, at the moment, I can’t remember the name of that post and therefore I can’t find it in the files. Do any of you lovely longtime Bonnywood companions happen to recall what that post might have been called?


16 replies »

      • She’s doing ‘as well as can be expected’…some days I think the medication is really helping, others not so much. She still has coughing fits that are alarming, but I’m supposed to give this pill regime a month to ‘see’. So I’ll be patient. It’s hard when they can’t tell you what’s wrong, only meow loudly or give one sad puppy dog eyes… I guess being a ‘parent’ to a kid or a fur-kid…neither is very easy.

        Liked by 1 person

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