More Misgivings.

Why is it that every time a feline has a busy day coming up, the train won't stop running through their back garden? I'm not certain if it has anything to do with it being winter, what with the bare trees and all, but the trains have got louder and louder over the past month or so. Furthermore, as if the vibration from the train itself isn't bad enough, it's being driven by a bitterly contemptible old ass, who refuses to lay off the air horn for more than one or two brief intervals throughout his passage. What this all amounts to is a kitty with a considerably irritable disposition. Not to mention the nasty attitude being displayed by my not-so happy human.

I've contemplated writing someone about it. You know the sort of thing:

• "Dear Sirs,
  
  I regret to inform you that your conductors are complete morons with absolutely zero respect regarding sleeping felines. I suggest you fire the lot, scrap your loud, obnoxious, earth-rattling contraptions into a tip somewhere, and then go boil your heads until the fat within melts, thus allowing your brain to think again.
  
  I hope you all choke on your bacon.
  
  Yours Purringly,
  Etc. etc…."

I can't see that it would make much of a difference, though. I mean, who the devil would I write? The city needs the commerce, so they're unlikely to listen. The corporations need the transport, so they certainly won't listen. And let's face it, the train conglomerates don't care and would rather tie you to the tracks and saw you asunder before so much as contemplating what might be found within your letter.

It seems to me that moving is an increasingly pleasing idea. If nothing else, it'll get me away from the noise of the city. Then, I suppose it may just be me getting old. As a kitten, I loved noise. I reveled in it. In fact, I took any and every opportunity to create a ruckus. Now, however, I'm nine, soon to be ten, and I won't go into what that may be in human years. Suffice it to say, I want some peace. A nice long stretch of quiet would suit me fine right about now.

Well, I suppose I'll have to put off all of those things I had planned to do tomorrow. While my human is away, instead of eating the houseplants and licking myself on her pillow, I'll have to tuck in for a kip beneath her blankets. Purrhaps I'll get a few hours of decent sleep. It seems that the only time I can manage it anymore is right around one in the afternoon, and she shouldn't be back until around seven.

No one ever said it was easy being feline, and if they had, I'd call them a liar.

Yours Purringly,
W.C. Humphries II (Mr. Fleez for short.)