Unsent Letters by Heather Mark

Dear Jojo,

From the time I adopted you from the Burbank animal shelter back in the 1900’s, I knew you were a special animal. Back then you held your tail straight out behind you. You sneezed up chunks of spongy cat flesh that stuck to the walls and carpets. Your poop smelled like a taco combination plate left in a hot car for a few days. You didn’t clean between your toes and you had no “catlike reflexes”. Where on Earth did you come from?

Several years later I learned you liked vegetarian items in your diet. A stray piece of watermelon or mango on the kitchen floor was a vitamin packed treat for you. Celery greens flitting over the top of the grocery bag didn’t stand a chance when you were in the room. And oh how you loved a crisp sugar snap pea. You also liked to lick the blinds and eat plastic string, for whatever that’s worth.

Tonight I was a little upset. You stole a piece of broccoli from Daddy’s plate and huddled off in the corner while you at the whole thing. The whole thing except for the impossible little flowers that were too small for you to grasp. So you left them on the carpet for me to clean up.

Jojo, you know how useless I am with the housekeeping ever since the baby was born. I could really use some help around here. Leaving broccoli mash in front of the bookcase is just inconsiderate. The baby is asleep now so I dare not run the vacuum until tomorrow. If you don’t mind, would you try again to eat up all the little broccolis for momma?

Thank you, my dear friend.

H.