A Letter to Our Cat, Fletch-

(Authors Note: I know this may seem silly to some of you, but next to my God and my family, Fletch is the creature I enjoy the most on the planet. It's hard for me to leave him but completely necessary, for his sake.)



Dear Fletch-

I know lately you’ve been confused with all the moving Tammi and I have been doing, for that I apologize. I have not been to terribly straight forward with everything that will be happening in the coming weeks. Tammi and I will be leaving for a long time and we won’t be able to take you with us, if you did, we would have to make you go to sleep for a long time. Now I know that this does not sound particularly inconvient to you, but there is a chance that you could get hurt and possibly die, and that would break our heart.
This isn’t like our trip to New York of Miami. We are not going for vain reasons. God has called us to move to Africa to help some children who are without mothers and fathers. We will be living with them and teaching them and helping them grow. We once saved you from a shelter where you were all alone (do you remember that? I do). You were scared and we brought you home and gave you love and you grew into a mighty cat with a tremendous heart. That is exactly what we are hoping to do at House of Hope, I hope you understand and won’t forget us. We won’t forget you.
There is a song by one of your favorite bands, the Weakerthans, about a cat that is worried about the type of life his owner is living, and knowing that he is capable of so much more. I know that if you wrote songs rather than short stories, you would have written this for me. I want you to know that we are leaving this comfortable and sometimes lazy life for a much bigger cause than I think anyone can comprehend. I want you to be proud of us. I think you will be.
Again, I am sorry for not being open with you over the past few months. We will be moving home for our last week in the states, and I promise we will spend some quality time together.

“Plea From A Cat Named Virtute”

Why don't you ever want to play?
I'm tired of this piece of string.
You sleep as much as I do now, and you don't eat much of anything.
I don't know who you're talking to-I made a search through every room, but all I found was dust that moved in shadows of the afternoon.
And listen, about those bitter songs you sing?
They're not helping anything.
They won't make you strong.

So, we should open up the house.
Invite the tabby two doors down.
You could ask your sister, if she doesn't bring her Basset Hound.
Ask the things you shouldn't miss: tape-hiss and the Modern Man, The Cold War and Card Catalogues, to come and join us if they can, for girly drinks and parlor games.
We'll pass around the easy lie of absolutely no regrets, and later maybe you could try to let your losses dangle off the sharp edge of a century, and talk about the weather, or how the weather used to be.

And I'll cater with all the birds that I can kill.
Let their tiny feathers fill disappointment.
Lie down; lick the sorrow from your skin.
Scratch the terror and begin to believe you're strong.
All you ever want to do is drink and watch TV, and frankly that thing doesn't really interest me.
I swear I'm going to bite you hard and taste your tinny blood if you don't stop the self-defeating lies you've been repeating since the day you brought me home.

I know you're strong.

Love-
Michael

ps. Please help Bo get over his social anxiety disorder, I know he is capable of greatness as well!