Forgotten: A Monologue

Hello? Helloooooooooo? Down here. Yes, hello. It’s me! Can’t you see my bowl is empty? Why are you cursing at me? I have to get underfoot just to get your attention these days. Only a few months ago, when you were fat and home all the time, we were best friends. We were always together. We snuggled in bed together, read recipe books, chatted endlessly for hours. Now, I don’t exist. Forgotten. No food and not so much as a pat.

And that thing. His pathetic cries assault my precious ears. He stinks, and he’s always with you. He has taken over my house, and you don’t even let me near you when you’re with him. I wouldn’t touch him to scratch him.

When did it all change? Why did you have to go and destroy the happy, quiet, predictable world we had all created?

I don’t need you, really. I much prefer the man now anyway. He keeps the place warm and shares his ham in the mornings. But I could easily just walk away. There are plenty of other warm places around here, and probably some hapless old lady who would feed me something delicious. I never asked to be picked up from that shelter. I was holding my own. I was getting by. I didn’t need a family, to make attachments, to rely on anyone or anything. I am a natural born killer. I am not a fluffy cuddle toy.

What’s that sound? Oh, wait! I take it all back. The tasty sound of a can being opened, music to my ears! Tuna today? I love you, I love you, you’re wonderful!

I still don’t like that thing though.