What follows is the text of the letter going along with CJ to her vet’s visit today:


This is CJ.  She’s 9.  She’s being re-homed up North, due to my boyfriend’s allergies.  We used to live on a farm, but she’s been a flat-cat since 2005, when we moved to Glasgow.

She is third-generation feral, and she was fixed when she was a year old.  I believe she had shots at that time.

She needed a booster when we lived in Glasgow and I wanted to get her chipped, but the vet could do neither at the time, due to an infected scratch on CJ’s neck.

What she needs now is a booster and a chip, and some kitty anti-depressants (milk pills?) for her upcoming journey, and also a vapouriser-plug-in-magic-thing for her new home.  Everyone will thank you for it.

I am sending her to you, accompanied by my boyfriend, because I am a big chicken.  I hate to see her stressed.

My boyfriend may be stressed too, because he thinks this whole thing is his fault.  It isn’t.

Please be nice to them both.

And my boyfriend doesn’t need a chip.



CJ’s Human/The Cat’s Mother

P.S.  The background to this story, complete with more existential reasoning, can be found here.

CJ is disgruntled.

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