I'm a small cat, to be fair, but I ain't stupid. I know there's more out there than this apartment. You forget that I was born on these streets! I spent time behind bars! You say you rescued me, but I was perfectly fine with two square meals a day and my cardboard box, thanks.

I met Rey behind those bars. Rey, my compatriot. "My only friend" — that's right, I hear you laughing at me behind my back! Rey is a nice cat, to be sure, but she's stupid. She would be content to sit under the bed all day if you let her, as if that was the only place in the world. Sure, she might try to get out the door occasionally, but that's just so she can get closer to you. She finds your presence comforting. That's what makes her stupid.

Me? I'm a smart cat. I have a plan for when I get out. I'm going to take a right, then a left, and then I'm going to walk down those stairs and out into Brooklyn. I was born here, you forget. Brooklyn born and raised, and I know that there's a whole world out there for me, if I can get there.

You mock me. You leave the curtains open and let me stare out at the street. Even that's such a small part of the world. The people come and go. Such a small fraction of all the people out there. And you leave me in this apartment. It's depressing, when you think about it, which I do, a lot, sitting on my purple blanket and doing catnip.

I overheard the meeting for your "zine," talking about getting as many viewpoints as possible and exploring the human condition through art or whatever it is you twenty-somethings talk about. Me, I turn one years old this month, and I've barely seen any of the world. You'd think that you, editor of a zine about all the beauty that humans can create, would want your cat to see some of that beauty, instead of mocking him further by writing a fake letter in his name.

To hell with this. Bring me more catnip.

Yours,
Finn the cat