Nicholas. Photo courtesy Jessa Lewis.

Nicholas. Photo courtesy Jessa Lewis.

While cleaning the room in preparation for our move, I found a bundle of letters hidden behind the couch. After some lengthy examination, I determined that they had been written by the cat. They might be some type of a diary. Nicholas has been living with us in the spare room since we arrived here in July, and unfortunately, due to my mother-in-law’s cat allergy, that’s the only place he’s been. I can’t imagine having your world condensed to one singular bedroom, especially after being king of the apartment for so long. But I’m not the best person to tell this story. Let’s hear from Nicky.

Day 1

“My incarceration begins. The humans trapped me in that blasted carrier and whisked me far away. Of course, I shouted for help the entire time, but to no avail. Now I am in a room. The accommodations are merely tolerable. I do not know where I am. Nothing smells right. I do not yet see a way out.”

Day 2

“The humans come and go as they please, and yet I cannot leave the room. What madness is this??”

Day 7 

“There is a window with a clear view of what must be the area outside. I tried to get out through a crack in the screen and was briefly successful before the humans apprehended me and brought me back to solitary. O brief freedom! How sweet it was to taste, and how bitter to lose. I must continue to find a way out.”

Day 26

“Via the window, I was visited today by large, ugly, avian creatures. I have never seen anything like them before. There was one larger than the rest and much bolder, surrounded by four or five others. I cried myself hoarse for help, but they did not seem to understand. New tormentors, perhaps?”

Day 44

“Still no signs of help. The humans keep speaking of produce. Kale or lettuce or something. They seem to think that they can build it. Foolish humans. A pox on your kohlrabi!”

Day 82

“The skies are filled with ash and soot. I believe the humans may have brought me to the end of the world. What have I done to deserve this?”

Day 106

“My attempts to communicate with the humans regarding my situation have, sadly, proven to be unsuccessful, yet again. I scratched a message of distress into a large, paperish object that they left in my prison cell. Turns out they call this object a ‘box’ and they don’t want me writing on it. The exits are blocked. The way out is through. My resolve is weakened, but I shall prevail.”

Day 119

“Mousey [N.B.: Mousey is Nicholas’ favorite catnip toy] unexpectedly spoke to me today. Never before in our many years of association has he done this. I cannot yet write what he said. I cannot yet fathom it. I do not want to believe it.”

Day 135

“After years of silence, I cannot make Mousey be quiet. Despite my thrashing him regularly with tooth, claw, and kick, Mousey continues to say … bad things. Awful things. About the humans. I cannot listen to him. I will not tolerate him any further.”

Day 140

“I killed Mousey today. It had to be done. Otherwise … no. We will not speak of it.”

Day 141

“The humans came back to my cell today with Mousey. He was seemingly unharmed — in fact, he seemed better than he had ever been! So far, blessed silence from him, but I will watch and wait. He cannot be trusted.”

Day 145

“Mousey started talking again today.”

Day 146

“Mousey is friendlier than before. Much of the rhetoric is the same, but either Mousey is nicer, or my resolve is all but gone. We talk for hours.”

Day 148

“Mousey may have found a way out of here for us. He told me that the food-bearing human [N.B.: Nicholas means Drew] is weakest when it is darkest out. I must state my demands when his defenses are lowest, repeatedly, until my wish for freedom is granted. We begin tonight.”

Day 150

“The food-bearing human is not happy when I speak to him in his slumber, but this is the only way. Mousey says so.”

Day 159

“Despite nightly protests, the food-bearing human has not yet granted me parole, or even access to a counsel. Mousey says the protests might not be enough. Mousey speaks of more drastic action. I have tolerated the humans thus far, but this injustice has gone on long enough. Perhaps Mousey is right.

Perhaps it is time for revolution.

Perhaps. Purrrrrrrr”

The letters end there. Sounds like it’s been a rough go for poor Mr. Nicholas.


Letters From The Spare Room
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2 thoughts on “Letters From The Spare Room

  • December 8, 2015 at 1:21 pm

    Dear Mr. Nickolas,
    Help is on the way! You have been a brave, brave, cat but this incarceration must stop! I will tell you that the humans are not happy with the fact that you cannot get out of your room and roam and guard the house as you used to do. This will all change shortly, and I beg of you to hold on just a little while longer. The reason you have been contained is for your safety. The humans Drew and Mindy, have been busy building you a new cat house! You will be allowed into every room and even in the attic! The humans are dreaming up a cozy bed and play toys for your enjoyment and pleasure. This is only weeks away, (that is seven meal times) Until this wonder comes to pass, I urge you to not listen to Mr. Mousie, for he is evil, evil, EVIL!
    Patience, Mr. Nicky, patience. Before you know it, you will be taken on a very short ride to your new home, where you will have absolute run of the entire house!
    Wait for two weeks (14 dinner times) and Mr. Gary and myself will come and visit you and the humans. Be assured that if you are in distress we will have a talk with the humans and get you some catnip so as you can snooze your way through it.
    Patience dear feline, patience.
    The Mother Human

  • December 10, 2015 at 7:53 am


    Borba here. I know how you feelz. For months, Mommaz and Daddyz took me on a bike ride every single day, but now, now we’re not biking. Taking some time off, they say. Lazy humans. So what does that mean for Borba? PRISION. Like you, I’m trapped in a room all day while they work outside and pet OTHER DOGS and CATS. CATS! One of whom tried to take over my trailer! (I like some cats, but sometimes, I like to chase them, too.)

    So I yelp and cry and they IGNORE ME.

    When they come home, they smellz like other dogs and CATS and I can’t believe it. So then I just whine until they give me food to make up for the atrocities.

    My sista cat Nima taught me a trick he uses on Mommaz. At 4:30 in the morning, step on the food-bearing hooman’s riblets and walk across them to his face. Then lick his eyeballz! That’ll teach him.

    Best of luck. I hope you escape jail time soonz.

    Your friend,


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