Dear Management


The continuing adventures of Cinnamon Cricket and her cat, Hoot…

Hoot and I are in a staring competition. He’s very good at staring. I either fall asleep or cry because my eyes run out of eye juice and that doesn’t feel good. So far, I’m doing neither of those things. I’m winning! Hoot is a very pretty cat. He’s blonde all over with orange stripes on his head. I hope I have orange stripes on my head one day. Dad has orange so apparently there’s a good chance I’ll have orange too. Mum thinks this is fabulous news! Dad doesn’t, I don’t know why.

Hoot and I are learning each other’s languages! I’ve learnt that ears back means pat my head and he’s learnt that wah-wah-wah means run off and get Mum. He’s not very good at actually getting Mum yet. Hoot blinks and swishes his tail. I want to grab his fur because it feels like warm squish so I reach both my arms out to his face. His ears flatten! He wants me to pat him! Just as I’m about to reach an ear he runs off and I don’t even need him to get Mum! He’s such an enigma.

            Dear Management,

I’m lodging a complaint. The mutant’s hands are always sticky. Always. Sticky. This is unacceptable. I am a direct descendant of Wong Mau. My people were once worshipped in Burmese temples as embodiments of Gods. Gods. On what planet do you think sticky, mutant, jam fingers on a God is reasonable? This is not tolerable, human, and I demand recompense. Do you know how long it takes to lick jam out of purebred, blonde fur? Long, idiot, long. My demands for restitution are below. Until they are met I will be leaving you and the co-manager a strategically placed vomit at an undisclosed location within the domiciliary at precisely 4.04am every, single, day. It will have rotting meat, fusty furballs, and jam in it. You’re welcome.

  • The mutant must not be fed real food, ever again. Milk or die.
  • A hammock suspended above the fridge.
  • My own catnip farm (in my name).


Thiha Archibald Hootentoot the Third

Hoot doesn’t come back. We need to work on that. But the mail is here! And there’s a package from Grandma! Mum helps me open it and inside is a tambourine (OMG!!!), a postcard from New Zealand and a CD that says Jitterbug. WOW!

Stay tuned for more…



Filed under Baby, blogging, Cats, Family, Fiction, Food, Humour, IVF, Love, Motherhood, My Book, Women/Feminist, Writing

3 responses to “Dear Management

  1. Dawn

    Brilliant! The cat is a hoot! Ha ha.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Tee hee! He’s very fun to write!


  3. Pingback: Jitterbug | into the quiet

Leave a reply, start a conversation - go on, you know you want to!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s