Dear Satchmo

Dear Satchmo,

What's up? How are you? Have you been sleeping with the electric blanket on during the day? That's a fire hazard, but I approve because it's very impressive that your little non-human paws can turn that thing on all by themselves.

I miss you. That's what this all boils down to. I like Portland, don't get me wrong. I walk around the city, and I feel very excited by the dark black coffee, and the unique bike racks, and the small magazine presses. I like the fog, and I like how it's cold enough that no one gets fleas (!!!). But none of that -- NONE OF IT -- compares to you.

Like, the other day, I was walking along, and I saw a cat who looked kind of like you. He was really handsome and he was kind sprawled out in front of a car, like he didn't fucking give a damn. Doesn't that SOUND like you? And anyway Satchmo, I went up to him, and I was like, "Hey, I've got a primary partner, but if you want, I'll dangle a string in front of you!" And he flopped over on his back and then got up and chased a squirrel. These young hot Portland things. They can't even commit to a string time. 

But honestly, Satchmo, I'm glad he rejected me. I would have felt guilty. That's how much I miss you. It's weird how you will take a bath with me. Most cats don't do shit like that. You get in the bath with me, and you get all wet, and you meow, and that's the thing that makes me feel like the luckiest woman on earth. 

I'll be home soon. Please don't find anyone's chest you love kneading more than mine. The more you knead me, the more I need you.

Love,

Sophie