I, Hang in There Kitty, am pretty sure this will be the day that I will fall to my death. And although I appreciate your interest in my struggle, I’m almost certain I won’t be able to hang onto this limb with my little paws for much longer. I am probably going to fall from this limb and crack my tiny skull on the sidewalk below. When I do, please try not to step on me.
Of course, I won’t feel it if you step on my mid-section and force all my organs to squeeze out my mouth like soft serve strawberry frozen yogurt—because I will be dead, but I would hate for you to get my soft kitty fur or thick kitty blood on your shoes, especially if they are your fancy leather work shoes. My bloodstains probably wouldn’t wash out. I don’t really know, though, as I have never tried to wash blood out of anything. I haven’t done much of anything at all, really. Most of my time has been spent hanging from this tree by one teeny paw, trying not to die.
I will say that if I do meet my maker today, it couldn’t happen on a more beautiful afternoon. There doesn’t seem to be a cloud in the sky, and the pink and white blossoms here on this limb that I am barely holding on to for dear life are quite lovely. I would like to climb up this tree again and press my darling whiskers against the flowers, but I know I won’t climb this or any other tree ever again because I am about to drop to the ground and die from massive internal and external bleeding.
I’m sorry to burden you with the details of my imminent, excruciatingly painful death. I’m sure it’s a real bummer to hear about a kitty dying. But look at the bright side: maybe my little kitty blood won’t get everywhere. Maybe it won’t drip into the cracks in the sidewalk where that dandelion grows, or seep into that place where someone etched U SUCK KATY in the concrete. Perhaps instead I’ll just land with a bloodless thud. Then the crows will come.
Oh, who am I kidding? My blood will certainly splatter everywhere. Blood has been pulsating through my veins like wildfire ever since I managed to get stuck in this position. I’m probably just becoming delirious, which in all likelihood was brought on by exhaustion. And that exhaustion was probably brought on by having to hold on to this tree limb with all the might my itty-bitty claws can muster so that I do not fall to the ground and burst into a thousand bloody pieces.
I think my delirium is getting worse, actually. If I stare hard enough, I no longer see trees in the distance, but rather the Sweet Angel of Death dangling an ornate stick with a beautiful array of feathers on the end of it. I can only hope that she has room for me to hang on to her feathery stick so she can transport me safely to the next realm after I fall violently to my death and break all the adorable bones in my baby kitty body. Because holding on is all I’ve ever known, and I’m terribly tired. Tired of this tree, this limb, the taunting squirrels, but most of all I’m tired of being a symbol of inspiration for school children and lonely cat ladies everywhere.