Feral Cat Intervention!

Let Go

Dear TLW,

Today I have gathered a number of your closest internet friends and family together to talk to you about  Cat Scratch Fever.  When you got your first 5 kitties, we all were hoping that you were just going through a little phase, like the one you went through when you renamed yourself  Lady Nasty (pronounced La Dynasty) a few months ago.  Lady Nasty was a great sidekick, except for that habit she had of smoking old cigarette butts she found in parking lots.  Look, I know that The Year of Aquarius has been a real letdown, but you are officially out of control.  You say you only have 24 cats, but it’s actually 38 now.  I sat outside your window and counted yesterday.  Your cat Mr. Snoop Dog invites bitches to the living room whenever his Mama ain’t home.  A few bitches have moved in, incase you hadn’t noticed.  

We are here today in the hopes of making you see that you can live a full and healthy life without 38 feral cats.  I have letters from your Mother and MattOnFire that I want to share with you.  Your good friend Jocelyn Testes-Harder  also wrote an intervention letter, but it was about kicking your meth addiction.  When I reminded her that you don’t have a meth addiction, she wrote another letter to you describing how to give the perfect blow job with or without your dentures.  When I sent it back for the second time and said that you have an addiction to feral cats and unconditional love, she punched me in the baby maker and told me to tell you to feck off.  But I know she is thinking of you today.

I hope you can accept these letter in the spirit in which they were written – mild affection.


Jesus H. Christ pull yourself together.   What?  You’re lonely?  You want me to make you a little brother or little sister so you have someone to love you?  Aww, poor you…toughen up.  I didn’t raise a Crazy Cat Lady, that’s for sure.  You probably got all those insanity genes from your father.  Did I ever tell you that your father was schizophrenic when we first started dating?  I beat the psychosis out of him and so help me God I will do the same to you if need be. 

It’s normal to be depressed at your age.  Especially since you don’t have a husband to be openly hostile towards at social gatherings.  Speaking of marriage, how are you ever going to land another man with all of those goddamned cats around?  The only kind of man you are going to attract is an alcoholic hoarder who just needs a little bit more space for his collection of pocket combs.

Get rid of the cats, TLW, or you will be dead to me.

Love you,


TLW  – This is a hard letter for me to write.

Ever since I met you all those months ago, I’ve known you to be vivacious, engaging and fun young woman. Maybe “young” isn’t the right word. Distinguished? No. Seasoned? That works. Anyway, I know deep down in my heart that you are a good person, but your addiction has taken control of your life and turned the free spirit I once knew into a housecoat-wearing, gnarly-haired, emotionally-unstable cat lady. The semi-feral cats have become your life, and I fear you are too far gone to realize the toll it has taken on you and your relationships with those that love you.

I first realized that you had a problem when we were out at that lesbian bar you drug me to because you wanted me to see that battle of the bands thing. I told you that hipster guy playing the guitar seemed too good for you, and you responded by hissing in my face and scratching my arm with your freakishly sharp nails. Then you proceeded to “make biscuits” on my belly. I knew then that your 27 (let’s be honest – it’s more like 46 if you count the dead ones rotting in your pantry) semi-feral cats had a tight grip on your life and even affected the way you respond to fellow humans.

Walking into your house is like walking into a cat shit factory. I know you have 14 litter boxes, but do you have to put them all in the kitchen? And you know you’re supposed to clean them out every once in a while, right? The stench hits you like gigantic wall of ammonia and cheap vodka. The cheap vodka smell is probably from all the cheap vodka you drink. But the ammonia is from the cat piss for sure. The walls are stained with a turkey soup/cat food mixture, which you call “Clowder Chowder”, and your fridge is full of industrial-grade meat byproducts and cheap vodka. This is not a healthy environment for a lady. Lady? For a…  For a person? Whatever. You know what I mean.

Remember when I popped in for an unexpected visit and caught you twirling around the living room singing “Some Day My Prince Will Come”? You were dancing with the cat who only has one eye and half a tail. I think his name is Lil’ Johnny Depp. Anyway, the other cats were meowing wildly, almost singing along with you. Except for Admiral Nibbles, who was sharpening his nails on your curtains. Then he looked at me and I swear he did the “suck it” motion and ran off. It was the freakiest damn thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen some shit.

The saddest part of this whole situation is the pain and heartache you are inflicting on your boys. The dogs. What this comes down to, quite frankly, is abuse. We are all aware that you dress your dogs up like cats and then allow your semi-feral cats to gang-hump them. You can hear the whimpers and the howling from a block away, and it breaks my heart. Your dogs are frightened and scared, and begging to be rescued by Robin Starr and left in the back of her car on a hot day outside the SPCA. A far better fate than the pain they are forced to endure living with you.

Please, TLW, it’s time to change your lifestyle and start euthanizing these disease-ridden monsters. I know it will be hard, but I have faith in you. You can do this! With the support of your friends, you’ll get rid of those little bastards and start living a cat-free life. You’ll have to buy a new house, because the one you’re in now smells like pee and dead things, and you just can’t get that smell out without some serious bleaching. You’ll have to get some new clothes, too. The scraggily housecoat really shouldn’t be worn in public – especially if you’re trying to find that prince. Good luck with that! I mean, just get rid of the cats first then you can focus on finding a man. Let’s be realistic, here!

We love you, TLW. Well, we LIKE you. This is an opportunity for you to choose healing and health over cat turds and hairballs.

Your friend,

PS: I swear to Christ, there’s something demonically wrong with Mr. FancyFur. I don’t like the way he looks at me. He’s always plotting! I think he wants to steal my breath.

In the interest of fairness, we agree that you should be allowed to keep 3 of your ferals.  Are you ready to end your dependence of a couple dozen feral cats?  If so, we are here for you.  Well, I am.  Matt will be there if there’s nothing better going on.  And your Mom will be there if you promise to take a picture in the Hanukkah sweater vest your Aunt Sally made for you, even if the cats have been using it as a bed for a few months. 

Come on now.  You can do it.  Pick 3 kitties and drop the rest off behind WRHL, the Fox affiliate in Richmond.  They have plenty of bad press experience in euthanizing caring for semi feral cats. 


3 thoughts on “Feral Cat Intervention!

  1. TLW,

    Your obsession with feral cats has hurt our relationship in the following ways:

    – I don’t like going to the outlet malls with you anymore because you have so much stinky cat hair woven semi-permanently in the fibers of your baggy-assed grey sweat pants.

    – I am hesitant to invite you to our family pot lucks because of the time you brought potato salad that had been sitting out all night. It was obvious to everyone that a cat had had her kittens on it, and that you’d tried to cover it up with a heavy dousing of paprika.

    – I’m in trouble at work because they know it’s me who’s been letting you into our dumpster so you can collect breakroom scraps to feed your newest brood, which you found in that very same dumpster

    If you don’t call animal control in the next week I’m going to have my volunteer firefighter friends come over to blast your apartment and everything in it with a high-pressure hose. Word is bond.

    Your pal,

    1. I can’t believe you caved under the pressure! And to think I applauded you for not being swayed by others. You can forget getting those Women’s Everyday Sponges. I’m giving them to my neighbor’s son’s preschool so they can sponge paint with them.

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