This Bianca lady has taught me how to write and speak in English with astounding fluency. She still has the copy of your English 12 research paper draft murdered with red ink by that Ensomo lady. I've skimmed through it and am now equipped to say that, despite being a kitten, I have better mastered the language, if in a shameful comparison to my estranged father.
Life without you has been quite turbulent. First, this lunatic Bianca locks me in an old empty house that reeks of cigarette butts and dead relatives. She was under the illusion that I preferred dog food over what was really meant for my species. . Her series of stupidity lasted a week: Everyday she'd walk around the house screaming "Pupu" attempting her best imitation of your voice and idiotic accent. I laughed as I watched her at her wit's end, looking through every single nook and cranny of that big smelly dump she forced me to believe was home. She left me locked in with nothing but dog food and ghosts to interact with--the least I could do was give her a horrible time looking for me. That lunatic was so worried, it reached a point where she even invited a bunch of smoking losers to help her look around that giant dump hoping their sub-par hunting could outskill my feline abilities. Dumb ass.
After a week, your dumb ass lunatic ex finally decided to take me to her house. I met a bunch of even dumber creatures there. I received a pleasant welcome from this friendly hairy creature that looks like the hybrid of Hagrid and a feather duster. I think his name is Stalag, I'm not sure. He kept sniffing my pink butt as if he were waiting for me to shit some Alpo or something. He had a tiny wife who just kept lying down on the couch with her tongue out. She was so ugly I'm not even shocked by how attracted he is to my pink cat butt. They were pleasant creatures. Stupid--but pleasant.
Dad, I will cut through my bullshit memoirs and proceed to my important news: I think I've found the alleged murderers of my brother. The moment I entered your lunatic ex's room, I could already smell their pheromones all over the place. I have no proof that these really are the ones who killed Socrates, but somewhere in my tiny kitten gut, I feel it. I just know. I really wanted to jump on them and scratch their eyeballs out, but they were so much bigger than me. Oh and did I mention, these murder suspects are really really beautiful. I'm not sure, I think I've seen them on television once. They really look like leading actors in Puss N' Boots. Their fame and beauty make my pursuit for justice ten times more difficult. If I take any action now, I fear that all the neighborhood cats would come for their defense. So I guess right now I just have to settle with peeing and pooping on everything they own. I have slowly marked the whole second floor as my territory and am winning the love of every person in this house. Would you believe me if I told you that even the John guy with a mustache now adores me too? I learned from the best, thanks dad.
One more thing, another reason I'm writing to you apart from updating you on my justice hunt and letting you realize how stupid my foster mother is, I also want you to know that I'm very alarmed by your recent facebook status. Is it true that you're even considering not coming back for me? Please rethink your decision and get me out of here, ASAP.
With much love and falling fur,
Pupu
