Not the Best Fit

9 Jan

This is, unsurprisingly, a difficult letter to write.

And yet, in the spirit of the trust you placed in me, I feel it is my duty to declare–forcefully, unequivocally, and magnanimously–that I violated that trust.

You had asked me to house sit, and with that responsibility came the unspoken agreement, a sacred pact if you will, that I would not eat too much of your food, use your bath towels, run up excessive cable fees, or defile your cat with my dick. Indeed a vital aspect of this social contract–I find it awkward but necessary to point out here that at no point was money exchanged–was that I would vigilantly look after your cat’s needs. Which needs, as I am now to understand, did not include the placement of my dick on or even within the vicinity of your cat.

A step-by-step rehashing of the events leading up to this regrettable encounter would be immaterial, boorish, and possibly defamatory. Nonetheless, I believe it is my obligation to give some sort of account as to what happened on the night in question, so that all parties–namely you, your cat, and my dick–can arrive at something approaching peace.

Before going forward, I should humbly point out that I did in fact complete each and every item on the list you left me, such as bringing in the mail, removing the newspaper from your driveway, and watering your plants (not with my dick). These tasks were carried out happily and without regard for compensation. It was my pleasure. Really.

I should also note, without the slightest trace of conceit, that I could very well have remained silent on this delicate subject, and none would be the wiser. But where is the morality in that? What if, for instance, late into the night, I had opened up your laptop, and sleepily but methodically gained access to certain sensitive documents, and sort of accidentally reviewed your financial portfolio, even going so far as to memorize key figures and the precise locations of your various holdings, as I did? I am certain you would want to be made aware of that information, if for no better reason than to “clear the air” between us, so to speak. To put our cards, and not our dicks, on the table.

How embarrassing for me that the very reason I was selected for this assignment is my good standing in the community–in particular my reputation as a person with a dick who can be relied upon to perform such tasks as emptying the litter box, refreshing the water dish, and lovingly and dicklessly providing your cat with the requisite amount of affection–my “way with animals,” as it were. Now I suppose the luster of this distinction has been somewhat tarnished. Perhaps this is as it should be; and if I am to be disqualified from subsequent arrangements, within the orbit of our social group, merely because a portion of my dick ended up on or inside of your cat, then this is my cross to bear.

It is my sincere hope that with time and perspective we will look upon this matter with amusement, detached curiosity, and even celebration. However, in the interests of preventing a recurrence of this unfortunate event, I think it best that in the future I do not house sit for you.

Sincerely,

Richard

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