Yes, I sing to May. Every morning. Yes, it’s loud. Yes, I wore the feather boa.

To: Bongo, Esq., ORL PAW
CC: May
Date: January 9, 2026

Bongo,

Let me begin by saying this: I read your cease and desist with the same solemnity one might reserve for a Shakespearean tragedy. Or a Yelp review written entirely in emojis. It was dramatic. It was thorough. It cited precedent. And yet, though you framed it as a legal matter of “inter-species harmony,” I must respond not as a defendant, but as someone who has sung Defying Gravity while wiping cat vomit from her favorite shoes and still finished the high note.

Yes, I sing to May. Every morning. Yes, it’s loud. Yes, I wore the feather boa.

But let me be clear: I never once sang for May’s enjoyment.

I sang for the internet.

In my defense, and please, Bongo, as a creature who once ran for President on a platform of “Naps for All," surely you understand the power of optics. I was curating content. The “Serenading May” videos were my attempt, day after day, to make her go viral. To make her adoptable. To make someone, anyone, see past the side-eye, the aloof grooming sessions, the way she once hissed at a toddler offering her a cracker… and instead see her: dignified, misunderstood, secretly soft on the inside.

I’ve tried every angle. “May the Cuddle Queen”? She bit my hand. “May Who Loves Scratches”? She walked away mid-scratch. But “May: Muse of a Tone-Deaf Dreamer”? That had pathos. That had narrative. I was hoping someone would watch me belt "I Dreamed a Dream" while she stared into the middle distance, unimpressed, and think: That cat deserves better. I will take her home. I will save her from this emotional cabaret.

And yes, okay, I admit it, I do love musical theatre. Yes, I may have once submitted a headshot to a regional casting call under “Performer
Type: Passionate, Unhinged.” But my voice, my performances, the sheer volume of it all—it was never about me. It was a cry for help, Bongo. A cry wrapped in a jazz square.

You claim May suffers: ear-twitching, anti-social napping, reduced biscuit-making. But tell me, have you asked why she hides in the ice cream truck? Not because of the singing. But because no one’s adopted her yet. I sing because I refuse to believe she’s unlovable. I sing because silence feels like giving up.

So here is my counteroffer: I will cease all serenades... if you can guarantee me one thing: That someone, be it human, alien, or sentient houseplant, will adopt May by Valentine’s Day.

No “trial visits.” No “maybe next month.” A real home. A real couch. A real person who sees her worth.

Until then, Bongo, I’m afraid the show must go on. The feather boa remains. And May’s Day of Silence? It shall be observed—on February
15th, after Adoption Day.

Let her be wanted.
Let her be chosen.
And if that takes a few off-
key ballads… then so be it.

I stand by my art.
And I stand by her.

—Heather

P.S. Tell May her video got 12 likes yesterday. One was me. Eleven were bots. But it’s a start.

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