I am a gray tabby cat named Lizzie. My staff informs me about a recent column condemning me as one of an invasive outdoor species responsible for killing a multitude of birds. The writer seems to think that I belong indoors at all times. Upon hearing this, I threw a hissy fit and clawed the sofa to fragments.

That column writer has a lot of nerve. It was his species that rendered the passenger pigeon extinct, not mine. He revels in the title of president of the American Bird Conservatory, a roundabout way of saying that he’s a paid mouthpiece for a bunch of blue jays.

It happens I like being outdoors. There’s nothing like basking on the driveway, a driveway I bought and paid for through my staff.

And what of my garden time? How does the indoors compare to the shade of peppers, tomatoes, and asparagus ferns?

Granted, I’ve killed some birds. I’ve also killed rats, mice, and squirrels. This is a task best done in the yard. Once Mr. Squirrel is in the attic or Mr. Rat is in the wall, it’s a bit late to be calling for my services. Maybe he ought to have a rat scuttle over him as he’s dropping off to sleep.

It would be a good reminder that vermin are alive and well in the world.

Better yet, perhaps the writer ought to be confined inside his house for the rest of his life.

While we are at it, let’s get him licensed and microchipped and give his next of kin a hard time if he gets out of line.

You may doubt that cats can write letters to the editor. We can’t. We have staff for that. Mine is incompetent like all human staffs and has just enough sense to pull his head in when he closes the window.

He has the small virtue of writing a lot of ballyhoo to the newspaper about inconsequential subjects, and so I have put him to work on a more important topic.

Craig S. Faust

For Lizzie,

an opinionated gray tabby

Church Creek Drive