“I got a promotion, Mittens. Aren’t you proud of me?” Mittens says, imitating how I used to talk to him.

I’d say it’s uncannily accurate, except there’s a coldness to his tone that doesn’t sound like me. I can’t imagine how my coworkers don’t notice it.

And anyway, I was in training for my job for four years, how can he just waltz in and do it better than me?

“It comes with a raise.” he says.

I watch him from across the room.

“Aren’t you going to come here and sit beside me like you used to, Mittens?” he says, reminding me of how he used to act.

Well, he’s feeding me and changing my litter like I did for him. I walk over and sit beside him.

“Let me tell you about my plans.” he says, his thin facade of sounding like me dropping.

“I plan to get more promotions. I’m going to make myself very useful to this company. And I have plenty of time to do that. After all, a human’s lifespan is an assured seventy years of usefulness if I keep myself healthy.”

Forty more years for him. That must seem like an eternity.

For me, I can expect maybe six more years. Well, it could be longer if I’m lucky. But I’m going to be old.

“Oh, don’t worry, Mittens. When it comes time for you to die, I’ll get you something special.” he continues, my mannerisms eerily blending for a moment with his own.

That does not sound good. My fur rises and I have to make an effort not to bolt.

“While you’re still young and healthy, I’ll buy you another toy with my raise.” he continues as if he hadn’t just talked about my dying.

“How about a fishing rod toy? Or one of those squeaky mice like I used to… You used to have?” 

He slipped up. 

“We already have a fishing rod, I’ll go with the mouse.” he says, and gets up, patting me on the head.

I hate it when he does that.