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This is the piece my English teacher wanted to send to Jerry Seinfeld. Since we had finished a book called Ben and Me (the story of Ben Franklin's life from the point of view of his mouse friend) so after reading it, we had to make our own "and me" story. I decided to do this-- J.S.'s life from the view of a cat.




Chapter One
Mr. Jerome Seinfeld

Mister Jerry Seinfeld was a delight to have as a companion, and it is unfortunate that I am unable to reach him any longer. You see, Seinfeld recently set off to begin his career as a successful actor. I have always been fond of his presence, and I have been very lonely for what seems to have been over a decade. But the truth is he only left last week.


Oh, by the way I am Tom, a tabby cat. I can speak over ten languages including Klingon. Yes, you heard correctly, I am a talking cat. But if you think that my specie affects my skills of writing, then you sir (or ma’am) are definitely incorrect. As I was saying, I was born into a rich family, but after horrible deaths and bankruptcy, my family collapsed. The rest of how I ended up as a stray is a story for another time, but now we focus on me three years ago, in 1991, the year I met Seinfeld.


I remember the day exactly. It was like any other typical day in New York. The actors and actresses were preparing for their appearances; singers were singing everything from slow, romantic music to vulgar, fast rap music. Everyone had a life. They had a purpose. But I, an abandoned kitten, was solo. My primary source of nourishment was left over scraps from a dingy Italian restaurant. It was no more than pizza crust and dried pasta, at best! For a stray like myself, entertainment consisted mainly of muffled sounds and visions of the hit sitcom Seinfeld. I watched Seinfeld religiously at any twenty four hour electronic store I could find. The actors were, without a doubt, amazing. I knew that someday, I would meet one of those fine people. And of course, judging by what you have already read, I did.


Jerome Allen Seinfeld. He was the one in particular who really evoked a feeling. He played a simple character in the show—himself. He was hilarious and had what seemed to be a great talent. I knew I had to meet this fascinating man. So I set off into the depths of NY to find him.

The aftermath of my adventure was straightforward—I had met Mr. Seinfeld in his filming studio. Oh boy, how nice he was. Being beside him, as his colleague, his confidante, his friend was an astonishing experience. However, once he realized I was a talking cat (long before we engaged in a true friendship); he began throwing things at me! Yes, Jerry Seinfeld literally tossed random objects at a poor, stray cat whose only intention was to befriend him. After the calamity, I introduced myself and made it clear that I was only there to help him and become his pal.

For the next three years, I helped him with his profession of not only being an actor, but a comedian. I am only here to claim the credit that should have been given many years ago...

Let’s get the facts straight— I am the true mastermind behind Jerry’s clever and humorous ways. So, therefore, I am technically the Jerry to his Tom. I was his mentor. I crafted him into what he is now, and what he will become in the 21st century. Here’s a little note for you Jerry, if you are actually reading this: The secret’s out! No more hiding it, Jerome. The press and the public know.


Although I have some uncertainties that they will even begin to believe that a cat wrote this.

“Why do people give each other flowers? To celebrate various important occasions, they're killing living creatures? Why restrict it to plants? "Sweetheart, let's make up. Have this deceased squirrel."


That’s only one of his jokes that I wrote. The funny thing is, sure, I wrote some of a very well-known man’s funny stories, but I don’t feel a pinch of pride whatsoever. It’s because that I have yet to be acknowledged. I love the man as if he was my brother, but I find it bothersome to see him rewarded with appreciation and praise, yet shows me not a tad of gratitude. I mean, he didn’t even have to mention the fact that I was of the feline specie. He could have simply said, in any of his numerous public appearances, that he would like to thank a “special friend” for assisting him in his pursuit of fame and molding his gift of humor into a stronger structure than what it once was.


Of course, just because he didn’t correctly distribute credit doesn’t necessarily mean I hate the poor guy. All in all, it was very pleasurable to be his buddy. We helped write some of Seinfeld and Jerry would pass it on to Larry David who would revise it and make a few changes to our work, which again, Jerry claimed as his. However, being a co-writer of my favorite television program made me feel as if I were a part of something. I would come to the studio everyday and help him write until, eventually, he took me in as his own and I lived in a spare room where he had also kept some novels and notebooks so I could not only settle down for a nice story, I could jot some of my ideas for Seinfeld on some scratch paper.


He cared for me like family. Feeding me luxurious foods, rather than the sickening bits and pieces of what looked like expired yogurt mixed with rabbit droppings. I could munch on high quality chocolate muffins, homemade Italian pastas, tasty, yummy turkey sandwiches, butter soaked waffles and pancakes whenever I craved for them and of course, the fish! Oh, the fish! How delicious it was!

Don’t get me wrong, I’m very grateful for what he has done to better my life just as I did his. Once we had lived the long span of three years together, he gifted me to a rich family who were caring of cats like myself, so I could socialize with my own kind.

Yet, there is still a tiny resentment that is swelling in my stomach. I seek a settling of scores. I seek vengeance.
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