The Case for Dave
Dave is an orange cat, and Dave suffers. Not occasionally. Not mildly. Dave suffers with a completeness and a consistency that would break a lesser creature entirely.
His days are a procession of atrocities. Zucchini appears where no zucchini was invited. Bowls sit empty, for entire minutes at a time. Doors close. The sun, without warning and without apology, becomes too bright. His own sister ambushes him, and then suffers a shocking moral collapse, and shows no remorse whatsoever.
There are spiders he cannot reach and, later, cannot find. There are heights. There is baking soda. There is, on the worst days, a cruel and total absence of styrofoam. He has endured wrongful imprisonment, coordinated ambushes, storms both external and internal, and an inexplicable, aching yearning for Martha Stewart.
We do not know why the world has chosen Dave. We know only that it has, that it does so daily, and that someone must keep the record.
This is that record. Countless horrors. One very unfortunate orange cat. We ask only for the thing he has never once been granted: justice for Dave.
The Charges
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1
The zucchini, and other vegetables
Introduced into his home without consultation, without warning, and without any regard for the terror they so plainly inspire.
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2
The bowl, and its recurring emptiness
It is refilled, yes. But there are moments - long, unbearable moments - in which it is not. Dave remembers every one.
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3
The family, and their betrayals
They laugh. They ambush. His own sister has looked him in the eye and chosen cruelty. He is betrayed, reliably, from every angle.
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4
Jackson, who ignores him
There is Jackson. Dave looks to Jackson in his hours of need. Jackson, without fail, is looking at something else.
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5
The world itself
Too bright. Too loud. Too full of bunnies, spiders, heights, and things that were moved slightly since yesterday. It was not built for Dave, and Dave knows it.