Dear Martha, gift wrapping cats is inspired

Dear Martha Stewart,

There was a time when I didn't like you very much.

I even used to make fun of you in this column — remember?

Especially when you let rip with pretentious recipes like "poached white peaches in rose syrup."

(What is your DEAL about white peaches anyway? Regular normal ordinary peaches like the rest of us buy just aren't good enough for fancypants you? And SERIOUSLY! Syrup made out of roses tastes good?)

Here's the thing: I've always had a leetle problem with individuals who set themselves up as "tastemakers"— people who want to tell me what to read! Or wear! Or cook!

Especially if a recipe calls for roses!

Every time I saw a picture of you I wanted to shout GET OVER YOURSELF!

So maybe my dislike of you really was personal after all.

Dollface, you just always seemed so smug, so happy to be you living your awesome life in your awesome house wit? your awesome gardens and your awesome chow-chows.

However.

As the years passed, I developed a grudging respect for you. That respect only grew during the Prison Years where you apparently kept your chin up and bonded with the other ladies there, one of whom even knit you a Good-bye Poncho when you were released because everyone on the inside adored you.

Free again, you began displaying a sense of humor about your mad crafting skills.

Maybe that was just a cold, calculated P.R. move on your part. But whatever.

I don't care.

I like that sometimes you can make me laugh now.

I must say, however, I have a new appreciation for how far and wide your philosophy about the importance of "presentation" has spread.

A few weeks ago, in the middle of much personal turmoil, I had to put my ancient cat, Clio, down.

I made arrangements to have her cremated because I wanted to spread her ashes in the garden where she and I had spent many happy hours together.

Yes. I know. That all sounds very weird — like my cat and I were a couple who'd met online and discovered we had a lot in common.