Dear owner of this priceless cat,

I now you’re willing to reclaim your admiring creature from my evil clutches, which are so wicked it’s horrifying to stare at me with all your beady little eyes.  Now give me a moment to describe in exquisitely painful detail what will happen to your flocculent feline if you don’t present me what I crave so indignantly.  In a matter of twenty days, you’ll provide me ten-million dollars if you desire your precious, gunmetal grey pussy cat.  If you don’t accomplish this request, your featherlike feline will never be glimpsed at again.  If you do manage to accomplish this request, meet me at Main Street and Twenty First Avenue at 9:00pm (post meridiem).  And don’t even think about contacting the FBI, the CIA, National Homeland Security, ADT security, the sheriff’s office, your neighbor the security guard for Walmart, or even speaking to your cute little guard dog Maltese named Rover-I will now if you’ve brought in authorities-so be oh-so careful.

Abhorrently,
Your cats Cat Napper (currently sneezing my head off)

Post Script (P.S.)
Your cat is unspeakably poor at clinging on to furniture, but couldn’t get any better at hanging on for dear existence from my hair, now there is only a couple of hopeless strands of mahogany, silky gray strands of hair left.  One tip, GET YOUR CAT HOUSE TRAINED!  He goes everywhere except the litter box!  I’d give you your unmannered cat back instantly, but I would appreciate the magnificent Ben Franklins, the big bucks, the jingle jangle, cash, dollars, the greenbacks, or maybe even legal tenders.  AH CHOOO!