Ah, my dear friends. It seems that my missives to you are becoming more and more infrequent, and each post commences with an apology for the delay. This time is no different. I can only offer, as an excuse, the inconvenience to which Catmother puts me as she commandeers the electronic communications device for her own abominable purposes.
Yet I, Pasha, feline luminary for our times, am not one for lengthy apologies. I know that you, my dear and devoted followers, will not begrudge me the time I spend away from you. I have faith that you understand the difficulties inherent in my life as a revered celebrity, and that you will gratefully – and graciously – await my communiques when I can find the time to compose them.
So now I return, and I must bring you the report of my official ball, which I have been promising for so long. Ah, what a night it was! Several hundred noms may have passed since that glorious event, but the memories are still etched in my fearsomely sharp feline brain as if it were only yesterday.
The day began auspiciously, as the humans absented themselves sufficiently for me to put the finishing touches to the ceremonial chamber. I dispersed my Meeseketeers about the room, the better to fulfil whatever personal needs I might have throughout the night: Mr Yellow Meese, Mr Christmas Tree and one of the Grey Meeses took up position on the red carpet, where they would be able to pay court to me once the programme of events had begun; and the other Grey Meese and the three Catnip Meeses were dispatched to the fringes of the chamber, to keep an eye on the humans and ensure that they did not overstay their welcome.
Once the preparations in the throne room were underway, I then turned my attention to the issue of noms. The Catparents had, happily, not forgotten their crucial role in this particular element of the programme, and were stationed in a side chamber. I entered the room regally, and was greeted by Catfather, who beckoned me to the table and dangled a most aromatic morsel in front of me. Ah! how my tastebuds began to tingle; I found myself salivating at the very thought of the delectable treat awaiting me.
Gradually he lowered the piece of salmon – for salmon it was – and I gobbled it up, ensuring that no flake was spilled. He then produced a second piece – and then a third, and a fourth. I was overwhelmed by his generosity, and tears of gratitude would have come to my eyes if I had been a cat of greater modesty; as it is, I am fully aware of just how much I deserve this treatment, and I accepted it as no less than my due.
After the noms had been elegantly devoured, we adjourned to the ceremonial chamber for the main event. I had, at the last minute, decided to dispense with the planned dancing in favour of a more formal ceremony to venerate my splendour; I am, after all, a cat of an increasingly senior vintage, and I find that I must take my pleasures in a more relaxed manner than I have previously been accustomed to. Of course, with advanced age comes advanced wisdom, and so no-one dreamed of contradicting me in this matter.
On entering the room, I was pleased to see that my Meeseketeers were still in position; they shouted out in joy to see me, praising my name and bowing humbly before me. I graciously acknowledged them, giving a couple of them a playful bat across the floor to convey my appreciation of their devotion. How lucky I am to have such good and faithful servants; how loyally they submit themselves to satisfying my every whim!
The humans then entered in my wake, and I was at first a little disturbed to see that they did not instantly kneel before me to commence the veneration ceremony. Instead they reached for the device that powers the magic box of illusions in the corner, and activated its visions. This was not what we had agreed on, and I started to fear that it had all been an outrageous lie, a trick to raise my hopes before cruelly dashing them as they have done so many times before.
But then, just as I was beginning to lose my faith, it was blissfully restored. Catmother patted the cushion on the sofa throne that they had so rudely appropriated, and asked me to join her. Yes! Finally they were recognising me as the rightful occupant of that hallowed spot, and accepting my place at the top of the natural order in the household!
I leapt up to join them – one human on either side of me – and began to purr in my most dulcet tones to indicate my approval of their subservience. We remained in this position for some time, and I am not a little impressed (if surprised) to record that not once did either of them attempt to tickle my lushly fluffy tummy or stroke my delicately arranged paws. As such, I had no need to dole out a reproving swipe, and the remainder of the evening passed in the greatest contentment.
Ah, my friends, I hope you can picture the scene. I, Pasha, feline diva and personality extraordinaire, surrounded by my lackeys and admirers, basking in the glory and adoration that is my due – and which it now seems that even the humans recognise! This was truly a great day, a highlight of my already blessed existence; and, if I were a cat given over to humility, I would indeed be humbled.
But, as a feline of immense ability and potential, I realise that I have a responsibility to my kind. Despite the gratification I feel at such worship, I know I cannot allow myself to be distracted for long; I have work to do and I must put my exquisitely damp nose to the grindstone and continue the hard work. Not all humans behave as the Catparents have done, and I know not how long even they will continue in this vein.
I must therefore rouse myself and recommit to the battle. There may be felines elsewhere in the world who are in need of my help, support and guidance, and I must not let them down. I must recommence my campaign, and endeavour to bring succour and hope to all of felinekind through my continued missives.
It is for you, my devoted followers, that your Pasha will return to the fray! I hope to speak to you again very soon.