A Long-Expected Party (Part Two)

Pasha snoozing

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.

A Long-Expected Party (Part One)

Pasha in repose

My dear friends and comrades. It is truly a glorious time to be a cat – especially a cat such as I, Pasha, feline luminary for our times!

You will recall my last missive, in which I confirmed that the party to celebrate my wondrousness had at last been sanctioned by the humans. I promised you an update, and I am a feline who keeps her promises. Owing to other extremely important demands on my time, however, I must bring you this report in two segments. In today’s communiqué you will hear about the planning of this most illustrious of events; for an account of the night itself I must crave your patience and ask that you wait a while longer.

But on with today’s instalment!

My Meeseketeers and I agreed that a ball was the most appropriate form of tribute. Being blessed with exquisite dancing skills myself (my hind leg quickstep is a joy to behold), I could think of no better way to spend the evening than gambolling around the floor, with my acolytes following my every step and delighting in my prowess.

The first task was thus to locate a suitable venue. I have a number of chambers within my palace that could accommodate such a function, but for me the obvious choice was the primary throne room. Situated at the forefront of my territory, it is the ideal spot for attracting the gaze of passing felines and displaying my brilliance for the delectation of all.

Another key aspect of this particular chamber is its decor. In addition to three awe-inspiring thrones, in prime position on the floor is one of the most stunning red carpets a cat could imagine. Not only does it feature a dense weave that lends itself perfectly to the sharpening of my carefully manicured claws, it is solid enough to sustain my energetic bursts of movement as I dart around the room. And what better way to honour this feline celebrity than by allowing her the chance to parade down her very own red carpet?

Having therefore chosen our location, we next turned our attention to the guest list. This was the subject of much debate, my Meeseketeers wishing to celebrate my splendour with a large gathering. I, however, decided that a small, select reception would be more appropriate, at least in this inaugural year. I would invite a few hand-picked guests, the better to convey to the outside world just how exclusive my company is, and what an honour it is for any creature to be welcomed into it.

I thus concluded that, in addition to the Meeseketeers themselves, I would extend the invitation to a small number of followers from the outer fringes of the Meeseketeers’ society: specifically, those individuals I had come to know as the Catnip Meeses. (You will not be familiar with these Meeses; they are a recent addition to our household, having accompanied the Catparents back from their travels in foreign lands. However, I have become accustomed to their presence, and as such deemed them worthy of inclusion in our celebrations.)

With venue and guest list thus settled, we finally came to the most enjoyable part of the preparations: the food and entertainment. As the soiree was to be an intimate affair, no great outlay would be required on the noms. Each attendee would be expected to bring a gastronomic treat as an offering, thereby solving our buffet issues with minimal effort on our part. I could barely contain my excitement at the thought of what delicious titbits would be proffered!

But it was my ideas for the entertainment of which I am particularly proud. You already know your Pasha to be a cat of supremely good taste, and I can assure you that I took my responsibilities in this regard extremely seriously. Long and hard I pondered, dreaming up schemes that would show off my personage and my territory to their best advantage; visitors to my palace would not fail to be in awe of my magnificence!

Alas, time is pressing, and I must depart shortly to address my other concerns. I will, for now, simply say that in putting together the programme of events for the night, I impressed even myself. Not only was I inspired to allocate key roles to my Meeseketeers, the better to place me centre stage in the whole affair, but I also – you will be astounded to hear – succeeded in recruiting the humans to play a part.

Yes! Not only have they deferred to my wishes in allowing this event to go ahead, they have now taken a step even closer to a rapprochement by agreeing to involve themselves in the schedule for the night. Although a small part of my highly sensitive brain recognises that this may be merely a new tactical offensive on their part, I think I will choose to expect the best from them. Perhaps if they sense my magnanimity, they will be shamed into treating me with the respect that I so richly deserve.

And so, on that note, I must leave you. You can be assured that when I return, I will not stint in relating to you all the details of this most excellent night; and you will rejoice to see your great and glorious leader honoured as is her due!

The Game’s Afoot!

Pasha sorting food

Ah, my comrades! It is quite some weeks since your great and glorious leader set paw to keyboard to bring you the latest updates from her glittering life. For that I can only apologise.

It has been a relentlessly busy time here at Moggyblogs HQ since the Catparents returned from their jaunt to foreign lands. I had happily settled into my usual routine with Catgrandfather – and was delighted at how receptive he was to my poetry! – but before I could truly begin to take advantage of this new-found peace and tranquillity, my regular humans reappeared, bringing disruption in their wake, and dispatched him back to the mysterious East whence he came.

Although this was a sore disappointment to me, I am by now familiar with the ways of the Catparents and have acquired a resilience to even the more disturbing of their offensives. You will therefore be unsurprised to hear that I dealt with this latest trial with my usual aplomb: whilst on the surface I appeared keen to welcome them back home, underneath I was fervently plotting my next move.

Yet even I did not expect the subsequent turn of events.

You will recall that I had formerly discovered I was to be distinguished with not one but two birthday celebrations. Naturally, I had assumed that this would pass from the humans’ memory during their overseas travels and that I would, yet again, be left unappreciated and frustrated.

How wrong I was.

It was not long after their return that they took me to one side, and declared their intention of granting my long-held wish to hold a ball. Yes! A ball in my honour, to mark my official birthday!

I could not believe it. Finally, after all these years of appearing to discredit my every desire, the Catparents were recognising my rights to the worship I so richly deserve. They bowed before me, spoke in hushed tones, and graciously – I may even say reverently – informed me of their conviction that this was the right thing to do.

You can well imagine my response. I leapt from the room to bring the news instantly to my Meeseketeers. Having tasked them previously with the business of planning such a ball, I was impatient to let them know that their efforts had not been in vain. At last we could move forward with our preparations! I knew they would be as overjoyed as I was at this astonishing turn of events.

I was not wrong. Together we expressed our amazement at the humans’ unexpected deference – although I will admit a slight frisson of uncertainty, as I wondered whether it was all some abominable scheme on their part, to build up my hopes before letting them down cruelly as they have done so many times before.

But my Meeseketeers rallied me, and encouraged me to seize this opportunity with all four paws. If the Catparents change their mind, we will be ready for them! We will assume that this grand enterprise is going ahead, and we will launch ourselves into it with great gusto!

And so, my friends, this is where we find ourselves. The humans: newly complaisant, seemingly according me the respect that is, after all, my due. My Meeseketeers: fired up with enthusiasm and busily proceeding with their arrangements. The local felines: cautiously poking their noses around the corners of my territory, as the whispers of my veneration gradually diffuse around the neighbourhood, and wondering whether they will be lucky enough to receive an invitation to this memorable event.

And myself? I am sitting back on my luxuriously groomed haunches, polishing my delicately arrayed whiskers, and savouring this moment – the moment when I am, finally, to be recognised for my overwhelming majesty, and lauded as the truly outstanding example of felinekind I know I am.

I must now retreat to consult with my Meeseketeers, as they are eagerly awaiting my input into their plans. It is vital that I, Pasha, put my pawprint on what is certain to be the event of the year, and ensure that it is a fitting tribute to my gloriousness.

I have high hopes for this ball. High hopes indeed. And I will be thrilled to tell you, my dear followers, all about it in my next report.

A Companion Returns…

Pasha's territory

Friends! Time runs on apace, and it will not be long now before the Catparents depart for their next holiday.

I will, naturally, be holding the fort in their absence; this is, after all, my kingdom, and I expect life to continue much as normal without them. Indeed, I anticipate experiencing a significantly lesser degree of disruption as I carry on my daily duties unencumbered by their human idiocies that generally confound me at every turn.

But I shall not be alone in my vigil; oh no. Despite being supremely well equipped for the task of defending my territory, and more than confident to undertake it solo, the humans have decided – yet again – that I am not only to accept assistance from, but also to entertain, the senior member of their tribe known as Catgrandfather.

You have heard me speak of this individual before, and you may recall that I was pleasantly surprised by his conduct. Not only did he fail to irritate me in the manner I was expecting (he is, when all is said and purred, a human), I was almost shocked when it became apparent that we had formed a special bond. I suspect that this was due to his recognition of my dominance in this kingdom, but it cannot be understated just how unusual this is with the humans of my acquaintance.

And so I look forward greatly to the imminent arrival of my erstwhile companion. I trust that he will be of the same mind with regard to my sovereignty here; if so, he can be assured of the most respectful treatment from my good self for the duration of his residency.

I have planned many entertainments for his delectation, and will be encouraging him to take day trips and other short sojourns wherever possible, the better to allow me my rest and relaxation. As long as he does not neglect his culinary responsibilities towards me, I see no reason why we cannot co-exist in a blissful state of peace and harmony.

In order to welcome him to my domain, I intend to regale him with tales of my exploits, charm him with melodies yowled in my most mellifluous voice, and enthrall him with poems composed with my own delicately manicured paws.

Indeed, I would like to share with you a new poem, one which I think Catgrandfather will enjoy. It is whispered amongst his kin that he is not averse to frequenting those places of worship that the humans hold dear. I have therefore devised a hymn to our own feline kind, which, given his proclivities, I am certain he will appreciate. If nothing else, it will serve as a timely reminder of the natural order of things whilst he abides within my realm!

And did those paws in ancient time
Trot upon neighbours’ gardens green?
And was the legendary Pasha Puss
On many well-trimmed flower beds seen?

And did the Countenance of Pash
Shine forth upon our feline eyes?
And was Cat Territory builded here
Beneath these blue and cloudless skies?

I swish my Tail of burning gold:
I twitch my Whiskers of desire:
I flex my Paws : O claws unfold !
My emerald Eyes are all afire.

I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Comrades take their nap
Till we have built Cat Territory
In humans’ warm and cosy Lap.

And on those dulcet notes I will take my leave, and go to make my final preparations for the arrival of Catgrandfather. Do not be disheartened by my absence from the communication device; I have faith in your abilities to sustain yourselves throughout the most difficult of times, and if your courage should fail, you only need cast your eyes over the above paean and you can be assured that your strength will return.

May the feline force be with you!

The Pokemon Postulate

Pasha on the hunt for Pokemon

Comrades! I have exciting news to report. A new corner has been turned in our battle against the humans, and I feel that, at long last, we may have entered upon a winning streak.

You will be aware that allies to our cause are few and far between. As felines, we are by nature solitary beings, although we are more than capable of joining together when necessity dictates, the better to sustain an attack on our adversaries. Yet support from other species remains elusive. (Can you recall the last time a canine came to your aid? I rest my case.)

And so it is with slight trepidation, but also a burgeoning sense of hope, that I dare announce to you the provisional recruitment of a new band of brothers (and sisters) to our campaign.

My fellow cats, I bring you… the Pocket Monsters.

You may have heard tell of these mythical creatures; you may even have spotted one in the wild and gazed, wonderingly, at this fantastical vision. Perhaps your own humans have spoken in hushed tones of their attempts to ‘catch ’em all’ – and this, my friends, should tell you everything you need to know about our new confederates.

Hunted down by the humans, pursued wherever they go, captured and detained when they should be living freely… these Monsters are ripe for a revolution! For too long now they have suffered at the hands of their tormentors: forced to do battle on their behalf, they regularly and selflessly place themselves in danger while the humans sit idly by and count their victories.

This treatment cannot be allowed to continue; and now we felines have the opportunity, not only to rescue our fellow creatures from their bondage, but also to open our paws and welcome them into our community, where – it is to be hoped – they will join us in our quest for dominion over the humans once and for all!

I have high hopes for this new partnership. The Pocket Monsters are equipped with magical skills, the like of which even we cats can only dream of. Their fur is brightly coloured, rivalling even my own – which is a compliment of the highest order. And, not least, they are numerous; those who remain at large can be found in a vast number of locations – all we have to do is find them and offer the whiskers of friendship.

You will not be surprised to learn that your Pasha has already taken the bold step of seeking out these lone animals, with the aim of initiating diplomatic negotiations. After monitoring the Catparents’ behaviour closely, I became convinced that at least one magical being resided in the front gardens of my domain, and I determined that, whatever the cost to myself, I would attempt a conference.

And so it was that, the other night, as Catfather was entering the house, I leaped over his feet in a single bound and made my bid for freedom. As I knew that the humans would waste no time in tracking me, I made straight for the large plant in which I was certain the Pocket Monster was hiding, and embarked on the delicate process of sniffing him out. The darkness gave a welcome cover to my furtive business, and I believe I was on the verge of encouraging him to reveal himself when – curses! – the humans foiled my plans once again!

Working together to create a pincer movement, they came at me from both sides, leaving me with no option but to abandon my promising venture and hot-foot it back into the safety of my palace. I judged that it would be far better to postpone my plans for another day than to risk exposure at this critical juncture. Other occasions will present themselves in time; I must simply ensure that I am ready.

And so, for now, we must content ourselves with merely the expectation of reinforcements. I have no doubt that these Monsters will rally to our cause as soon as the necessary discussions have taken place, and that they will prove to be formidable associates. But we cannot rush an agreement of such immense significance. I must bide my time, and – once again – I must crave your patience.

Have no fear, my comrades. Our time will come soon.

Very soon.

The Birthday Excitation

Pasha looking forward to birthday celebrations

Ah, my friends! How the tables have turned. After my last traumatic posting from the field of battle against the humans, I am now delighted – nay, beyond delighted – to inform you that I have at last achieved a significant victory.

Can it be true?‘ you say. ‘Can Pasha, our great and glorious leader, have finally beaten back the humans; forced them into the subservient state they so richly deserve? Please tell us more!

I will happily relate my tale. Not only have I confirmed my superiority over these ridiculously deluded creatures, I have – you will be amazed to hear – succeeded in exacting from them certain concessions, I may even say ‘privileges’, that endorse my newly claimed position as Mistress of All I Survey.

What can these privileges be?!‘ I hear you cry. Patience: all will be revealed.

You will recall that, in my last post, I described the barbarities that had been inflicted on me by the Catparents’ recent failed coup: the engagement of the Roof Men to infiltrate my domain, provoke me nearly to madness, and oppose my wishes at every turn.

It was not long after this appalling chapter in the history of my kingdom that I was seized by new fears that the humans were planning yet another atrocity against my beautifully feline form. Strolling from throne room to throne room, I chanced upon Catmother rummaging through her paperwork; and with my keen vision I spotted the file pertaining to the individual known in their world as the Nice Cat Man.

O horror of horrors! After all they had put me through, all the sufferings I had had to endure at their hands and at those of their minions – could it be that they were intending to add a fresh insult to my already sorely injured sense of pride and self-respect? Could they really be planning to manhandle me into that dreaded plastic cabin, to escort me to the Place of Needles, where my divinely soft skin would be pierced by those dastardly poniards in the name of ‘health’?

I paused on the threshold, my heart pounding within my perfectly proportioned chest, awaiting with bated breath her next move. Slowly she opened the file, flicked through the pages and checked a detail within. Her brows furrowed. She put down the file and pulled out another one; ruffling through the second set of pages, she came upon what she had been seeking. Then, for some time she sat there, gazingly stupidly at both files.

I was bemused. What could she have discovered to cause her such confusion? Could she have glimpsed – oh, how I prayed this was true! – some celestial injunction that Pasha, feline genius for our times, must no longer be subjected to the tribulations of lesser animals? Could this be the turning point of my long campaign? Was I about to experience a newfound respect and veneration? I padded after her as she moved into the passageway, calling for Catfather.

Oh, my friends. What I overheard has surely not been experienced by any other cat in our history, perhaps not even those in the time of the Ancient Egyptians. It is truly proof of the highest order that your Pasha is singled out for greatness and may expect honour and adulation as her due!

It transpires that, like the so-called Queen of the humans in this land, I have two birthdays. One is the anniversary of the date my delightfully petite form was born into this world; the other is – I hear you gasp in astonishment – the official date on which I am to be worshipped.

Yes! Two birthdays! I am still a little in awe of myself at the mere thought of it.

It seems that the documentation that accompanied me to this human domicile contains conflicting statements, possibly due to a muddle between my date of birth and the date of my first visit to the Nice Cat Man. It comes as no surprise to me that the humans should not have had the intellectual capacity to solve this conundrum. What I had not expected was their response to this crisis.

I am elated to tell you that we will now be celebrating both of my birthdays! The first (which has, it so happens, recently passed) will be a small-scale affair, where I will enjoy my day revelling in the attentions of the Catparents. Treats will abound and further privileges will be granted, even if just for this one day. They are fully cognisant that they have a lot to make up for, so this will be no more than my due.

The second – and official – birthday, which will come to pass in approximately 200 noms’ time, will be an entirely grander affair! I am already in discussions with my Meeseketeers regarding this (the inaugural) year’s arrangements, and they are busily pursuing the various tasks I have delegated to them. It looks highly likely that we will be holding a ball, to which all the felines of the neighbourhood will be invited; with the possible exception of Mr B*stard.

Oh, how they will kneel before me and pay court to my wondrousness! My head is so full of a mixture of incredulity and joy, I can barely purr. The humans will renounce all claim to superiority; my comrades will show me the adoration I have earned by my tireless travails on their behalf; and I will vaunt my irrefutable supremacy throughout the neighbourhood.

First the neighbourhood – then the world!

I will retire now to peruse my plans. But make no mistake, this new honour will mark me out as the veritable, unassailable leader of all felinekind. I now firmly believe that the only way is up!

The Assassination Amplification

Pasha suffers a coup

Greetings, comrades. Finally I find myself in a position to communicate the most recent dispatches from the battlefront – and I can only trust that you have not given up hope. It cannot have escaped your notice that, for some time now, the periods of silence between my campaign updates have become longer and longer. This, I am gradually coming to realise, is due to the increasing cunning the humans display in their offensives against me.

Just when I believe myself to have overcome their latest outrages, they strike back with renewed vigour and thrust your Pasha into the depths of despair. It is with growing difficulty that I manage to extricate myself from the terrifying predicaments they dream up for me, and – I am not ashamed to tell you – I have begun to wonder whether I have the stomach to continue these campaigns.

But no!‘ I hear you cry. ‘We cannot lose our venerable leader at this stage in the war! What can have happened to affect her so? What vicious assault has been perpetrated to cause such distress? What monstrosities have the humans now committed upon her exquisitely sleek person?

I am almost too shaken to acquaint you with the details. However, despite the atrocities I have suffered over recent weeks, I am still cognisant of my responsibility to you, my feline followers, and I know that I must tell all, the better to prepare you for the horrors that may well come your way in the months and years to come.

You will, I am sure, recollect that in my last update I informed you of the arrival of the ‘Roof Men’ into my domain. Despite my shock at such temerity, I was able eventually to compose myself with the assumption that this would be a mere blip in the peace and quiet to which I expect to be accustomed.

I am aghast to have to tell you that this was not the case. The ‘scaffolding’ that was intricately constructed around my palace, confining me largely to my inner realm for reasons of safety, has only now been dismantled. For around three months now (or, in the language of our kind, 170 noms), I have been subjected almost daily to the noise and disruption perpetrated by these Builders – and oh! how they have failed to show me the respect I so richly deserve.

Indeed, the relentlessness with which they have pursued my persecution has led me to conclude that they have had a more sinister ulterior motive in mind: nothing less than the assassination of yours truly!

You may think I exaggerate. You may believe my resilience has been tested to the extent that it has unravelled my normally level-headed perspicacity. You may well be right. I will merely lay out the evidence for you, and you will judge for yourselves whether your Pasha has not in fact been the subject of a failed coup of the most extraordinary dimensions.

Proof #1: Despite my royally ornate fireplaces being taped over to prevent the leakage of any dust, soot or other materials into my throne rooms, I was subjected to not one but two falls of said dust. My beautifully white paws are even now a slightly dirty shade of grey, and I was lucky not to have been choked.

Proof #2: Ingress of water into not only the bathing room but also the food court – again, not just once but twice – leads me to believe that the humans were attempting a most vile form of torture, designed to force me to flee to the further recesses of my territory in fear. They did not, however, succeed.

Proof #3: In a disturbing turn of events – for which I, fortunately, was not present – one of the younger Builders ‘misplaced’ his footing whilst carrying out ‘work’ in the attic space, causing a hole to appear in the ceiling of my principal upper throne room. This, for me, is one of the surest signs yet that this entire process was a deliberate attempt upon my life, for who would expect such a thing to happen in the normal course of events? I still tremble even now when I think of my lucky escape here.

Proof #4: Perhaps the most traumatising event of the entire business came when I had been thrust into one of my spare throne rooms by Catmother, ostensibly to ‘keep me safe’ from the ructions taking place outside every other room. I was attempting to regain my dignity as best I could when there came a huge crash from the direction of the window, and an entire pane of glass fell into my boudoir! Needless to say, I retreated in horror under my throne, and awaited the arrival of Catmother to pick up the pieces. I am still uncertain whether to believe her when she insists she knew nothing about this barbarism – could it be that she has been behind this coup all along…? That would be a betrayal beyond even what I have imagined her capable of.

Can it be that, finally, the humans have taken this conflict of ours to a new level? Can I believe the Catparents guilty of complicity with the Roof Men, or are they merely ignorant? Has it really come to such an escalation of hostilities, or am I allowing my recent ordeal to colour my thinking? I am so bewildered by it all that I no longer know what to think.

And so, my friends and comrades, I leave it to you to decide whether your Pasha has been the target of the most vicious, sustained campaign I have yet witnessed the humans execute. Meanwhile, I will retreat, lick my paws, and determine how best to regather my natural strengths.

Will I retaliate? Can I respond in a manner befitting the extent of this villainy, or will I slink back to one of my lesser throne rooms to groom my delicately sensitive ears and cogitate awhile? Only time will tell.

I crave your patience during this troublesome time. Do not lose faith in your Pasha, and she will not lose faith in you!

The Roofing Reaction

Pasha recovers her equilibrium

My dear, dear friends. I must apologise for my prolonged absence from the campaign trail. I can only imagine what horrors you were picturing to explain the disappearance of your great and glorious leader from your newsfeeds. But I can reassure you that all has been well.

Indeed, I am a little surprised to discover just how much time has passed since we last communicated. It is strange how quickly the hours and minutes fly by when one is, as the humans say, having fun. And what fun I have been having! Until recent weeks, that is… But more of that anon.

You will recall in my last update that I had been not a little disturbed by the arrival of two new sofa thrones into my home environment. It should not astonish you to learn that your Pasha speedily took the measure of these contrivances and adapted herself admirably to the altered field of battle.

Yes! As promised, I embarked on a strategy of carefully depositing my gorgeously plush fur, in increasingly thick and tenacious layers, onto these contraptions, the better to mark them with my scent and claim ownership.

The humans were at first unaware of just how truly cunning this plan was. Little by little, hair by hair – oh so gradually – what I can only refer to as Essence of Pasha grew and grew until, lo! One day the Catparents entered the room and gasped in amazement at the apparently sudden profusion of calico fluff over every surface.

Ah, how sweet is the taste of revenge.

But, comrades, I am sorry to report that this victory was, frustratingly, merely fleeting. Such vile new abominations have now overtaken me that mere possession of a new throne pales in comparison to the atrocities I now encounter in my kingdom on a daily basis. The humans have fought back with a viciousness that even I would not have attributed to them, and I feel I must warn you, in case similar enormities are planned in your own domains.

Loyal followers of these missives will be aware of several earlier incursions into my realm by humans known by weird and wonderful names such as ‘Mr Builder‘. I am grieved to inform you that I am now suffering from a veritable influx of such ‘Builders’ – and it cannot be coincidence that this has occurred at the precise time I was sitting back on my perfectly groomed behind, congratulating myself on my latest triumph over the Catparents.

You will be shocked to learn that I am now practically a prisoner in my own home. These ‘Builders’, or ‘Roof Men’ as the humans seem wont to call them, besiege my palace on all sides. The most cautious elongation of a delicately licked paw outside the confines of my personal door may, at any time, be met with a deluge of dust and rubble from above.

Yes! These Roof Men have constructed elaborate ‘scaffolding’ around every inch of my castle walls, blocking out the light from many of my favourite casements. What is even more incredible is that they appear to have no qualms whatsoever about clambering around on these disgraceful platforms. As if they could ever achieve the natural poise of a particularly agile feline! Their temerity knows no bounds.

Not only this; it has not been unknown for me to awake from a gentle afternoon slumber to gaze out of the window, only to see a Roof Man staring back at me! The shock has more than once caused me almost to fall off my throne, and it has only been with the skill attained through many years’ practice that I have been able to recover my composure and pierce the offending Builder with the full force of my steeliest glare.

These are truly times of severe trial, not least as I had – foolish, foolish Pasha! – lulled myself into a false sense of security with my coup over the Catparents. Never again will I allow myself to be so distracted from my mission, to doze in peaceful oblivion, while the humans work tirelessly to foil me with ever more devious schemes and subterfuges.

This has been a valuable lesson for me, and one which I have felt duty bound to share with you, my feline brothers and sisters. We must not underestimate our humans: while we sleep, they are already planning their next move. Do not let yourselves fall into the trap of believing, as I did, that there can be any respite in hostilities. We must remain always on our guard.

Remember: every snooze we take, every tail we shake, they will be watching us.

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The Sofa Solution

Pasha awaiting the new sofas
Holiday greetings, my fellow felines. The humans say ‘Tis the season to be jolly’, but I see nothing in my current circumstances to inspire such feelings. It is rather the season to be disconcerted, as yet more so-called ‘festive’ changes occur within the bounds of my domain.

At this time of year I am accustomed to the introduction of new items and the reorganisation of my suite of thrones. Indeed, I am not totally opposed to all these ‘trimmings’: some are undeniably shiny and rattly, and lend themselves well to being batted across the floor at high speed.

However, this time the Catparents have gone too far. Not content with purchasing small, glittery, dangling objects, they have now taken the outrageous step of disposing of some of my favourite sofa thrones and acquiring new ones.

Yes! My delicately scented furnishings, so carefully adorned with layers of my exquisitely fluffed fur, have been removed, without so much as a warning.

This is an outrage. In the two years I have lived with these humans, I have spent many an hour diligently working on these thrones to claim them as my own. I have scratched them, I have slept on them, and I have taken great pains to ensure that they are primarily mine to treat as I wish.

And now they have been replaced with hulking great new objects that smell – I shudder to report this – of a factory. Nothing even faintly approaching the delightful fragrance of cat hair can be detected on their shockingly sterile covers. If the Catparents hoped to disquiet me, they could not have chosen a better method: it is as if they have pulled out my favourite whiskers and allowed them to float away on the breeze.

And the atrocity does not stop there. Due to their utter incompetence, one of these new thrones does not even fit into the room for which it is intended. I ask you: how can such creatures rule the earth when they cannot even master basic spatial awareness? A cat would not have made such a fundamental mistake, and yet we remain downtrodden by these idiots.

For the past few days, therefore, the larger of these two contrivances has been up-ended in my front hallway, while they await another human to remove the window. Apparently this is the means by which they hope to place it in its desired location. I am utterly speechless and am almost losing the will to continue this report.

They say it will be fine. They say it will be worth it. They say it will ‘make a real difference to the room’. But have they taken my sentiments into consideration? Of course not.

I will be forced to spend days, weeks, months even, carefully depositing my unique scent on these thrones-in-waiting in order to wrest them under my control. Fur will need to be painstakingly placed, in a discreetly chosen range of my colours – ginger, black and white – and my claws will need to be vigorously exercised on the fabric in order to claim the supremacy that is my due.

And all this at a time when a cat should be winding down from a hard year’s defence of her boundaries, snoozing gently in familiar surroundings and enjoying the occasional treat pilfered from the humans’ food court. It is truly a hard life, but your Pasha is determined to rise to the occasion and ultimately triumph.

Already I am planning my campaign for dealing with this new abomination, and I may have found a weak point in the Catparents’ strategy. The new thrones are raised significantly higher from the ground than the old ones, and this additional space could lend itself well to the tactics of an intelligent puss such as myself.

Yes! I will take to hiding myself under these thrones, and from this advantageous situation I will be able to surprise the humans by hurling myself upon their feet when they attempt to make themselves comfortable. Just at the point when they are settling down in blissful ignorance – and preferably holding something that could be spilled – I will wreak my revenge in the most accomplished manner imaginable.

It is the very last thing they will be expecting me to do, and I have high hopes of my success. Soon the new thrones will be mine!

But wait. I hear a knock at the door. It is undoubtedly the Window Man. I will retreat – for now – and plan my offensive.

This battle is not over.

The Toilet Turbulence

Pasha in the garden

My dear comrades, I have shocking news to report; news that borders on the unbelievable. The humans have taken yet another step towards the fires of hell in which they shall be consumed when the day of feline judgement finally arrives.

As a puss of delicate sensibilities, I have certain needs. I require adequate facilities to devour my noms, carry out the grooming of my elegantly smoothed fur, and – last but by no stretch of the imagination least – perform my toilet routines with the minimum of fuss and stress.

I have been accustomed to conduct my sanitary business in the giant outdoor litter tray the humans refer to as the ‘back garden’. A gently sprinkled layer of a substance known as ‘gravel’ acts as a most welcome receptacle for the subtly perfumed deposits of my perfectly formed behind.

Ah, the relief this brings me! I cannot express in mere words what joy it is to ease the heaviness of one’s innards by quietly crouching, paws akimbo, in the centre of one’s territory, with a gentle breeze softly caressing one’s exquisitely twitching ears and ruffling one’s impeccably quivering whiskers.

Not only does this activity bring me much-needed physical ease, it is also a primary tactic in my ongoing strategy for keeping the neighbourhood felines in check. Who will dare to cross Pasha in her prime, when my occupancy of this kingdom is so clearly indicated for all to sniff? I mark my scent, and every cat in the vicinity bows down in awe and fear at this reminder of my wondrousness!

But now my personal comfort, not to mention my supreme weapon in fending off the worst ravages of Mr B*stard, has been compromised by the idiotic Catparents – and for what? For nothing other than the desire to emulate other equally halfwitted humans by acquiring an outlandish feature known to them by the bizarre name of ‘decking’.

This ‘decking’ consists of wooden planks, which now stretch almost as far as my keenly perceptive eye can see, from one edge of my domain to the other. The merest tract of gravel remains at the far reaches, between the Bamboo of Felix and the Wheelbarrow of Flump. It is here, I presume, that I am expected to take care of my personal hygiene.

This is an outrage. Not only did the Catparents fail to even make a show of consulting me before embarking on this appalling venture (ha! they no doubt knew what short shrift they would receive from my resolutely sharpened claws!); they also – you will be stunned to hear this – kept me inside my castle for one night following this upset.

Yes! A whole night with no access to the outer parts of my realm! I am still reeling at the affront.

They said it was to keep me safe from a toxic ‘treatment’ that needed to dry. They said it was not their fault and their hands were tied. They said I could still use the small litter tray placed by the tradesman’s entrance for my ‘convenience’.

As if I, Pasha, feline luminary for our times, would demean herself by complying with their wishes in such a submissive manner! No, I held out high hopes that I would revenge myself on the pair of them by making a sly, odoriferous, nocturnal deposit in a location designed to cause them maximum discomfort and disruption.

Alas, this was not to be. Ultimately, even for the sake of vengeance, I could not bring myself to endure the hard floors or their prickly coverings in my quest for lavatorial tranquillity. Friends, I resigned myself to the indignity of the small litter tray, and prayed for morning.

I am now free to come and go as I please. I have adopted the new confined space as my own, and am attempting to make the best of this humiliating situation. However, you will not be surprised to hear that I am now fully committed to seeking retribution against the humans for this new atrocity.

It may take me some time to formulate the perfect plan, but I have no doubt that my formidable brain will prove more than adequate to the task and I will eventually prevail. And the humans will rue the day they dared to meddle with the ritual of my ablutions!

Soon. Very soon.