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.