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.