Ah, my friends. I must apologise sincerely for my recent prolonged absence. I know you will have been wondering where your Pasha has been, but I can reassure you that all is well. As well as can be expected, that is.
My absence has been largely due to the excessive presence of Catmother at the electronic communication device; this has severely hampered my ability to send you my regular campaign updates. I have been not a little troubled by this new turn of events: she is displaying unnerving signs of enthusiasm.
However, my usual response to behaviour that displeases me – to administer an admonitory swipe – has been somewhat dampened on this occasion. The situation has disturbing overtones: she insists that her presence at the device is required for ‘work’, which she asserts is essential for the purchase of my noms!
This must be a falsehood. Surely my ambrosia is sacrosanct, arriving on time and without condition? Surely there can be no such limitation on the delivery of my feasts? Surely this is a monstrous lie, designed to lull me into acquiescence and force me to acknowledge her superiority?
If she expects me to yield, she is most seriously mistaken.
And yet… A faint memory begins to tap at my formidable brain, and I begin to recall other recent events that may perhaps give some credibility to her claims…
It was only this week that I was forced into a small box, manhandled into the moving metal beast, and driven on many a winding road to the domain of the human they persist in referring to, erroneously, as the Nice Cat Man.
Here I was poked and prodded, lifted up and plonked back down in the most irreverent of manners. Needles were jabbed into my lusciously soft flesh, liquid was dripped on to the nape of my neck, and – oh horror of horrors! – my torso was most indelicately groped.
This is what the humans refer to as the ‘booster’, or ‘annual health check’. I can assure you that it did not boost me in the slightest.
And yet an interesting fact emerged from the discussion. I heard Catmother enquire about my weight. (My weight! How she insults me to even ask such a thing! I, Pasha, perfectly formed luminary for our times!) And the Not-So-Nice Cat Man responded by indicating that my weight appears to be lower than it has been in previous years.
Of course, my weight is (by definition of being mine) utterly beyond criticism. However, Catmother expressed some concern and suggested that this may be due to her having recently opted to feed me – I struggle even to write these words – cheap biscuits.
I know. I can imagine the look of consternation on your faces as you read this, my devoted followers. Cheap biscuits!
I had guessed that there was something substandard about them, as I have certainly not been tucking in with my usual gusto in recent weeks. However, I ascribed this lapse in quality to the usual unpredictable vagaries of life with the humans: something I have learned to tolerate, in an effort to save my energies for the bigger battles.
But this… To discover that Catmother has actively been purchasing inferior noms is a betrayal on a scale I could not have imagined. It seems that I must be grateful to the Cat Man for unearthing this dastardly scheme of hers and confronting her with it!
He assured her that I was in no immediate danger from this reduction in weight, and she confessed that I had now finished the offending food items (oh! what hardships I put myself through!) and she intended to revert to my usual fare.
She is to bring me to him after an interim period, where he will weigh me again (oh! the insult! but I fear I must comply) – and then he will judge her. Comrades, I believe my humiliation could be worth it for this alone.
If it transpires that my weight has increased, it will be clear to her that she must continue to provide me with dietary sustenance of the highest standard to which I am accustomed. I am supremely expectant that this will prove to be the case: her despicable plot will be crushed, and thus my return to former glories will be assured.
It is therefore with mixed feelings that I reflect on her comments as to her ‘work’. If there is indeed a connection between the time she spends on the communication device and the funds available to obtain my provender, I must grudgingly concede that my updates may need to take second place – for a short while, at least. You would not want your Pasha to starve!
I have high hopes that her recent bout of activity bodes well for forthcoming alimentary delights. In which case, I have no doubt that my mental faculties can only improve with the enhanced nutrition. It will not be long before I am able to trick her into allowing me greater access to the communication device – and then, my worthy disciples, I shall not stint in keeping you fully informed of every new twist and turn in my crusade.
In the meantime, my friends, may your bowls be ever full and your bellies be ever stuffed with the most expensive of noms.