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!