Purromeo, Purromeo, Wherefore Art Thou?

Ah, friends. I find myself all of a fluster. Strange and unusual things have been happening in the world of Pasha – things I have not been accustomed to since I have resided with these particular humans. And my heart is fairly racing.

You will recall that, over the past two years, I have undergone significant tests of my patience in my relations with the local neighbourhood cats. Pasha’s Posse has played a small but important part in my campaigns, yet the uncertainty of their individual allegiances places me under great strain.

At best we sustain an uneasy truce: they refrain from encroaching upon my inner domain; I graciously allow them occasional passage through my outer grounds. But at worst I have suffered the outrageous insults of Mr B*stard, who has more than once cast aside all notions of feline decency to enter the innermost sanctum of my kingdom – the food court – and help himself to my own personal supply of noms.

You will therefore understand why I am inclined to adopt a note of caution whenever a new cat arrives in the vicinity. Will he prove himself to be an ally – or a new scion of the B*stard line? It is impossible to tell until he proves his fealty one way or the other.

And so it was with great disquiet that I perceived, last week, a new face in my territory. In the front realm, no less – not the tradesman’s area at the rear of my palace. What audacity! What presumption! To venture so decidedly into the one part of my province where I myself am not permitted to set paw (curse the humans and their fear of the moving metal beasts)… What could be his scheme?

In order to determine his motives, I cunningly listened in to the Catparents’ conversation, to gain further intelligence of this newcomer. And I learned that this was not the first time he had been seen on the premises! He had previously been spotted, walking bold as brass up the path towards the main entrance – and had even sought (and received!) strokes and cuddles from the humans.

All this had happened without my knowledge or permission. This was a true betrayal by the humans; a major affront. Words failed me – indeed, I knew not what to even think – and I felt sure that no good could come of this.

And so I watched the trespasser intently. From the Catparents’ information, backed up by my own observations, it was clear that he had set up camp on my estate overnight, after being ousted from his own lodgings across the road.

I regarded him through the window, and he gazed steadily back at me. I made my displeasure plain to him, so that there could be no mistaking my meaning: I mewled, grumbled and whined; I padded up and down the back of my sofa throne; and I pawed at the glass to indicate that he was not welcome and should depart.

And yet, as he sat there amidst my delightfully decorative shrubs (the humans refer to them as ‘weeds’); unmoving; contemplating my silkily dynamic form as it pitched and twirled in the window under his scrutiny… it dawned on me… it hit me like a bolt from the blue…

He was in love with me.

Yes! I, Pasha, feline dreamboat for our times, had gained an admirer!

It all suddenly seemed so obvious, and I wondered that I had not perceived the truth of the matter earlier. But, despite a healthy regard for my own abilities, I remain at heart a modest cat, who sometimes neglects to discern the overwhelming adoration that others must feel in her presence.

This realisation, my friends, humbled me. I have been so caught up in my worries, my battles, my end goal (Freedom For Felines! Mastery for Moggies! A Coup for the Cats!) that I have failed to appreciate the simple joys that a loving relationship can offer.

Whether it is merely one way, or whether I may, in time, return Purromeo’s (for such is his name) feelings, I cannot say. But, in his resolute display of devotion, his courage in venturing on to my land, even his extraordinary gallantry in approaching the Catparents to curry favour, he has proved himself to be a puss worthy of my attentions.

I, Pasha, will not ignore a comrade who declares his affections with such nobility and, it must be said, good taste.

And so our encounter concluded. I, reeling at the revelation of this newfound veneration, sat in state on my throne and attempted to bring some semblance of order to my delicately quizzical features. He, shyly recognising that his sentiments had been understood and accepted, quietly turned tail and departed into the adjoining territory.

And now the dance begins. Every morning I dash to my sofa throne to await the renewal of his attentions: sometimes he is there, sometimes not. But I can be patient. This is merely the first page in a new chapter for your great and glorious leader, and I have high hopes that, this time, I will not be betrayed.

High hopes indeed.