While I get my thoughts together for today's post, I am going to run to the kitchen, make a pot of coffee, and wash up the breakfast dishes. Then I should be ready. In the meantime, I will put my laptop on the chair beside a deeply slumbering, snoring Licorice Kitty. ...be back in a jiffy.
This is Her Royal Blackness, aka Licorice Kitty to you readers, writing this post. My Personal Assistant Jan is careless this morning. She has just left her black picture-letter-noise-box unattended. I think she calls it her laptop, but she is very, very wrong. Only I am the allowed on top of her lap--me, Her Majesty. All others are interlopers.
While she is rattling around the kitchen and thinks I am sleeping (I do not snore), I will put in my two meows worth--plus a purr or two-- about life on my royal estate. She thinks it is hers She is mistaken. It's mine. She also tells people that I am a feral cat she discovered and rescued from a life in the wild. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Here is the real scoop.
I am sleek, black, beautiful Queen Licorice, her Royal Blackness, who rules over and protects many acres of land. My eyes are a beautiful, almost florescent, yellow-orange. My whiskers are not white like those of common, lowly cats. These royal whiskers are long and as black as a moonless night. The fur embracing my body brings amazement to those who touch me. "She is so soft!" they murmurer as they stroke my head. "Oh, wow! In the sun, she looks auburn" they exclaim, confirming what I already know. I represent feline purrfection.
As for her "feral cat" story, it's completely untrue. She is the feral one. For days I had watched her fight her way around the blackberries that protect my land. I had seen her try to cut and tame them. I had seen her valiant, bloody battle. I had seen it all from deep within the darkness of the threatening brambles.
Finally, I could take the carnage no longer, and intervened. It was time to summon her. I knew not to hiss or roar. I didn't want her running off in terror. I did what I had spent my lifetime perfecting. I used my most beautifully pitched, softest meow mixed with my deepest, rumbling purr. She immediately responded to my call.
"Hello, Kitty," she rasped, then followed it up with an abominably sounding meow. I would have prefurred a respectful, "Good morning, your Highness." She didn't know that one does not greet royalty with a flippant hello, and one certainly doesn't utter a lowly meow.But her greeting was better than no greeting at all. After all, what could I expect? She was feral.
Progress with her taming process was slow. I had decided our contact would be by speech only until she was ready to see my awesome face in the filtered sunlight. For a week I had to listen to her feeble attempts to purr and meow, but finally reveal day arrived. And, as expected, within minutes of catching sight of me, she had succumbed to my gorgeous eyes. I gazed at her from the shifting shadows and purred. She stared back, trying to purr in response. This is going well I thought. Before long, she will be feeding me from her bramble-scared hands.
Excuse me, I must paw off now. I hear my personal assistant returning, but will continue my story when she again gets careless. In the meantime, I will resume my royal repose on her laptop. But please remember, I , her Royal Blackness, Queen Licorice, am the real laptop, and from the top of her lap I reign.
THAT CRAZY CAT!!! I still haven't decided what to write today, so I will let her creative tale stand. I had no idea she was so delusional--or that she could type for that matter.
Have a blessed God-day
Jan,
Personal Assistant to Her Royal Blackness, Queen Licorice
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