It’s been weeks since Xenia, Her Imperial Majesty to the uniformed, roamed the backyard domain. The Seneschal, father, insists that it’s due to the hawk being on the wing. But the depth of the rabbit tracks suggests that the snow has something to do with it.
“get the big thingee out there! You know, the one that makes a snowstorm and roars like a dog!” So he stupidly sits there with hot stuff in his hands. He can’t even drink out of a bowl like a cat or even a dog.
It’s a quandary. What were my ancestors thinking about when they domesticated humans? They are still all just one generation from being wild. But, look at those people across the street! Two dogs and no cat to run the place. Disturbing.
I guess it’s a consolation that mine does do an excellent job caring for my catnip plants. Thinking of which, it’s time for a toot.