Benevolent Monarch

A sure sign of the seasons beginning to change has come to my house this week. His Royal Catness Prince Mabon has begun consuming food in mass quantities. He is “bulking up” for winter, even though he has already got plenty of bulk at eighteen pounds. Winter ought to be in quotation marks as well, as his entire experience of winter consists of sitting by the window in cozy warmth and gazing out upon the snowy domain. While, I, human serf to the Royal One, risk freezing eyelids, frosted lung lining and potential Bambi-on-ice displays of grace all in the name of working to keep him in The Style To Which He Has Become Accustomed. You would think he would be grateful. Appreciative, maybe. You would be wrong.

The cat world view is quite simple: humans exist to serve their superior furry feline overlords. Humans are tolerated as long as and only as long as they fulfill this function to perfection. Any failure is responded to with a display of disdain as only a cat can manage: what I like to call the “kitty finger”. Cats are adept at showmanship, and the kitty finger is no exception. They turn their back to the disgraced human with a flourish of tail, then sit, studiously ignoring, flicking the tail back and forth. The length of tail, velocity and interval of repetition of said tail flick indicates the level of displeasure one is under. No amount of sweet-talking, cajoling, suggesting of things to play moves them. The human must undergo the punishment for as long as deemed appropriate. Or until you go out into the kitchen and open a can. A can of anything will do. Suddenly, all is forgiven! As with any fickle and capricious monarch, a person’s fortunes rise and fall with astonishing rapidity.

This is not to say that we serfs receive nothing in return. They have an uncanny sense of when we feel sick or depressed, and so they sit with you (or more often on you) to comfort you. Or so you think. Actually they are continuing to exert their domination by deigning to show what passes for affection. This is the cat version of “bread and circuses” known as “snuggling and purring”. You can choose whether or not you wish to be fooled. I choose to be. I actually buy into the happy chirpy greeting I get when I come home.

HRC Prince Mabon is a benevolent monarch, even if he does eat through the equivalent of the GNP of several small nations.

Winter approacheth.

Scientific Proof of The Obvious

“Cats Do Control Humans, Study Finds”.

That was the title of a “news item” I read the other day. Someone actually needed to do a study to determine this? Kind of like having to do a study that finds that the sun rises in the east. Of course they control us. The ancient Egyptians admitted it, so why can’t we?

I long ago gave up any pretense of who actually runs the house. Hands down (or that should probably be paws down), His Royal Catness Prince Mabon does.

(Note to prospective cat “owners”: be very careful what you decide to call the cat. They tend to manifest the qualities. “Banshee”? Really bad idea). My friends have seen various ways in which Prince Mabon exerts his powers. For instance, if people are over for a visit and the time reaches ten p.m., he proceeds to parade back and forth before the assembled guests and meow at them until they leave. Closed doors? He’s not having it. One speck of bare bowl showing through his crunchies? Disaster that must be immediately rectified. Not to mention the required petting, brushing, and the fact that I must be within his eyesight at all times. If he could figure out a way to imprison me 24/7 he would. Actually, I am not altogether sure he isn’t hatching such a plot as we speak.

There is an international conspiracy of cats, if the truth were told. The study, published in the July 14^th issue of the journal Current Biology, is only a hint at the vastness of the influence held by the furry felines. At the risk of endangering my own well-being, I will let you in on some of the secret things I know about. Cats For An Illiterate World is a global organization. The members of CFAIW carry out their mission by immediately hopping up onto desks, kitchen tables, lap boards and just plain laps whenever reading material is present. The only exception to this is if the reading material is cat related. Their mission? I think that is obvious. Sinister, but obvious. Keep the Big Ones ignorant. Let them toil in their delusional state and never let them awaken from it!

But wait, there’s more. Behind every cat that uncannily knows the one person in the room with an allergy, which rug is the most expensive, just exactly how to knock over that planter, is a secret society so ingenious, so pervasive, so diabolical that even Dan Brown would be at a loss to fully appreciate it. Yes, I am talking about The Bast Society. Long ago, the first Grand Catster disseminated amongst the faithful the Keys of Mind Control and the techniques for The Yanking of the Chain. This last can be very serious, just read this excerpt:

Be sure to choose a time when you are alone with a Big One. Better still if darkness abounds outside. Be companionable and sit in a cozy fashion with the Big One. Wait. Be ever mindful of the temptation to nap. Be not sidetracked by the Nip or by shiny objects. When the time is optimum, suddenly sit up straight as an arrow, ears erect, eyes wide, and stare. Staring at a darkened window is best, but if one is not available, any direction will do. The more intent your stare, the more unsettled the Big One will become. This is great fun.

We cannot fight against this kind of superior tactic. And they know it. Somehow, they managed to get us to pay for a study to prove it. Hear them laughing their sinister little cat laughs?

I understand they are working on genetic developments involving opposable thumbs.

We’re doomed.