Tuesday, May 15, 2012
A Feline Missive
I have successfully migrated to what appears to be my new headquarters. I am pleased to report that there are plants and chirping creatures galore, yet I've thus far not managed to escape the interior environs. I nearly managed to slide the lighter door away from the wall recently, but Elder Paternal arose from his chair, called me an uncomplimentary name and shooed me away. Retreat is the better part of valor, I always say, especially when confronted with Elder Paternal. He's quite big.
I spend much of my time underground, in the cool darkness of my basement lair. I have created multiple napping locations, better to confuse the ever-present spies, and devised multiple locations where I can lurk behind boxes or under blankets to avoid detection. I continue to worry that Maternal will attempt another capture and place me in my Moving Nemesis. And I so despise car rides. I will continue to thwart her, I think.
Elder Maternal continues to care for me so I'll spare her a bit of affection and allow her to stroke my stripey coat on occasion. There are times my food dish - an inelegant bit of plastic that says something ridiculous like "I [heart] my cat" - goes empty at times but I can typically lure a human down the steps to refill it with my favorite of kibbles. Elder Maternal bought a different litter - it has not that sharp detergent scent and does not seem to catch on my paws. I enjoy it all the more when Maternal curses over its lack of clumping ability. She amuses me so I spare her some affection, ill-advised as that may be, as well.
I have endeavored to spend time with the Elders as they are acceptably quiet on most occasions. They have learned to let their hands dangle harmlessly and I rub against them should the mood strike me. I believe them to be suitably grateful as they often remark on my beauty. The problematic component comes by way of the Whirling Nemesis and VeryLoudBox Nemesis. The former perches on the ceiling and persists on moving in one direction, four blades stupidly following the first to circulate the air. It ruffles my stripey coat and despite my glares and hisses of warning, it continues to form its damnable circles. And so I continue to watch (and occasionally retreat).
I have attempted to send messages via Maternal to the pride I once commanded in my former headquarters. I corner her in private and can only do so when she's resting but she often shushes my monologues, muttering something about trying to sleep. After many attempts and the indignity of being scolded, I reach out to you in hopes that you will tell all who listen that I will return if I'm able (though not if it requires the Moving Nemesis). And, if not, I am well here and will seek to establish a suitable kingdom.
Sir Sprout, the Stripey