Halloween!

Last night, Anne Elisabeth invited over her Literary League Ladies.

Without permission.

Can you believe how difficult it is to keep the subjects in line sometimes?

Anyway, she had them over, and it was just as well for her that I happen to like the Literary League Ladies. Other than the fact that they spend more of their time talking about Literary Topics (when they could be talking about, you know, me), they also appreciate a fine coat of soft, fluffy fur when they see one. And when toys are fetched to their feet, they are adept at dangling them.

Lucky for you, Anne Elisabeth . . . lucky for you.

One of the ladies, Samantha, was convinced to play dress-up in honor of Halloween. I helped:

"Excuse me, let me just make certain your grooming is all in order."

"All right, you're set. Carry on, human."

I'm not going to lie, that dress was a lot of fun! Humans don't wear fun clothes often enough these days, but that dress is a lair all in and of itself! The minions and I had a grand time diving underneath, then BURSTING out in an explosion of lace and fur!

The little human squeaked. It was hilarious.

So it was a fun night after all. One of the Literary Ladies dangled my favorite toy for me while they read their Ray Bradburry, their Jorges Luise Borges, and their Sandman Chronicles shorts. I find literature extreme dull (except for practical things, such as some of T.S. Eliot's work). But dangly plastic toys are quite exhilarating!

Afterwards, Marmaduke and I talked about what we would like to be for Halloween. He says he sees himself as something of a Charles Boyer.

 Hmmmm . . . Not a bad fit!

I see myself as something of a combination of Cyd Charisse:

And evil Galadriel:

See the resemblance?

We then discussed the possibilities of costumes. But it was all rather exhausting, so we decided to nap instead:

The Story of My Life: The Vet

Allow me to continue the great Saga of my humble beginnings and eventual rise to power (as begun here, since you will want to read it). It wasn't long after the events previously recounted that I met Charity.

(Hello, Charity, if you are reading this! I like you! Purrr purrrr. You can pet me next time you come over, and tell me how pretty I am, and bring me treats, and mousies, and anything you feel like! Purr purr.)

Let me tell you about Charity. She has a nice soft voice and nice soft hands, and she took one look at me in my box and said, "Oh, my! Isn't she pretty?"

Insightful human. I like her.

Charity was just visiting the Boy and the Mother, who were her family. The next day, she went home and told her roommate about me. And would you guess who her roommate was?

That's right!

All wretchedness aside, Anne Elisabeth recognized that her purpose in life was at last revealed. When Charity told her that I needed a permanent home, she said: "Until this moment, my world has been devoid of all meaning. Now, I look forward into a future of servitude, my whole being poured out in service to the one, the great, the beautiful Minerva!"

Well, something along those lines.

But she did pick my name, "Minerva, "which I like rather well. I don't care so much for the "Louise," since Anne Elisabeth tells me I'm named after a chicken. To punish her, I pretended not to know my name for the first two years I lived with her. That'll teach her! Someday, when I rule the world, I'll rename her Mehitabel, and we'll see how she likes that.

Anyway, she said she wanted me, and the next time Charity went to visit her family, I was packed up in a box, placed on the front seat of Charity's car, and driven away to my new life! I will never forget that moment when I first set eyes upon Anne Elisabeth. I was waking up from a snuffley daze, enjoying the sunshine shining through the car window into my box. Suddenly, the car door opened, and these hands came reaching in, and this voice came crashing down.

"Ooooooooos a beeeeeyoooootiful pitty kitty bitty witty. . ."

I don't think I'd ever heard so much baby-talk in one place at one time in all the long weeks of my life. So undignified. I was still sick with the sniffles, and Anne Elisabeth decided to get me some medicine right away, before even letting me into my new home. She took me to the vet . . .

The Vet.

I do not like The Vet.

No.

I do not.

If only one could ever return to those innocent days before one knew The Vet existed! It's like The Vacuum Cleaner, only not so loud and much more horrible. Baby that I was, I did not know what I was in for at the time. Anne Elisabeth took me out of my box and carried me in, and we sat in the waiting room having a nice long cuddle. I hadn't had such a nice cuddle since I don't know how long! I nuzzled up under her chin (snuffling and sneezing a little) and purred and purred. I was really beginning to think Anne Elisabeth and I might just get along.

And then The Vet entered.

"We want to clean out her ears," The Vet said.

And I said, "You want to what?"

Needless to say, we were not amused.

When at last, they handed me back to Anne Elisabeth, she said to me: "Minerva! I am so embarrassed! How could you use such dreadful language out in public? What will they all think of you?"

My hope and intention is that they will live forever in dread of my return . . .

"Bad, bad human! No!"

After that, my new human brought me home and plopped me down in a pink ploof.

I felt very miserable.

Gug. Colds are the worst.

I was also a little drugged at the time.

"Don' dake ma pidgure . . . oh. Danks! Dank-ou bewy munge!"

So much miserablenesses!

But, I thought, perhaps I have finally found myself a home?

It was then that I heard a scritch-scratch scratching at the bedroom door. And someone without said:

"Meeeeeeroowl? Anne Elisabeth, what do you have in there?"

Uh oh.

This Morning

Sometimes, I think Anne Elisabeth just doesn't care about me.

My heart is completely broken. Rohan went to work this morning! Yes, he does it every morning, leaving me behind for hours on end with only the household staff for company. Anne Elisabeth tells me it's necessary, that he's "providing for the family" or some such nonsense, paying for my Iams and mousies, blah, blah, blah.

I know the truth. Anne  Elisabeth is jealous of the great bond I share with Rohan. So she drives him from the house all day, and expects me to just sit back and take it.

Who does she think she's dealing with?

In the wake of Rohan departure, I was so desolate, I felt I must do something to distract myself. Music is soothing to the soul, I am told, so I trotted up and down the hall running my scales. "Mo, May, Me, Ma, Mo, Ma, MEEEEEEEEEE!" Practice makes perfect (and I always strive for perfection), so I ran them over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over--

"MINERVA LOUISE! Must you be so loud?"

Yes, thank you. I must.

Wretched Anne Elisabeth.

My voice gave out eventually, and Anne Elisabeth was still stolidly ignoring me, drinking her morning drudge (trust me, it's smells nasty!) and cuddling with Marmaduke. Yes, Marmaduke. Who is not heartbroken, thank you very much, and does not need consoling. He's nothing short of clingy!

See? Clingy.

While my heart is torn absolutely in two. Could I use a bit of petting and hugs myself? Of course! But I'm not going to go hopping into laps and debasing myself like he does. After all, a ruling despot must maintain some standards.

So I hopped up on the counter instead.

Technically speaking, the counter is not my official domain. Everything from the doorknobs down and most chair tops are mine. But the counter is no-man's land, and Anne Elisabeth gets quite wretched if she catches me on them. She was busy cuddling that Clinging Vine she's so fond of and drinking her drudge, however, so she didn't even notice what I was doing!

So I started knocking things off. One. By. One.

Bat, bat, bat.

Thunk.

Bat, bat, bat.

Smack.

All right, nothing I was knocking was eliciting the desired result. Let's find something that clatters. Hmmmm . . . dishes are good!

Bat, bat, bat.

CRASH!!!

Bingo.

"MINERVA LOUISE! Why must you be so wicked?"

"Well, as I told you, Anne Elisabeth, my heart is broken because Rohan has gone to work, and you should be making some effort to console me, and since you aren't--Oh, I say! Excuse me! Do you mind?"

She shut me out in the sunroom.

She says I can't cause as much destruction out here. This is true, alas. The most I can do is sleep in the pots where plants used to be.

But I already squashed the plants months ago. I suppose I could dig up some of the dirt, but I do so hate to get my paws dirty.

Wretched Anne Elisabeth.

I think I'll sit in the doorway and stare at her while she works. That'll make her sorry.

Maybe I'll get the Minion to help me.

"Don't get too cute, Minion. You want to make her sorry for her wretchedness, not enthralled by your cuteness."

It's hard to get good help these days.

The Story of My Life: Ditch Kitten

I feel in order for us to come to a place of proper appreciataion (i.e. you appreciating me), I must give you some account of my history. It is a grand, tragic, sordid tale such as you have likely only found in operatic form . . . until now. I see myself as something of a heroine, (possibly consumptive?) suffering in the throes of misunderstanding even as I struggle to raise myself to a place of supreme power. It is a saga of suffering and woe, a narrative of triumph and victory. It is a romance and a mystery.

And it's all about me!

My life began at an early age. So early, in fact, I really don’t remember much about those first few weeks. I seem to recall a certain amount of warmth and wriggling, some purrs and some softness all around me.

After that, all I really remember is the ditch.

Before you make any assumptions about my breeding or quality (considering these humble origins), may I remind you that all the greatest figures in every operatic saga known to cat began life as a foundling? You can only aspire to true greatness if you start life abandoned in a ditch. It's a . . . it's whatsit, thingy. Like something that comes before, like . . .

One moment, please.

"Molly! What's a word that means coming-before-to-tell-about-something-coming-later-thing?"

"You mean foreshadowing?"

"Do I?"

"I don't know! I'm confused!"

"Thanks anyway."

Whatever.  I remember crawling in a ditch, and I remember that it was cold. And I had the sniffles, which is almost like being consumptive, so you know it's romantic. I was mewing plaintively because you never know who might be listening. The world was much bigger and colder and lonelier than I had thought it might be. I had thought it would always be warm and snug and full of purrs. I had thought there would always be hands petting me and voices telling me how pretty I am.

Instead, I landed in the ditch. And it was wet. So I mewled my ire at the world and scrambled to get out.

I've tried to figure out since then why anybody would want to abandon me like that. After all, they had taken the time to raise me, had gotten me used to the smells and sounds of humans. They could see I had a sweet and friendly nature. (No really! I'm terribly sweet! Don't let wretched Anne Elisabeth tell you any different!) Did they get bored of me? Did they run out of food and have to give me up unwillingly? What happened to my big Mama-kitty and all the other wiggling furrinesses around me?

I will never know. All I can guess is that what happened needed to happen in order for my destiny as future ruler of Rooglewood to manifest. Manifesting destinies (as any connoisseur of opera knows), always go through certain bumps along the way. I suppose this was my first bump.

Anyway, I was cold and wet and coming down with the sniffles, when suddenly a big wheel-y thing came riding by. A human-creature--the kind known as a Boy--was riding on it, moving as fast as he could since it was cold. I took one look at his face and knew him to be my rescuer. With a great effort, I pulled myself to the top of the ditch and I told him: "MEEEEEW!"

Like the obedient rescuer he was, he stopped, set aside his bike, and picked me up.

"What are you doing out in the cold?" he asked.

"Meeew!" I told him, and I meant it. I really did!

Being an understanding sort, he tucked me inside his jacket. He couldn't ride his bike while holding me (I think maybe I struggled a little, but only enough to show that I should be respected), so he left it on the roadside and walked the rest of the long way to his home. I liked being warm under his jacket! And his heartbeat was very soothing.

When we finished our long walk, I was brought into a kitchen, and a Mother gave me something nice to eat. I was a pretty sick kitty, so they also made me take medicines, which I did NOT like. But at the time, I didn't have enough will to fight, so I took them.

Then they gave me a warm place to curl up. As I drifted off, I remember hearing the Mother say to the Boy, "Well, we can't keep her. We'll just have to see if we can find her a good home . . ."

But I was too sleepy to pay much attention.

Do you know, the human Boy never got his wheel-y thing back? I think he must have been like a hero to give up his machine to save me.

But then, I could not possibly have been saved by anything less than a Hero, could I?

Treasures

They are so pretty. And so am I. So shouldn't they be mine?

My servant, Anne Elisabeth, keeps a bowl of treasures in the Yellow Bathroom.

(Note: when I use articles such as "the," you may assume that I mean "my." One does not like to come across as greedy . . . nevertheless, do not forget it. "The" = "My". Thank you.)

As I was saying, Anne Elisabeth keeps a bowl of treasure in the (see note) Yellow Bathroom. They are little and sparkly, sitting all snug in a glass candy dish. Observe:

It is a matter of simple logic. I want them. She has them. They should be mine.

But will Anne Elisabeth let me have them? Even one? Oh, no. No, no, no, no.

Proving just how wretched she is.

I have to sneak into the (see note) Yellow Bathroom. She keeps the door shut most of the time, trying to keep the (see note) treasures from me. But sometimes, she forgets. Like the other night, when she went to bed and didn't shut the bathroom door hard enough for the door to latch. I love it when she does that!

That's when I wait, so patiently, until 3:00 am. Then I push the door open and I creep up to the treasures.

See! I have found them!

Come to me, my beauties!

I steal them one at a time, and I bat them across the bathroom floor, under the toilet, under the sink, under the rug. I have so many hiding places!

But no matter when I do it, my human always hears me. And she comes storming down the hallway, saying, "MINERVA LOUISE! Bad kitty! Why must you be so evil?"

"Who? Me?"

Anne Elisabeth takes all the treasures away from me, because she's mean like that, and keeps them all for herself. It's really too wretched for words!

But you know what? It's my new most favoritest way to get her attention. Every time I take a treasure, she comes stomping and shouting, and then I say, "Meeew?" in my sweetest voice. And she always ends up petting me! 

Humans are so gullible sometimes.