Monday, November 26, 2012

Pedestals, Grooming Stations, and Suchlike

They say it is dangerous to live up on a pedestal. When exalted to lofty heights, there is nothing left but to fall.

To this I say, "Phooey!"

Some of us were born for the pedestal.

There have been doings in Rooglewood of late. Doings of great interest which I shall herewith report. First of all, the recent arrival of the New Napping Spot of Choice.

Anne Elisabeth is under the feeble delusion that Rohan bought this comfy new cat-bed for her. She claims she's going to put it in her new Author's Study and will sit upon it while she writes her little stories.


As clearly shown above, this couch of repose is meant for feline repose and none other.

It also serves admirably for a grooming station, as seen above. Plenty of room for you and a friend (or a gremlin, in this case) to enjoy all the luxuries of a good evening groom!

And Marmaduke seems to think it a perfect new spot to display his so-called "beauty."

Because he has to make it all about him.
It's all too easy to upstage him with fluffiness!
Anyway, as you can see in the images above, one of Anne Elisabeth's "charity cases" has been hanging around much longer than usual. The little black Gremlin is nearly full grown, and still hasn't managed to find a permanent home! I'm starting to get used to seeing it around, though. We even groom together upon occasion.
"Hey, Gremlin? You missed a spot!"
"Oh, thank you, Exalted One!"
Because that's what it calls me. Seriously.
Anne Elisabeth, being wretched, thinks this particular creature is a funny-looking and calls it her "vampire kitty." I think this is a bit harsh!
 But it's definitely a Gremlin. No two ways about it.
My Minion can't stand it. He thinks it's a dreadful beast sent to Rooglewood for the sole purpose of annoying him. The Gremlin, however, thinks my Minion is AWESOME and constantly tries to cuddle.
Gremlin: "I love Uncle Monster!"
Minion: "Ugh. What is this horror to which I wake?"
But my Minion isn't very consistent. While most of the time he insists that he hates the Gremlin, sometimes I catch them in this attitude!
"Kissy! Kissy! Love! Love!"
"But Minerva," says my Minion, "Midnight is a different kitty! There are two black kitties in the house, you know? I love Midnight, and I hate the Gremlin. It's simple!"
What on earth is he talking about? There can't possibly be two gremlins in Rooglewood. It doesn't make sense!

That's got to be the same cat? Right?
Yeah, the Minion's lost it. That's all there is to it. He's seeing double. Or something.
However it is, we have had a steady stream of Anne Elisabeth's wretched charity cases coming through Rooglewood. For a month or so there, we had Gray Kitten:
As seen here with the Gremlin.
And no sooner were we rid of him then Anne Elisabeth took in his sibling, Gray Kitten 2.

Cute. Sure. But is it fluffy?
There's just no end of them! Seriously, folks, do you know anyone who can take some of these fur-beasts off my paws? They distract from my majesty!
Heh. As if that were possible!


Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Of Bribes and Beasties

How can one measure majesty upon a scale?
One cannot. One simply cannot.
Oh, dear, gentle, if somewhat insignificant, readers of mine! I have returned once more to bless you all with the sage wisdom of my being and the great majesty of my me-ness. I don't know how you have managed to survive this long with out me!
But I am here to update you on the epic doings of my life. They have been epic. These doings.
First of all, I have been accepting bribes.
 Everyone knows that a true dictator must indeed enjoy the perks of Supreme Dictatorship. These include bribes of all shapes, sizes, and smells. This particular bribe is exceptionally aromatic!

"What is it?" you well may ask with envious curiosity. I will tell you! It is fresh catnip! FRESH, I say! And O! So delightful!
Being of a benevolent nature, I shared a little with the household peons, my Minion and the mama-kitty-fat-cat.
And now, you are probably wondering as to the purpose behind this bribe.
Anne Elisabeth, being wretched, has instigated some household changes of which I have not given official stamp of approval. These changes include the decision to keep the above-mentioned Mama-kitty-as-was, giving her the permanent name of "Magrat."
Along with opening the doors of Rooglewood to this Mama-kitty of questionable morals and background, Anne Elisabeth has continued to bring orphan kittens into MY dominion. Orphan after orphan after orphan! Is there no end to the plague of them?
Pictured above are the two newest of the wretched beasts: Minko and his sister, Midnight. Magrat-Fat-Cat insists that they are her kittens. She has long since joined the ranks of us Liberated Women (she's been spayed), and her own brood of mewling beasties have been sent on to their permanent homes . . . and yet, nothing in this world will convince her that those kittens are not hers!
Magrat: "SO MANY BABIES!!! I don't even remember
HAVING all of them! Weeeeeee!!!!"
She's a disgrace to Liberated Women everywhere. Sigh.
But, there's no stopping it. The kittens will be fostered, the Magrat will be kept. I've seen so many changes happen in my sweet Rooglewood since I set up my dictatorship here! First the Minion, then that Thing, now this . . .
Speaking of that Thing:
Lost a bit of its menace now, hasn't it? Teehee!
Yikes! Maybe not . . .
Anyway, you see why bribes have become necessary. Otherwise, I really might just have to start advertising for a new Slave Human to serve my every whim and finally see the last of that Anne Elisabeth of mine.
For now, I shall have to content myself with napping in circles.
There's nothing like a good circular nap for the tortured soul.


Monday, July 30, 2012

The Brilliance of My Adored Object

So we are all agreed that my Rohan-sweetness is brilliant, right?

Of course we are.

He really is brilliant, though. Anne Elisabeth fancies herself to be something of a writer, but I tell, dear readers, she's got nothing on my dearest darlingest love.  He, the adored object of my heart, is a rare and beautiful talent.

Take, for instance, this poem he wrote.

If you have difficulty reading the font, it goes:

I wish I were a hippo
'Cause then I would be fat.
But if I can't be a hippo
I'd like to be a cat.

It takes a unique sort of mind to come up with comparisons of this majestic magnitude! My mind fairly boggles at the idea. Hippos! Fat! Indeed! And who doesn't, ultimately, find themselves desiring a life feline?

It is brilliant. My Rohan is brilliant.

Anne Elisabeth claims to have started it, however. She, being bossy like she is, told Rohan one evening that she needed him to "bring more poetry into our marriage." He, being wonderful like he is, obliged by spontaneously composing this epic rhyme.

"Hey," says Anne Elisabeth, "You could mention that I'm the one who illustrated it! That's my drawing of your Minion there!"

Um, Anne Elisabeth, Copernicus called. You're not the center of the universe.

Really, sometimes, that human . . .

Anyway, Rohan's brilliance combined with the pedestrian efforts of Anne Elisabeth have served well to give our Petting Station corner a decorative upgrade. See here:

"Wait a minute . . . She sayin' I'm fat????"

Sorry, Minion. Next to Marmaduke, everyone is fat.

I know your eye went right to me in the background.
I mean, who wants to watch Marmaduke and
Mama-kitty kissing when they could watch me?

Me: "I approve this change, household lackeys."
Marmaduke: "I wonder if anyone needs a hug . . ."

Monday, July 9, 2012

The Spirit of the Dance and Plastic Baggies

You may think that, with Anne Elisabeth hogging the computer and preventing yours truly from sharing the deepness of my deeps with the lot of you, that I would, thus thwarted, succumb and spend my days doing nothing but nap the nap of the frustrated!

Oh, no.

I have been exploring my creative side. Just the other day, I invented, choreographed, and performed a whole new dance for the benefit of my beloved and appreciative Rohan-muffin. He, being the soulful type, understood the poetry of my performance. Anne Elisabeth, being the wretched type, didn't get it at all and snickered the while.

I know that you are all readers of far superior taste than that of Anne Elisabeth, so I thought I would take the time to share with you some still shots of my elegance as caught on film. Prepare yourselves for beauty unparalleled!

First we have: The breathless hush before I make my entrance . . .

Then, the moment: The pure, shining moment when I enter, my costume donned.

"Excuse me! Clear the stage! I'm about to perform!"

"Uh, sorry, Minerva . . ."

Now, I strike a pose, ready for the music of the soul to play, for the living poetry of movement to take over my being!

I roll! I swoop! I spin! I twirl!


Was there ever a being of such grace, such majesty as I?


"I don't get it, Minerva. Wha's wif da plastic baggy and the writhin' 'round onna floor?"
"It's art, Minion."
"You couldn't possibly understand. Kindly remove yourself from my stage and watch from a respectful distance."

"I jus' fink she looks kinda weird . . ."

A soul as scorched with the Flames of Dance as mine cannot be understood by mere mortals!

Thursday, June 7, 2012


I have been in bondage, my friends, my readers, my loyal followers.

Bondage, I say.

Yes, and know, that only the most severe of bonds could have kept me from my duties, posting my thoughts and wisdoms on this blog, sharing my unique perspective with a world living unendarkened.

But Anne Elisabeth, you see, has been in the throes of drafting her newest novel on deadline and, being wretched, has decided that this deadline of hers is more important than MY blog.

Well, say you, why don't you complain? Complain and demand your rights as supreme dictator of Rooglewood?

Oh, believe me, believe me when I say that I have. I have put all four of my dainty paws down, titled my head frighteningly to one side, lashed my exquisite plume of a tail and said, "ANNE ELISABETH! GIVE ME ATTENTION NOW!" Meaning, of course, that I want a chance to blog.

This is what I get:

That's right! The binding chains of human affection as personified by Anne Elisabeth's skinny arms wrapped in tight and restrictive embrace about my fluffy yet formidable person!

Must. Escape. Cuddles.

When she gets in moods like this, there is simply no reasoning with Anne Elisabeth. She will cling and cling and cling like something that clings, and it's either succumb to the affection . . . or flee!

But I, supreme dictator that I am, have never been one to flee.

Fine. We'll cuddle. But don't think I'll enjoy it!

Thus my long absence, my own besotted swains. Even now, I have scarcely a moment before that human of mine is bound to return from her errands and pushes me off the keyboard so she can return to her . . .

Wait! There she is! Stop! No, no! Bad human! Baaaaaaaaaaaaaasd;lkjf a;lkrj a;lg ja; lj ;lj ;;rel   - --------------------------------------------------------------_________________________________                 

(Until next time . . . )

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Cuddles and Kisses

I think the worst part about having this surplus of kittens in the house has been the additional surplus of affection. (Affection not directed at me, that is.)

My Minion has been the worst of the lot. He has been especially taken with his little niece, and I am CONSTANTLY finding him all gushy over her! It's pretty horrible.

An evening groom.

All right, all right, "Uncle Monster." I think she's clean enough.

Even the kitten looks disgruntled here!

And, as if he hadn't gotten her washed up plenty last night, I caught him at it again today.

You'd think minions would be a little more resistant to fuzzy-cuteness than all that. It's disappointing. That's what it is. Disappointing.

Of course, you except these tiny beasts to be cuddly amongst themselves.

Wait a minute! What am I seeing? That kitten in the middle isn't part of the original litter, is he?

WHAT THE WHISKERS, ANNE ELISABETH!!! Do you think you can just sneak a new one in without my noticing?!?! How many kitties are you going to INFLICT upon my DOMAIN?!?!

Yeah, don't try to be cute.
I'm not accepting you.

The most horrible thing, of course, is seeing my own beloved Rohan falling under the fuzzy-cuteness spell. I thought he at least would have the strength to resist! But, I mean, when the house is brimming with cuteness, even the mightiest will fall.

Alas, Sweet Rohan, that it
should come to this!

I, however, have managed to keep my aloof dignity intact. As ruling despot of Rooglewood, someone has to keep her head on her shoulders, no matter the squeeeing of the household staff.

See? Aloof distance.

Scamper scamper scamper


What? No! Really! I didn't kiss it!

Okay, maybe once.

But, I mean, I am SURROUNDED BY BITTY BABIES! How long must I be strong? How long must I resist?

I don't know if I can last much longer . . .