Little Visitors

Anne Elisabeth is always saying silly things to me. And I do mean silly! Things like: "Oh, Minerva Louise, you need to be nicer when we have visitors at the house."

"I'm perfectly nice to visitors. They pet me," I reply.

"Oh, I don't mean regular visitors," says she. "I mean all the little visitors. Like the kittens who come to stay. Or the new Mama-kitty. Those kinds of visitors."

What nonsense.

Just in case you, dear reader, for some inexplicable reason side with Anne Elisabeth, allow me here to make my case against little visitors.

For one thing, little visitors often don't prove to be visitors at all. Some of them never go away.

Take this one, for instance. Two years ago, almost exactly, Anne Elisabeth plopped this "little visitor" down in my house and said, "Isn't he cute?"

Isn't he WHAT???

I was, as you may well imagine, horrified!

I am horrified.

Up until that moment, I had always been the resident Bitty Kitty. And I saw absolutely no reason for that status to change!

Ye gads! Even my phaser eyes have no affect on this one!

The wretched thing didn't even have the courtesy to be duly terrified by its new surroundings. It settled right in that very evening and made itself at home in MY home!

Oh my gosh! It's GROOMING! How dreadful . . .

And then, to pour oil on the fire, it decided it wanted to take MY crinkle ball!

Little Visitor: "Hello! Sharing is a GOOD thing!"

Me: "No it's not!"

Then it decided that we ought to be friends!

Little Visitor: "I just loooove you!"

Me: "Yeeeeeuck."

But being (as you will have guessed by now) Maramduke in miniature form, this particular Little Visitor decided to fall madly in love with me. And I found myself suddenly stuck with a reddish-brown shadow.

Me: "Stinky litterboxes! I can't even sleep in my own chair anymore."

Marmaduke: "I love you!"

Me: "Doesn't matter if I move to the couch. It follows me."

Marmaduke: "I love the couch!"

Me: "Really, kid, can you give me some space?"

Marmaduke: "I love you soooooo much!"

Me: "Are you going to follow me everywhere?"

Marmaduke: "I love the WHOLE WORLD!"

Yeah. So that's how that Little Visitor turned out. Can you see why I'm not so happy-jolly-purry to see them when they come stopping by? What with Marmaduke, then the Minion, then that Thing, you just can't trust them to Go Away!

But, really, I do make an effort. Seriously, I do! The other day, while Rohan was grooming that Thing, we had a very strange little visitor indeed.

Oh, my goodness me! Is that ANOTHER dog?

I rolled around very cutely in an effort to be charming. I even showed it my phaser eyes!

And there it sat, looking stupid. So impolite.

I eventually had to run up and rend it to pieces for being so dull, and Anne Elisabeth was obliged to sweep up its remains. Take that, Little Vistor!

Then yesterday, we had a Little Visitor of an entirely different breed . . . the kind known as The Human Toddler.

Even Marmaduke was intimidated by this one:

"I love you . . . from back here!"

But, as surpreme dictator of Rooglewood, I did my best as hostess to entertain the wee one. I did!

From a respectful distance, mind. Those Toddlers are quicker than you think!

Have I made my compelling case to you, dear furry friends everywhere? Is it not unjust of Anne Elisabeth to expect more of me? Are not the Little Visitors among the greater terrors of the known world?

Marmaduke Does What Marmaduke Does Best

It will come as a surprise to none of you who know Marmaduke that he has already started making eyes at the new girl.

Yup, that's Marmaduke out in the sunroom with little Miss Prego Cat.

"Muffin," Anne Elisabeth calls her. That's right, "Muffin." Did you ever hear such a name? And she's stuffed to the gills with, like, sixteen million babies inside. Marmaduke says she told him she's due to burst in another 2-4 weeks.

"And I will be a good daddy to them all!" Marmaduke declares.

Whatever, Duke. He tried to mother all the kittens we fostered last year too. All nurturing and stuff.

"This is now my baby."

He would follow them around, grooming them, teaching them how to hop up on things, playing mousies with them, and teaching them about candles and stuff.

"This is a candle, my kitten. You sniff them. And then your whiskers go ZIIIIP!"

 It was disgusting. Somehow I don't think miss Fluffy Muffin is going to take kindly to him mothering her kittens either! But there he is out there anyway, buttering her up.

If it were me, I'd be hissing and telling her to skeedaddle back

to the bamboo forest where she belongs!

"Which," Anne Elisabeth says, "is why you aren't allowed out with her for now, Minerva Louise. Marmaduke is helping her integrate."

Oh, is that what you call it?

Hmph.

Look at her, being all cutesy with those dangling paws.

Makes my whiskers curl.

It's all right though. Rohan, knowing I would be upset by all this kitten-rescue nonsense, bought me a beeeeyootiful bouquet of roses!

He is so thoughtful!

Anne Elisabeth, being wretched, insists that they are hers. She says they are to celebrate the two-year anniversary of when she beat him at fencing tournament thereby catching his attention and motivating him to ask her out the week after, leading to their marriage a few months later.

Poppycock!

He's actually celebrating the fact that he met Anne Elisabeth two years ago and that she, soon after, introduced him to ME. I mean, doesn't that make a lot more sense?

Something Sinister

Dear readers mine, there is something sinister happening at Rooglewood. Anne Elisabeth, of course, is keeping all hush-hush. But I can smell it, I tell you! She doesn't have to say a word. I can smell it!

There is something lurking behind closed doors.

Don't you believe me?

It's freaky, man!

That Thing, so far, is the only one who seems to believe me. Which isn't saying a whole lot . . . Still, it's nice to have someone else helping me to guard this portal of evil.

But no matter how long we waited, Anne Elisabeth wasn't letting us through. So I left that Thing to do the guarding, and I did some investigation.

Sometimes, I like looking through Anne Elisabeth's pictures on her computer. I am quite often surprised and pleased by what I find:

My stars! Who is that gorgeous creature?

But today, I was rather less pleased. For when I started searching Anne Elisabeth's most recent files, I found this!

 And this!

And worst of all, THIS!

Do you know what those are? Those are wild kittens again, that's what those are! And the last one--I can hardly believe I'm saying this--the last one is the Minion's own sister, all grown up, and EXPECTING MORE KITTENS!!!!

Anne Elisabeth has turned MY domain into a veritable charity house!!!

Please, please, please, dear readers . . . if you know anyone who might want to adopt a kitty (or several!) do send them directly to me. I've got to get these creatures out of my territory, or I just don't know WHAT Anne Elisabeth might do next!

In the End, It's All About Standards

I mean, if you haven't got standards, what have you got?

You've got Anne Elisabeth, that's what you've got. Or at least, Anne Elisabeth's poor taste.

Here's the thing: Objects d'Kitty should not be picked out without first consulting the Kitty. How would you like it if someone went around picking out your litter box or your hair brush without bothering to consult your opinion on the subject? And when it comes to food dishes, well . . . I mean, should there even be a question here?

But Anne Elisabeth gets so high-and-mighty, forgetting her place in the universe (which--correct me if I'm wrong--is serving the kitties, right?). She goes out shopping for food dishes without any thought in her head, particularly not what the resident dictator of Roogelwood might consider appropriate. She justs picks out whatever she wants, plops it down, and expects us all to eat and be happy!

All right, we're eating. Doesn't mean we're happy.

Anyway, since that Thing came to stay (against all my best advice), our food dishes have been moved to the Art Studio up on the table where certain Things can't reach it. There, under the light of clear day, I had an opportunity to finally really look at my selection of food dishes.

Welllll . . . they weren't too bad. Not on the whole. I mean, one has a pretty blue paw print (that's the one Anne Elisabeth bought me when I was a bitty kitty), one is a handsome shade of red, and the other is lined with elegant green stripes. As far as food dishes go, they are acceptible.

These please my grace.

Then there was the most recent one. The gray one. The blah, bleh, blecky gray one.

It did not pass muster:

Bye-bye, gray bowl.

I don't see what you're kicking up such a fuss about, Anne Elisabeth.

Ultimately, this was your fault.

I mean, really? Who goes out and purposefully chooses a plain gray bowl? You'd think she was feeding feral cats with it or something!

It's about standards, Anne Elisabeth.

Do the world a favor and go get some.

And bring back some tuna while you're at it.

The Pros and Cons of Minion Management

It is generally considered good practice for supreme evil rulers to keep minions on staff. This one, as you know, is mine:

Threatening figure of feline mystery, isn't he?

Minions are useful when it comes to accomplishing grunt-work tasks beneath Supreme Dictatorial Dignity. Mine, for instance, is great for things like distracting that Thing's attention while I slip over to investigate (I didn't say eat, I said investigate) the dog food. He's great for flopping down right under an unsuspecting human's feet, effectively tripping them up while I make a snatch for whatever forbidden oddment might have caught my fancy. And of course, when it comes time for pure muscle, you can't beat a good minion.

The problem is, as every Supreme Dictator knows, minions can be so . . . stupid.

For instance the other day, when my Minion got into the Kitty Basket. The Kitty Basket, you must know, is a thing of a great wonder and delight. It is where all the catnip mousies, jangly balls, feather toys, and my beautiful Blue Rat are kept when we aren't busy strewing them across the house. It is also where Anne Elisabeth (in a moment of stunning idiocy) recently decided to keep my harness and leash.

My poor, lovely harness and leash.

So, yeah. The Minion, rummaging for a mousie, found them, both leash and harness, dragged them out and proceed to eat them.

That's what I said: Eat them.

What is it with Minions and eating anything that fits in their mouths? I ask you!

He chewed through my BEAUTIFUL belongings in about five different places, swallowing much of it (which Anne Elisabeth had the pleasure of rediscovering in the litterbox over the next few days). He destroyed it beyond all usability and, when confronted about his evil behavior, he said only:

"What???"



And they call me the Evil One!

I mean, who does that? Who eats other people's leashes and harness and then just SITS there looking all fluffy about it?

Only a Minion, I tell you!

"But, Minerva, it was vewy tasty an' . . . an' nummy an' . . . an' I was hungwy . . ."

Yes, that's how he talks. With a baby voice. Pushing fourteen pounds of adolescent hugeness, and he talks with a baby voice.

"Mo-om! Minerva says I talk wif a baby voice!"

So there you have it, furry readers everywhere. Minions! What can a Supreme Mistress of Villainy do?





My Extremely Excellent Song

I am a very musical cat.

Cats, everyone knows, are naturally very musical. They sing, they dance, they play percussion instruments (I myself am remarkably good at crashing glasses and little glass beads). But of all the cats I know, I am by far the most musical. I live, breathe, and sleep on music!

Music is comfy.

The other feline inhabitants of Rooglewood are nowhere near so in tune to their artistic natures as am I. I love LOTS of music. Especially opera. I looooove opera. Whenever Anne Elisabeth is having a less wretched than usual moment and puts on a bit of a Puccini . . . ah! That's when I get very, very happy.

This is happy.

If Anne Elisabeth decides to practice the piano, I come running from any corner of the house to help. She needs all the help she can get, you see, and I make for a beautiful muse of inspiration! I hop up next to her on the bench or sit above and chew on her score just so she knows where to put the right emphasis. I am so helpful.

And she still is wretched enough to say, "MINERVA LOUISE! Stop chewing Chopin!"

Humans. Bah.

After several years of my very helpful helpfulness with her music, Anne Elisabeth eventually decided that I needed a theme song. So she came up with this arrangement and variation on an old song and dedicated it to me! (You might want to turn down your volume a little bit . . . it starts out loud.)

It is very wonderful because it is mine. I know my song, and every time she sings it to me, I start purring and blinking sweetly. After all, I need to encourage whatever good behavior Anne Elisabeth shows! It doesn't happen often. And do you see how absolutely adorable I am at the beginning and end of that video? I am such a demure little shrinking violet, aren't I?

If you had trouble understanding the extremely excellent lyrics, they are:

Every little breeze sings Minerva Louise

Birds in the trees sing Minerva Louise

Each little rose tells me it knows

I love you

I love you!

Every little beat that I feel in my heart

Seems to repeat what I felt at the start

Each little sigh tells me that I

Adore you

Minerva Louise!

Just to see and hear you

Brings joy I never knew

But to be so near you

Thrills me through and throoooo--oough.

Anyone can see why I wanted your kiss.

It had to be, but the wonder is this

Can it be true someone like you

Could love me

Minerva Louise!