Tea Party Goddess

I am very good at tea parties.

"Well, naturally," you'll say. "You're very good at everything, Minerva Louise."

Which is true. I am. But I am particularly very good at tea parties. Anne Elisabeth doesn't think so, of course, but Rohan does. I always sit in his lap when they sit down to their evening cup of tea.

And I wash his fingers . . .

. . . and he rubs my ears the way I like . . .

. . . and we--

No. That's NOT my evil face.

Seriously, you people . . .

Anyway, as you can see, I am quite, quite good at tea parties! Rohan thinks I'm just the cutest thing ever.

Rohan: "She's just the cutest thing ever!

So much cuter than Anne Elisabeth!"

No, really. That's what he's saying.

So, as you can see, I know all about tea parties, and I am everyone's favorite. I'm much better at them than Marmaduke (between demanding hugs from everyone present, he always tries to steal a scone), or Molly (who's never sure what's going on), or the Minion (what do minions know about tea parties anyway?), and much, MUCH better than that Thing (who just whines pathetically hoping someone will drop something).

Indeed, I am a veritable tea party goddess.

Until this last tea party.

I had been hard at work for the last hour telling Anne Elisabeth where to put everything.

You need to slide the cream a little more this way . . .

When who do you suppose showed up?

That's right! Little Miss Fatso, ready to burst with babies, taking a seat at MY tea party! Isn't that always the way of it? No matter how careful you with the invitations, that Bad Fairy is always sure to turn up, full of cursings and what-have-you. Being a lady of great class and courtesy, I completely snubbed her, of course.

And that's when things got interesting.

With approximately ten minutes before our guests were due to arrive, Anne Elisabeth decided to take a seat and put her feet up for a moment (lazy beast). That Fat Cat took the opportunity to hop in her lap.

And started having kittens.

"AHHHHHHH!" said Anne Elisabeth.

"AHHHHHHH!" said Rohan, observing.

"MEEEEEEEEEOW!" said Fatso.

And everything exploded.

Rohan ran down the hall, Anne Elisabeth, carrying Mama-cat, followed fast behind, and they disappeared into the guest room, shutting the door in my face.

Marmaduke: "Anyone in there need hugs?"



It was appalling. We kept hearing the most horrendous sounds from inside! And then Anne Elisabeth, still having to at least do some of her hostessing duty, had to hop up and finish getting ready for our tea party guests to arrive.

While she was out of the room, we heard Rohan calling:

"Sweetie? Sweeeeetie?!?!"

"Yes?" I asked.

But Anne Elisabeth assumed he meant her and went running in, refusing to give me admittance. Marmaduke and I listened at the door.

AE: "What is it, Rohan? Is she okay?"

Rohan: "She had something! I don't know what it is! But she had something!!!"

AE: "Um. I would assume it's a kitten."

What nerve that Anne Elisabeth has, being all sarcastic at my darling Rohan-muffin. One of these days I'll break her tea cup, and we'll see how sarcastic she gets then . . .

Anyway, turns out Miss Fatso did have a kitten. Several of them in fact. And my dearest Rohan wasn't expecting all the . . . stuff . . . that comes with kittens.

Eeeew! That's not tea-party appropriate!

Four of them. That's right. Four! First two blacks, then two whites, three boys and one girl. Tiny, little, squeaking, pink-toed, alien-esque babies.

No wonder Rohan was confused.

Great job, Fatso-cat. I'm sure you're proud of your alien brood.

And that was me being sarcastic. In case you didn't get it.



So Much for Being Helpful

Rohan thinks I am very helpful. I always help him with his projects around the house: Paying bills, sorting mail, doing the laundry. I am quick with good advice and always have an encouraging purr for him.

For instance, the other day, he was hard at work on a very interesting project. I hurried to investigate.

"Hmmm. What we seem to have here is a box."

I am an expert on boxes (see this post for details), and I had all sorts of helpfulnesses for him! We worked very hard together on it.

"I so look forward to seeing what you make, darlingest Rohan!

It must be something wonderful for me!"

We worked, and worked, and I must admit, I was getting very excited. It looks just exactly like the perfect kitty-cover-lair, doesn't it? Rohan is so thoughtful, he . . .

Mama-kitty: "What are we doing?"

Would you believe it? Little Miss Prego-Cat came sauntering up when I wasn't looking, all flicky-tailed, purry-cute. Disgusting. What business does she have getting in the way of Rohan's work? He only needs me for assistance!

I vacated the premises at once, of course. And Fatso-girl hopped right in!

Mama-kitty: "Why, thank you! This will do nicely!"

Do nicely? Do nicely for what? Really, what a lot of gall she has, just assuming Rohan made it for her when I'm the favorite, not to mention the supreme dictator!

Minion: "What?"

Even her brother, my Minion, was confused. Not quite as confused as Molly, however. No one is as confused as Molly.

Molly: "I don't know what's going on . . ."

Marmaduke: "Hi in there! Can I come cuddle?"

None of them were quite so distressed as yours truly, however, for none of them had been involved in the making of this beautiful kitty lair which Miss Fatso went and appropriated right out from under our noses!

"Look at her. All smug and self-satisfied."

And do you want to know what's worse?

LOOK WHAT SHE WENT AND DID IN MY BEAUTIFUL BOX!!!!





Lobster and Love

I feel I should fill you in on various randomness around Rooglewood now while I still have the chance. What with Mama-kitty due to pop at any time, I wonder how much blogging opportunity I shall have? So let me take this opportunity to remind you once more of the difficult circumstances under which I live and try to maintain a decent despotism.

First of all, there is that Thing to be considered. Somehow (and I do not pretend to know just how), she seems to have wormed her way into the affections of the various humans in this household. The various humans and . . . well, I shan't tell you of that until the end . . .
Rohan--my own, darling, but strangely bemused with dogginess, Rohan--came home the other day with, of all things, a gift for that Thing. And I'm telling you, dear readers, it was the oddest gift.

See her there, carrying it about with her? Can you tell what it is? Well, I certainly couldn't, not for the first fifteen minutes! The creature was so excited, she kept trotting in circles all around the house, and it wasn't until she settled down that any of us got a good look at the thing. And then we saw . . . a lobster?

"I wuv my wobster!"

That's right. A lobster. An enormous, red, stuffed lobster. And this was the cause of all that trot-about-the-house-in-utter-ecstasy excitement?

I couldn't believe my eyes. So I sent the Minion to investigate.

Minion: "What'cha got there, Milly?"

Thing: "Grrrrrrrr."

My tail and whiskers! I had never heard that Thing use such atrocious language! But there she sat, flopped on a towel, her lobster at her side, grrrrrrrring at my Minion!

He didn't seem to care.

Minion: "Can I have a sniff? Pwease?"

Thing: "Grrrrrrrrr."

My Minion can be very persistent when need arises. He kept after her, sniffing and pawing at her lobster until finally, the Thing had enough.

Minion: "Wait! Wait! Don't get up, I just wanna sniff!"

Thing: "Grrrrrrrr and bye!"

Since then, she has torn the eyes out of her favorite toy. I guess that's doggy for love? Strange, strange creature.

Speaking of love . . . now that Spring has come to Rooglewood, we are having to deal with the effects of it. Twitterpation is rampant. Marmaduke, as always, falls in love with everything that moves (and quite a few things that don't), so that's no change. Molly keeps pining after her owner, Tom, who is military and has not been able to have her for the last four years (thus she lives under my gentle dictatorship), and keeps insisting, "He's going to come for me soon! Soon!"

Whatever, Molly.

And of course, my Rohan is as utterly devoted to me as a human being can possibly be (despite Anne Elisabeth's wretched attempts to distract his attention).

But the oddest romance of all has been emerging. And I have to say, I'm more than a little concerned as it involves my very own Minion!

*kiss*kiss*kiss*

"I LOVE YOU, MILLY!"

That's right, dear furry readers. The Minion has gone and fallen in love with that Thing! And I have to say, as ruling despot of this household, I'm not entirely certain how to respond. I mean, I consider myself as open-minded as the next kitty, but . . . inter-species romances seem fraught with potential turmoil!

Besides, judging from that face, I'm uncertain what the Thing's feelings for my Minion are in return. I mean, is he setting himself up for heartbreak?

And I Do NOT Approve

Did I give Anne Elisabeth permission to drag my own sweet Rohan away to the frigid North Woods of Wisconsin for a week? Did she file the correct paperwork? Did she grovel appropriately or bestow the correct gifts?

No.

Did she go anyway, stealing my own sweet Rohan with her?

Naturally!

A week, my furry friends. An entire week. No, it did not make it better that Charity came to visit every day (though I do love Charity. She says I'm pretty, proving her great insight). No, it did not make it better that Kyle came to stay at Rooglewood in order to care for the dog, providing us with a lap in which to sit at night. Do you think I, Minerva Louise, supreme dictator by divine right of felineness, am going to accept a substitute lap?

Think again.

I thoroughly snubbed both Kyle and Charity all week. And when Anne Elisabeth got home AN ENTIRE WEEK LATER, I gave her a piece of my mind.

"Why did you LEAVE me?"

No, really. It only looks like I'm cuddling and nuzzling. You're not reading the subtext of body language going on here. In reality, I'm totally chewing her out! I'm not the clingy one of this household, remember. That's all Marmaduke.

Seriously. I'm not clinging there. I could hop down whenever I wanted to. This was simply a better vantage from which to give her what she deserved.

Only moments after this was taken, I totally laid into her. Believe me!

Oh, well. I suppose on the whole we have been seeing some improvements around Rooglewood, despite wretched Anne Elisabeth and all her wretchedness. The kitty population has decreased, significantly! See the creatures below?

That's Mo (white) and Muppet (brown), the two feral kittens Anne Elisabeth insisted on taking in this winter. They have both gone to their new homes, thank heaven, leaving Rooglewood a little bit more peaceful than before!

Mo, renamed "Stig," playing with a mousie at his new (not-Rooglewood) home.

And Anne Elisabeth having a last cuddle with Muppet

on the day she went to her new (not-Rooglewood) home.

So thank goodness for that!

Now we just have to deal with little Miss Fatso cat being all here and all pregnant and things.

There she is. In my house. All fat. And pregnant.

Anne Elisabeth says she could double the Rooglewood cat population in one day if she's as full of babies as Anne Elisabeth suspects she is.

Heaven help us all.