Life is hard for Household Dictators. Make no mistake.
But here I am at last to update you on all the terrible woes that have filled my life in this last month, often leaving me to question the very point of existence.
First of all: These things.
Ugh. They got bigger.
Don't let this picture fool you, either. They're not so easily contained as all that. What's worse, my Minion seems have to have sided with them!
That's right! He calls himself "Uncle Monster," and he sneaks into the Kitty Nursery all the time to, like, groom those things, or something. (I think it's more likely he's sneaking in to snitch their kitty food, but he insists his motives are pure.) What's more, he has learned how to open the Nursery Door, so if he gets in there by mistake, he'll open it up and release the foe beasts upon the whole of Rooglewood!
But dey're kinda cute, Minerva!
He's obviously been brainwashed. It's horrible.
So there's that woe. And then there's this other woe that I can scarcely bear to consider even now, and which has necessitated my expression of displeasure via the Knocking Things Off Things Until Something Shatters method. (Sometimes, only drastic measures will suffice.) What is this terrible woe, you ask?
No, I'm not crying. Dictators don't cry.
It's really all Anne Elisabeth's fault. I told her not to do it.
They took my--
And without even any warning! Though Anne Elisabeth says she's been moping about it for months, so I shouldn't complain. To this I say: Whatever.
You see, they took my Molly away.
"I don't know what's going on . . ."
I've always had my Molly. I'm not saying we always got a long, but I've always had her! From before my great dictatorship began, we battled over boxes and rattle balls.
We endured the torment of several moves, the loss of the Queen, and the addition of far too many new siblings.
Though one or two of them turned out okay.
We've always eaten together.
Even when dining got a little crowded.
And I've always had Molly's assistance in the ongoing endeavor of Backyard Surveillance.
And then, last month, some dude came out of nowhere saying, "Molly! My kitty! I've missed you!"
Wait a minute, Mr. Dude. Whose kitty?
"It's true, Minerva," Anne Elisabeth told me. "We've just been babysitting Molly for the last four years. She actually belongs to my big brother, but he couldn't have her while he was stationed overseas. Now that he's married, he and his wife can take Molly home to live with them."
And that was that. They took my Molly away!
It must be Anne Elisabeth's fault. I don't care if she went and cried in the library after they took her! I don't care if she tells me Molly is happy in her new home and shows me pictures of her sitting on some fancy-schmancy kitty castle! It's her fault, and I won't forgive her for it until I'm jolly well ready to!
I think I'll go smash something.