Holidays that aren't about me are stupid.

Aside from the celebration of the month of my birth and regular celebrations of my reign as benevolent ruler, there is no reason to have other holidays. When holidays arrive, the One leaves the palace for overnight visits elsewhere and spends money on things that aren't for me. Today she spent over an hour vacuuming not just the floors, but my throne (which humans apparently call a sofa), which I'm sure is somehow related.

I made it clear last year that we do not care for holidays and that they are not something that ought to be repeated, but here they are again. I thought we were going to get a reprieve this year; we saw no signs of holidays in the palace all month. But it was all a ruse. The box of wrapping paper appeared the other night, and everyone in the palace groaned in collective displeasure.

The One is a terrible gift-wrapper. She means well, but she tends to put bows on in stupid places and add tape where it's not needed while leaving other areas that clearly need tape gaping open. I told her that, if she's going to insist on participating in this holiday nonsense, she must allow me to assist her. She let me help wrap the remaining presents, but I don't think she was taking any of my advice seriously.

Pathetic.

She also doesn't get the whole gift-receiving concept. I understand that this could be because, technically, the only one in the palace who should receive gifts is me. If I feel someone else is deserving of a gift, it is within my power to bestow such an honor, but that decision should be mine to make. Others fail to understand this rule, though, and often see fit to furnish the One with little tokens to demonstrate how much they appreciate her efforts in making it possible for me to share my wisdom with them.


Anyway, the Blonde One intended to purchase the fourth season of Justified (Fairbanks's favorite show) on DVD for the One, and even left her house in bad weather while suffering from a cold to do so, only to find out the One had stopped on her way home from work and bought the DVDs for herself.

Now, I ask you: what kind of a moron does something like that? Four days before a holiday? When everyone knows she's been coveting said item and even put it on her wish list, like, a year before it was even released? Honestly, it's the kind of thing I'd expect Katherine to do.

I appreciate the fact that she feeds me and brushes me and occasionally types my blog for me, but sometimes the One is just an idiot.

An Open Letter to My Critics

Dear Haters,

Contrary to popular belief - instigated by a woman who claimed to be a pet behavior expert (if she was such an expert, why did she not bow down before me and offer me treats?) - my presence in the palace is not the reason Fairbanks is unhappy. And I can prove it.

As you can see in this picture, Fairbanks is sitting at the foot of my throne, and he is in a perfectly good mood.

No fury here. (No, Nick, it is not spelled "furry.")

This is because he recognizes and accepts my superiority, appreciates the fact that I leave him alone and don't eat his food, and has benefited from gainful employment as my executioner since my reign began.

Now, take a look at this picture, in which Fairbanks is clearly highly agitated and shooting eye-beams-of-death at his nemesis, Clara the Cow.

Beware the wrath of Fairbanks.

(Yes, I know Nick is in the picture, too, but Nick is too stupid for anyone to dislike him. Also, Fairbanks's death glare is obviously directed at Clara. I mean, just look at him! He's in such a rage, he can barely contain himself! I'm surprised he didn't claw her to shreds just after this picture was taken. That is one angry cat!)

As further proof that I am being unfairly maligned (yes, Nick, I know what that word means; if you had spent more time studying and less time looking for your tail when we were younger, maybe you could use fancy words, too), every time Clara the Cow crashes into Fairbanks's personal space, he growls, hisses, and bites her ears. Does he do this to me? Of course not. Because he does not loathe me. He loves and worships me, which is as it should be. Additionally, I don't invade the personal space of others. Because I am a queen, and that sort of behavior is common and beneath me. Also, Clara is always there first.

So, in conclusion, I believe I have definitively proven that Fairbanks's misery is not due to the fact that he lives in my palace, but solely due to Clara the Cow's presence in his life. I propose that Clara be banished immediately. And that everyone who has, until now, blamed me for Fairbanks's bad behavior apologize and offer me his or her allegiance, along with three cans of Fancy Feast, within five days or face consequences.

Sincerely,

Your Benevolent Ruler
Queen Nora Charles

Chief minions do not need resumes.

So, the One Who Types was ignoring me last night, and when I demanded that she stop what she was doing and worship me, she told me I had to wait because she was "working on her resume."

"What do you need a resume for?" I asked. "You already have a job as one my chief minions."

She explained that being my minion doesn't pay the mortgage on the palace or keep my food dishes full. This led to a shocking revelation. Apparently, my food is not, as I had surmised, delivered to us in the form of taxes and sacrifices from my subjects! This means my subjects are all running around doing as they please and offering up nothing in honor of me! So, when the One leaves the house in the morning and stays out all day, she is not, in fact, out collecting tributes to my glorious reign; she's out TYPING FOR SOMEONE ELSE!

You will recall that I have been quite unhappy with the amount of time the One is willing to devote to my blog. I have many important things to say about numerous subjects, and we have barely touched on any of them because the One refuses to take dictation when I instruct her to. Now I find out that she is slipping away every morning to type something she calls "advertising copy" for the monarch of a kingdom about 30 miles from mine called ZG.

This is so far beyond unacceptable, I would be rendered speechless if I were a lesser being. It is almost as intolerable as Katherine's presence in my kingdom . . . nay, in the universe.

I have decided to issue a decree that requires all my subjects to deliver at least a year's worth of food (special food for me and my stupid brother Nick (who is royal, even if he is stupid), hearty food for my headsman Fairbanks, and the cat food equivalent of bread and water for Clara the Cow) to the palace immediately so the One has no excuse for leaving the house again.

In addition, I demand that the One cease typing for the king of ZG and devote her time to my blog forthwith.

Finally, I banish Katherine to ZG for all eternity . . . maybe even longer (I shall check with my royal magician to find out if a longer sentence can be arranged).

All I need is for the One to come home and type up my decree so Fairbanks can go out and post it on every tree in the kingdom. The food offerings should begin appearing on the palace doorstep any day, and this resume nonsense can be forgotten.

And then I will finally get brushed.

Diet Update

This morning, the One accused me of failing to take my diet seriously.

She is an ass.

I told her I would take my diet seriously as soon as she did the same with hers.

She has said nothing else on the matter since.

Nick embarrasses himself yet again.

This morning, my stupid brother Nick made a sound like a goose. There are a bunch of geese that live behind the palace, so I can only assume he was practicing in the hopes of opening a dialogue with them later, although I cannot imagine what he could possibly want to talk to them about. They're surly, unpleasant neighbors, and I, for one, would rather they moved on. Perhaps he believes them to be supporters of the rodent rebellion, and he hopes to use one as a spy.

This is what happens when one misplaces his tail and forgets how to be a proper cat.

You have my permission to shun him indefinitely.

(Don't look at me like that! He wrote in my blog without my permission - he deserves it.)

Katherine is my Bane.

For some unknown reason, Katherine still lives in the palace. I've done everything I could to have her banished from the kingdom, but she's just always there, eating my food, being nearby, eating more of my food . . . I am convinced that the One could probably save so much money that she could quit that stupid job that she claims is so important if it weren't for Katherine and her appetite. The creature eats everything! She eats her food, and then she harasses my stupid brother Nick until he gives her the rest of his food, and then she eats the rest of my special, royal food when I'm finished. She goes out on the deck and eats leaves. She licks the One's food whenever she can get near it. She has fits if she thinks the One is going to forget our bedtime treats. It's incredibly unbecoming. I hate her.

Status Quo at the Palace - Everyone Is Lazy but Me

The One Who Types keeps promising she'll keep up with my blog, but she's so lazy! People like to claim cats are lazy because we sleep a lot, but at least we're doing interesting things when we're awake! The One doesn't do anything that should interfere with her ability to type my blog for me - she doesn't even have to come up with the words on her own! I dictate the content - all she has to do is type. How hard is that? Honestly!

The status quo continues here in the palace. The bathroom nobody consulted me about is finished. It doesn't seem any better to me, other than the fact that my toys skitter quite satisfactorily across the new tile floor. And I do rather like the new closet, with it's little cat-sized cubbies for me to sit in. The new counter is higher than the old one, so Clara the Cow has to jump with a lot more effort to reach it when she wants to drink out of the faucet. It's fun to listen to her complain about that. She's obsessed with that faucet. She'd probably drink enough water to drown if the One didn't turn it off occasionally. Hmmm. Perhaps I can figure out how to turn the water on . . .

Unauthorized construction - beheadings to follow

Someone got it into her head that my palace needed a new bathroom. I was not consulted regarding this decision; I was just napping peacefully one day, and a team of strangers came into the palace and started tearing up the bathroom without my permission. Fairbanks tried to stop them by peeing on one of the new walls they put up, but they just told the One Who Types to clean it up and continued with their destruction.

See what I have to put up with?

It's been a week now since the process began, and it shows no sign of ending anytime soon. I expressed my displeasure and ordered a number of beheadings, but so far, nobody has paid any attention to me.

Fairbanks also made a valiant effort to
scare the workmen away by allowing a demon
to possess him, but it didn't work. 

On a brighter note, Katherine has to go to the doctor on Monday for shots. I hope they give her the one that makes her go to sleep . . . forever.

The rodent rebellion has been quashed.

I am pleased to announce that efforts to overthrow my reign by a contingent of rebels have been suppressed. Recently, it came to my attention that a group of neighborhood rodents - primarily mice and rabbits - had organized and developed a plan to oust me from my palace and bestow the kingdom upon some ridiculous little dog with bows in her hair. I have seen this dog out prancing about on a leash, which clearly demonstrates that she is an idiot; I can only assume the rodents intended to place this slobbering figurehead in power and rule from behind the scenes.

Fortunately for you, my loyal subjects, the rodent rebellion did not get very far. Fairbanks found one of their spies, a young rabbit whom they obviously thought we would overlook due to his age, and brought him into the palace for interrogation. We learned of their plan from this terrified bunny, who didn't even bother to try to resist long enough for any real torture to begin. The One Who Types insisted we release him unharmed.

Armed with the valuable information we extracted from the baby bunny spy, we managed to remain safe as the leaders of the rebellion were eliminated. Although my brother Nick is usually pretty useless, he proved his worth by beheading the leader of the mouse army and leaving his body in front of the palace to serve as warning to all the other rodents. It was actually pretty cool, although I wouldn't make a big deal out of it - we can't have Nick getting too full of himself.

Headless rodent rebellion leader

Anyway, the palace is secure, the rebels have been defeated and my sovereignty is stronger than ever. Unfortunately, Katherine was not killed during the fighting, but we can always hope a ceiling fan will fall on her or something.

A poem I wrote

Once upon a midnight dreary
As I pondered, weak and weary.
Waiting patiently for my treat
(I never get enough to eat)
I sat still, with nary a twitch
And in pranced Katherine,
That skinny bitch.
She jumped ahead and stole my snack
So I gave her a (mostly) gentle whack.
She toppled off the bed so fast
And landed on her scrawny ass.
She hissed and growled and then she spit
And Clara leaned over to watch her fit.
Gravity took over (or perhaps a light shove?)
And we watched the cow fall from above.
And then, oh no, oh dear! What's that?!
Clara landed on Katherine--SPLAT!
(I told you, you dumb cow, to lose some weight
But as a Kat-squisher, Clara--you're great.)
(Too bad you're a killer, so you're moving away.
All's well that ends well, I always say.)

It didn't work for Harold either.

Although I was quite pleased that the One Who Types finally acknowledged that I am special and, thus, deserve my own fancy food, I must admit that I am highly disappointed in the lack of variety I am given. While my minions are presented with various flavors each day, I receive the same meal day in and day out.

In addition, the One Who Types frequently informs me that she is too busy to take dictation for my blog. I've seen other blogs, and their composers manage to get their minions to type their entries regularly - sometimes even daily. This leads me to the conclusion that the One Who Types is obviously pretending to be busy solely to vex me.

In protest to these deplorable conditions, I spent much of the evening yesterday sprawled out on the living room floor, motionless as if dead.

I expected the One Who Types to see me and fly into a panic at the thought of her beloved sovereign expiring from neglect. Instead, she took pictures of me.

Also, Clara and Nick are giggling about something upstairs, and I am certain they are up to no good.

New vocabulary

I learned a new word today.

Defenestration: the act of throwing someone or something out a window.

I have threatened the One Who Types with defenestration if she continues to ignore my orders to type my blog. She responded with a diatribe about stuff to do and papers to grade and some other equally irrelevant stuff. Basically it all amounted to, "I have other things I'd rather do than type your blog." Honestly, if I didn't rely on her to open my food, I would not put up with such blatant disrespect.

Nick just pointed out that I also like it when she brushes me. Which is true. I do like to be brushed. But if it weren't for the food dispensing and the brushing, she'd be utterly worthless as a minion.

I can hide behind the books.

I discovered something cool this morning! If I jump behind the books, the One Who Types doesn't leave for work.

The One Who Types opened a cabinet with bookshelves in it, and I jumped behind the books and sat back there, because I'm the queen and I can sit anywhere I want. The One Who Types told me to get out of the cabinet so she could leave, but I refused. And you know what happened? She just stood there telling me I had to come out or she couldn't leave. It was an awesome demonstration of my power.

Next time she threatens to leave the house, I'm going to jump in the dryer and see if that has the same effect.

Also, Katherine ate some of my special food this morning, and nobody paid any attention when I complained.

10 Reasons I Hate Katherine

You will notice that it has been almost TWO WEEKS since the One Who Types bothered to add my wisdom to my blog. We have now gone from my original demand of a post per hour to a post per day to a post every two weeks? Not cool at all. I am devising a suitable punishment as I dictate this.

My stupid brother Nick says I'm too mean to Clara. He only says that because she's his best friend, so he doesn't notice how annoying she is. But, he is my brother, so I promised him I'd do my best to write a whole blog post without calling her a cow. He's not friends with Katherine, though . . .

Here are the top 10 reasons I hate Katherine:

1. Katherine eats everything in sight and never gains any weight.

2. Katherine eats my special food when nobody is looking.

3. Katherine always gets fed first.

4. Katherine always gets her bedtime treats first.

5. Katherine eats too fast and then barfs her food back up - usually right where I want to walk . . .  or where I might want to walk later.

6. Katherine sleeps on my throne.

7. Katherine touches my stuff.

8. Katherine isn't as cute as everyone says she is.

9. Katherine runs past me on the stairs.

10. Katherine lives in my palace.

Also, Katherine arrived with Joan, who I actually kind of liked. Joan got a tumor on her brain stem, and the One took her to the doctor to fix her, and Joan never came home again. But Katherine is still around.

The Queen has spoken.

A letter to Clara the Cow

Dear Clara,

I'm writing this for your own good; I don't like to see you running around oblivious to the way everyone else sees you. I feel it's my duty to be the only honest person in your life and let you know.

First, you keep going on and on about these papers that supposedly exist somewhere that say you're descended from someone important, but you know what? I'm a queen, and I don't have any papers, so obviously papers are irrelevant. In my experience, which is the only experience that matters, the only useful thing to do with papers is to sleep on them. So shut up about your papers, okay? Nobody wants to hear about them anymore.

Also, for the last time, your fur is NOT white! I don't know if you're color-blind or stupid or what, but you are not a white cat - you are a gray striped cat. You will never be a white cat. [Editor's Note: This is not true. Clara's fur is actually completely white except for the tips, which is what makes her look like she has stripes.] The next time I hear you chattering on about your "pretty white fur," I'm going to punch you in the face. And don't think I won't - I've done it before, and you didn't like it much. [Editor's Note: Both of these statements are true.]

And while we're at it, do you know how ridiculous you look when you attack things that aren't prey. I mean, I admit, sometimes I humor the One Who Types and chase one of those silly, jingling feathers around for her, but you pounce on things that aren't even moving! I don't know if it's some kind of exercise routine or what  (you are super-fat, so if you're exercising, I guess it's at least understandable), but you leap around the house like some kind of freak, even if nothing interesting is going on. Frankly, you look like an idiot. Everyone else is laughing at you, and you're too stupid to even see it.

I don't know who told you that you were special, but that person was retarded. You are a regular minion, just like everyone else who is not me, and you need to learn to accept your place. I know you live in a palace and your best friend is a prince [Editor's Note: This is true; Nick and Clara are best friends.], but that doesn't mean you're fancy or anything. Palaces have maids and washer-women and privy-cleaners and the like in them, too, you know.

I hope none of this hurt your feelings [Editor's Note: This is not true.], but I know my stupid brother, Nick, would never tell you the truth. The fact is, Nick is doing you a disservice because how can you improve your image if nobody tells you your image is a hot mess? I'm not your friend, so I can tell you the truth. You're embarrassing yourself. And worse, you're embarrassing me. So just stop it, will you?

Your sovereign ruler,

Her Majesty Nora

A poem I wrote for the One Who Types

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I am the queen
So I rule you.

You do my bidding
And you keep me fed
Which is why I allow you
To sleep in my bed

My treats you’ll keep buying
My squishy food, too.
Now bow down before me
Or I shall smite you.

Love,
Nora

I told you I wasn't fat.

As this first week of my diet has passed, I have discovered some facts that completely vindicate me and my assertion that I am, in fact, not overweight. 

It turns out that the treasonous "fat" accusation I reported on Saturday was actually a strategic ruse concocted by Dr. Kay and the One to deliver to me special royal perks without the other palace dwellers realizing they’re being treated like the lesser beings they are.

You see, the One puts up with a lot of undesirable behavior from my minions.

Some examples:

• Once my stupid brother Nick ate a bunch of earplugs (he thought they were toys … which still doesn't explain why he ate them) and had to have them surgically removed from his stomach.

• My executioner, Fairbanks, brings traitorous birds, mice, moles, rabbits, and other critics of the crown inside and conducts interrogations in the middle of the living room. He also protects the palace from intruders by peeing on things. 

• Katherine walks around the house like she’s not the worst.

• And just this morning, Clara the cow attacked a washcloth and tried to kick it to death with her back claws. 

As you can imagine, with this kind of tomfoolery going on, efforts to provide me the special attention I deserve due to my royal status can be met with unpredictable results. 

So, in a stroke of brilliance, the One conspired with Dr. Kay to implement this scheme. They pulled some incredible slight-of-hand to swap out the scale they used to weigh Nick with a faulty one, then claimed I was overweight. This means I am now served a whole can of special squishy food twice a day! Do the others get squishy food twice a day? They do not. They are required to share a single tiny can of regular, boring, commoner squishy food in the morning and eat bland crunchy food the rest of the time. 

The best part is that nobody else is allowed to eat my special food. Even Katherine doesn't get to eat my special food, which is awesome because Katherine eats everything. So, not only am I finally being given the exclusive perks I deserve, Katherine is being denied her favorite things, and I now have proof that anyone who says I am fat is a big liar.

This post is not by Nora, so you don't have to read it if you don't want to.

Hi reader. This is Nick, Nora's brother. 

I know you were hoping to see a post by Nora, because she is a lot smarter and more interesting than me, but she said to say that she's too despondent to write in her blog today. I don't know what despondent means, but based on context, I think it must mean cranky.

So, Nora and I went to see Doctor Kay on Saturday. It was super-scary. I hate going to the doctor. A few times I had to stay there overnight because I ate some of my toys. Dr. Pierre had to cut me open and take them out of my belly. It really hurt, and I was scared and lonely. Whenever I see the box we go to the doctor in, I hide. Nora is much braver; she just walks right into her box. But they've never sliced her tummy open, so she doesn't know how horrible it can be there.

This time I didn't have to stay overnight, which was good. The worst part was when Dr. Kay weighed Nora and said she weighed 16 pounds, and I thought Nora was going to murder her right there in the office. Nora said the scale was broken and demanded that she bring another scale in and weigh her again, but Dr. Kay didn't listen. 

The thing is, Dr. Kay said Nora could get diabetes if she keeps weighing 16 pounds, and that sounds like it hurts, so I don't want Nora to get it. I know Nora says she doesn't get commoner diseases because of her royal blood and all, but I don't know if that's right.

I asked Nora to please just follow her diet because I don't want her to get sick, but she got mad and said the only reason I'm not on a diet is that I don't have a tail, and if I had to be on a diet, I'd understand how she's suffering and be more sympathetic. I wasn't trying to insult her; I think she's pretty exactly the way she is. I just don't want her to get diabetes. 

I hope she is good and loses weight like she's supposed to.

Anyway, thanks for listening to me. I know you probably had better things to do.

-Nick

Let the beheadings begin!

The One Who Shall Forever Be Known as My Enemy has crossed me for the last time. This morning she shoved me and my brother, Nick, into cages and transported us against our will to the doctor's office. As you may remember, I made it quite clear that queens do not submit to examinations, much less shots. I am royalty; I do not get the diseases of commoners. [Editor's Note: I explained to Nora that the reason queens do not get the diseases of commoners is that they get their shots, but she wasn't listening.]

Not only were both Nick and I forced to endure physical exams, we were each given TWO shots - not one, as I had been originally expecting - TWO.

But that isn't even the worst part. The doctor's scale was broken, and My Enemy has now put me on a DIET. Yes, that's right. Because of the doctor's malfunctioning equipment, I am no longer allowed to eat whenever I like.

This is an OUTRAGE. I have already started handing down the royal orders for beheadings. First, obviously, are my Enemy and the doctor. Also, Clara the cow for actually being fat. And for laughing at me. Katherine, obviously, because I hate her. Everyone who works for the company that manufactured that faulty scale. And everyone else, to serve as an example of what happens when you cross me.

[Editor's Note: In fact, Nora is now only allowed to eat special squishy food, which, it turns out she loves, although that may be because I told her it was a treat.]

The fact that I like my new food is completely beside the point! I should get my own special squishy food every day ANYWAY, simply because I am the queen! You don't act like it's perfectly okay that you have accused me of being fat because you have now started doing something you should have been doing anyway.

I AM NOT FAT.

I will point out that neither Nick NOR Clara the cow is required to go on a diet, and they both weigh TONS more than I do. And if the doctor's scale worked properly, everyone would be able to see it.

I do not know how long I will survive on this new diet. I can already feel myself wasting away.

If you put a skinny cat on a diet, she will starve.

I think this may all be a plot, cooked up by my brother and Clara the cow to do me in and usurp my throne. That would explain why Nick has already forgiven my Enemy for subjecting us to that torture this morning. The joke is on them, though, because I have a clause in my will that disowns Nick if I die of mysterious causes (starvation is mysterious, as far as I'm concerned), so he will no longer have royal blood if their plan succeeds. HA! We'll see how he likes THAT!

I'm so hungry. This is the worst day of my life.

The queen's purrview

One of my favorite parts of the day is when we are served a feast of squishy food in the morning, as opposed to the crunchy lumps we get throughout the rest of the day. I have ordered the kitchen to serve squishy food at least four times a day, but the One Who Distributes Food has ignored my demands thus far. Since she is the only one who knows how to open the containers in which the squishy food is packaged, I dare not throw her in the dungeon . . . at least not until another of my minions masters the can-opening procedure.

Of course, we don’t get fed until after the One Who Takes Her Time wastes half the morning doing things that are NOT required to serve squishy food. For example, there's an indoor rain-creator and all manner of drying and fiddling with things. The palace dwellers are all hustled inside if it even looks like it might rain – even me, and I'm the one who makes the rules – but the One Who Showers Daily can just stand in the water for as long as she likes.

When my headsman, Fairbanks, gets caught out in the rain and comes in with his fur all wet, he gets wrapped in a towel and hugged. Fairbanks is super picky about when he gets hugged, and it is rarely right after he comes in from one of his adventures. So that's always an amusing few minutes.

If the One Who Wraps Minions in Towels expects hugs when she comes out of the rain, she has another think coming. She wastes enough time without adding hugs to the mix. Plus she's wet. Eeuuw.

Anyway, the only part of this routine that is acceptable is the part where the One Who Wastes Time Before Breakfast brushes my hair, although as soon as Clara the Cow sees me getting attention, she plops her giant body in between the One Who Brushes and myself so SHE can be brushed. She has no respect for my status as queen or anyone's breakfast schedule.

So, this routine takes FOREVER. Sometimes Clara the Cow has to drink out of the sink faucet several times, too, just to make everything take even longer.

After an eternity of wasted time upstairs, we finally get to go downstairs to the kitchen. Except for Nick, who, as is appropriate for his status as the queen’s brother, dines in his quarters (also known as the bedroom, which is ridiculous because there are beds in every room of the palace).

Fairbanks sits outside and guards the palace while the squishy food is served to make sure nobody from a neighboring realm tries to sneak in and abscond with our feast. 

My food-tester, Katherine, loves her job so much, she actually sticks her head into her dish before the One Who Serves finishes scooping out her small portion. I’m glad she is so enthusiastic about making sure I am not served poisoned food, although I hate her, so I sometimes kind of wish the food would poison her and put me out of my misery. After she eats her food, she runs up to Nick’s quarters and tests his food, but he’s usually half done with it by then, so her efforts are wasted. She eats it anyway, because she’s an idiot.

Of course Clara the Cow eats all of her food and then goes looking in everyone else's dish to see if they left any for her. Which, as you know, is the purview of the Queen, so she is out of line.

[Editor's Note: Nick thinks Nora's use of the word, "purrrview" is hilarious and is now giggling like a madman.]

Don't talk to me about my temper.

The One Who Types informs me that my stupid brother, Nick, and I are due for "Feline Distemper" shots.

Okay. First of all, I am a queen. Queens decide when they are due for shots, which is, obviously, never.

Second, my temper is fine. I don't need someone to give me a shot to eliminate it . . . or enhance it . . . or whatever this thing does.

And finally, she can take Nick for the shot because he probably deserves it, but I will be staying home.

There. That's the end of that discussion.

Criticize this.

I have received some criticism regarding my blog posts to date. I'm told that my blog is much too negative, and that nobody is going to want to read the "rantings" (yes, RANTINGS) of a hostile, angry cat, even if she is the queen.

Well, here is what I have to say to those critics:

I am the queen, and I can write anything I want, Nick.

Also, you don't know anything about blog-writing because you aren't as smart as I am.

Plus, you don't even have a tail, so shut up.

Nick. No tail. No idea how to write a blog.
No idea how embarrassing he is.

The cow calls the ruler fat.

It has come to my attention that one of the insufferable animals with whom I share my palace has accused me of being fat. 

The animal to whom I refer is Clara, and she is a cow.

[Editor’s Note: Clara is not actually a cow.] 

Cows know nothing about cats or queens or anything else, so I hereby decree that Clara should maintain her focus on shoveling food in her face and refrain from having opinions.

Fat, indeed.

You know who is fat?

That’s right. Clara. Why? Because she’s a cow. 

Also because she eats all my food.

When Clara walks across the floor, the palace shudders. It’s probably sinking into the earth as I write this. 

One day we’ll all be trapped in our underground home with dirt pouring in the windows and doors, all because big fat Clara thought cows could live in a palace and eat all the food.

See? She’s huge! She barely fits in this gigantic box!

Here is a poem I wrote about Clara a while back:

Eeny meeny miney moe
Clara is a big fat ho
If you weigh her, you will see:
She weighs 10 pounds more than me. 

I don’t even know why Clara lives here. She’s not royal. She doesn’t contribute anything. We’re not allowed to eat her. All she does is sit around and prattle on about her pretty white fur and her exotic blue eyes and her fancy lineage.

First of all, who cares what a cow’s lineage is? Nobody, that’s who.

Also, do you see that picture of her? What don’t you see in that picture?

Did you guess pretty white fur? 

Of course you did. Because she has cow fur. 

[Editor’s Note: Clara is a snow Bengal; only the tips of her white fur have pigment in them, which is why she has dark stripes.]

Also, even if her fur were pretty and white, she would still be fat.

Another thing I hate about Clara, which is probably a side effect of her obesity, is the way she expects everyone else in the palace to wait behind her in the doorway while she tries to decide if the weather is nice enough to go outside. What kind of a cow cares what the weather is like, I ask you?

And so what if she has blue eyes? That doesn’t give her the right to cause earthquakes and sink my home into the ground.

Clara has no appreciation for how hard I work being the ruler and granting her pardons for all the annoying things she does. I spend my days overseeing my palace and ordering executions and trying to find my executioner, who rarely shows up to do his job (he claims he’s too busy being a cowboy pirate, which isn’t even a thing).

[Editor's Note: It totally is a thing.]

The point is, I exhaust myself for the good of my realm while Clara blunders around shoving everyone within a 10-mile radius over with her out-of-control rotundness. And sprawling across most of my throne. 

You can’t see it in this picture,
but my stupid brother Nick is about to fall of the sofa
because there’s no room for him.
Because Clara takes up the entire cushion.

And she has the nerve to call me fat?

This isn’t over, Clara. My executioner has to return to his post eventually. 

Also, this message is for the One Who Types. Just because I allow you to take dictation doesn't mean I give you leave to add your own commentary. This is my blog. If you want to post pictures from long-forgotten TV shows that Fox didn't think were worthy of keeping on the air, go get your own blog.

Cowboy pirates. Honestly.

Free time is free, stupid.

I was just informed by the One [Editor's note: That's me - the One Who Types] that my blog will not be updated once an hour as I commanded. She claims she doesn't have the free time available.

It's FREE time, stupid - if you don't have enough, just go out and get some more!

I generally do not stand for this type of insubordination, but if I throw her in the dungeon, she probably won't open my food in the morning. I must think of a suitable punishment that will not interfere with my breakfast.

We is problematic.

Because typing is a menial task suited only for those who are not of noble birth, I shall be dictating my blog to my steward, whom I shall refer to forthwith as “The One Who Types,” or “The One” for short.

However, I am concerned that because The One is recording my words, a person of lesser intelligence could theoretically and incorrectly conclude that when I refer to myself as “we,” as is appropriate for someone who is royal like myself, I am referring collectively to myself and The One. 

This misunderstanding, although potentially understandable based upon the grammatical confusion of using a plural pronoun to refer to a singular queen, would be unacceptable in this case. First, the One is hardly intelligent enough to write a blog of her own. And second, attributing my words to a commoner would be an act of treason. 

I certainly can’t include a disclaimer at the end of every blog stating that The One is not a member of the “we” to whom I regularly refer. Therefore, I shall henceforth refer to myself in the singular. If this causes you distress, I recommend you remember which of us is the queen and, thus, which of us has the right to refer to herself in any way she chooses. Because she is the queen. And she is I. Or me.

The next person who tells me how to use pronouns shall be beheaded. 

The queen has spoken.

We wish to have a blog.

This is the blog of her royal highness, Nora Charles the First and Most Magnificent.

Typist, how many people are reading my blog?

No! Don’t type that! That’s not part of the blog. You are the worst dictation receiver we have ever met. If anyone else in this palace could type, we would have you beheaded at once.

[Editor’s Note: This was followed by a brief discussion regarding how I was to determine which comments she wanted me to include in the blog (”If it’s important, witty, or profound, obviously you shall include it in our blog”) and what to leave out (”If you can’t figure that out on your own, you’re even more useless than I thought”).]

 

Ahem.  Listen up.

This is the blog of her royal highness, Nora Charles the First and Most Magnificent.

You shall pay attention when I’m blogging or you shall rue . . . much. 

There will be much rueage …  ruing will be your final act in this life.

Listen or rue. Those are your options.

This is the blog of her royal highness, Nora Charles the First and Most Magnificent.

We are the queen of everything there is and ever shall be. We refer to ourselves as if we are plural to demonstrate our sovereignty. 

It has come to our attention that those who believe they have something important to say create a blog. Because we actually do have important things to say, we have instructed our steward to create a royal blog and take down our words, so that the world may benefit from our wisdom. 

We have also instructed our steward to remove all other blogs from the Internet and confirm that our blog is the only one anyone can read from now on. These other so-called bloggers did not ask our permission to blog, They also apparently thought writing about topics that are not me would go unnoticed. 

Bloggers of the Internet: Your impertinence has been noticed. You shall soon have your blogs ripped from your grasps and your heads removed from your bodies.

We shall now get down to the business of rectifying the fact that the Internet suffers from an embarrassing lack of truly meaningful content.

You're welcome.