Sunday, December 22, 2013

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.

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.

Thursday, December 19, 2013

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.


Your Benevolent Ruler
Queen Nora Charles

Thursday, December 5, 2013

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.

Friday, November 8, 2013

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.)

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

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.

Saturday, November 2, 2013

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 . . .

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

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.

Monday, September 9, 2013

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.

Monday, August 19, 2013

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.)

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

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.

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

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.

Friday, June 28, 2013

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.

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

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.

Friday, June 14, 2013

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

Thursday, June 13, 2013

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.


HA! I told you I'm not 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 "fat" accusation I reported on Saturday was simply a ruse, concocted by the One Who Types and the doctor to provide services to me of which I am deserving as the Queen of All There Is and All There Ever Will Be.

You see, the One Who Types must put up with a lot of undesirable behavior from my minions. For example, 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 surgery to have them removed from his stomach. My headsman, Fairbanks, has some pretty unsavory ways of protecting the palace from intruders. And just this morning, Clara the cow attacked a washcloth and rolled around on the floor kicking it. [Editor's Note: All of this is true.] So, obviously, 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 Who Types and the doctor came up with this scheme in which they substituted a broken scale for the real one and told everyone I was overweight so that I could be served a whole can of special squishy food twice a day, while the rest of the household only gets a tiny can of regular, pet store squishy food divided between them and has to subsist on crunchy lumps the rest of the time. Nobody else gets squishy food twice a day, nor are they allowed to eat my special food. Even Katherine doesn't get to eat my special food, which is awesome, because she will eat everything in sight if given the opportunity, and I hate her.

So, not only am I finally being given the exclusive perks I deserve, I now have proof that anyone who says I am fat is a big liar.

Monday, June 10, 2013

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

Hi. 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 the 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 and Dr. Pierre had to 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 cut 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, she 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.


Saturday, June 8, 2013

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 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.

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

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.]

Friday, May 31, 2013

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.

Thursday, May 30, 2013

Clara better watch her back.

It has come to my attention that one of the insufferable individuals with whom I share my palace has accused me of being fat. Her name is Clara, and she is a fat cow [Editor’s Note: Clara is not actually a cow.] who should maintain her focus on shoveling food in her mouth and keep the speaking to a minimum. Fat, indeed.

This is what fat looks like. She doesn't even fit in this giant box!

For the record, I am not fat. Clara, on the other hand, is gigantic. When she walks across the room, the entire palace shudders. It’s probably sinking into the earth as we speak. 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 she could eat all my food.

And get this - she doesn’t even care! She’s all, “la la, I’m Clara - I’m big and beautiful with my pretty white fur and my blue eyes . . .” Her fur isn’t even white, 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.

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

Eine meine 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 doesn’t contribute anything; she just sits around and tells everyone how pretty her white fur is and stands in the doorway forever trying to decide if the weather is nice enough to go outside.

She has no appreciation for how hard I work being the ruler of everything. I spend my days overseeing my palace and ordering beheadings (although my stupid headsman 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: Actually, it is.]
The point is, I exhaust myself for the good of my realm while Clara blunders around pushing my other subjects over with her out-of-control rotundness and sprawling across most of my throne. And she has the nerve to call ME fat?

You can't see it in this picture, but my stupid brother
Nick is about to fall off the sofa.

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

Also, to the One Who Types, just because I allow you to take dictation doesn't mean I give you leave to add your own, pointless commentary. This is MY blog. If you want to post pictures from weird, hybrid-genre shows that got cancelled because of their terrible ratings, go get your own blog.

Cowboy pirates . . . honestly.

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

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 wish to have a blog.

This is the blog of her royal highness . . .

Ahem.  Listen up.

This is the blog of her royal . . .

Hey!  Pay attention when I’m talking or you’ll rue . . . much – there will be much rueage –  ruing will be your final act in this life.

Listen or rue. Those are your options.

[Editor’s Note: You should probably just give her your attention or this could go on all day.]

This is the blog of her royal highness Nora Charles. 

We are the queen of everything there is and ever shall be. You can tell because we refer to ourselves in the third person. 

I found out through one of my minions that people who aren't even remotely important are running around sharing all kinds of irrelevant nonsense in blogs.

Why these people did not ask my permission to do this, I cannot begin to imagine, but it did become clear that this internet of which you are all so fond was suffering from an embarrassing lack of truly meaningful content. The only solution, obviously, was to insist upon the creation of a blog of my own. 

So, here it is.

You're welcome.

P.S. Because typing is clearly far too menial a task for someone as noble as I, I have demanded that my loyal, albeit lazy, subjects, whom I shall refer to henceforth as The Ones Who Type, record my wisdom so that all who bow down to me may appreciate my brilliance.

[Editor’s Note: At this point, Nora felt she had bestowed enough wisdom for the day and sauntered off to take a nap.]

The queen has spoken.