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.