An open letter to the Palace Patrol Association

I found this letter and thought it should be posted publicly.

I don't know who wrote it, but it was obviously someone extremely intelligent, and probably beautiful and deserving of a brushing as well (I'm assuming based on the quality of the writing).

---

Dear Palace Patrol Association,

There's someone who has barnyard animals on their palace property, and I don't like pigs or cattles for the following reasons:

1. They stink.
2. They are rude and fat and ugly.
3. Or they're skinny and bulimic and ugly.
4. They touch my stuff.
5. They have no manners.
6. They breathe my air.
7. They look at me.
8. No, I'm not a bigot against pigs and cows. I love them. They're especially delightful ground up in my breakfast.
9. They push unsuspecting lovely royalty off cliffs.
10. I hate them.

Doesn't this palace association have rules against livestock on the property?

You have until noon tomorrow to ground them into squishy food, or exile them to a desert island, where the pig will have to kill and eat the cow to sustain herself for the first day. After that, the pig will starve to death, and the world will be a better place.

Also, I think you should charge a fine to the disobedient resident who allowed these vermin on the property in the first place. You know where to find her.

Royally yours,
Anonymous

Rumors of assassination plots equal holidays for the queen

While out on one of his adventures, Fairbanks heard whisperings.

No, Nick. Not wiskerings. Gawd, you are so stupid sometimes.

(Sometimes I wonder if Nick is actually related to me. What if he was a stray, commoner kitten who wandered into the royal nursery and somehow got mistaken for a royal kitten? That would certainly explain a few things.)

There is a distinct possibility that he is not related to me.

So, anyway, Fairbanks heard rumors that the rodents - or someone else equally unsavory - were plotting my demise.

Obviously an assassination attempt could have long-term effects, not only on the palace, but on my entire kingdom and beyond – this is how world wars get started, after all – so the One decided it would be a wise precaution to take me to a secure bunker until the threat had passed. 

The bunker also happened to be where the One works, which I must say was surprisingly . . . and perhaps suspiciously . . . convenient. But, I had my own blanket to sleep on, my own food and water, and my own litter box. AND, I got petted and brushed all day by multiple worshipers without having to share the attention with any stupid siblings or livestock.

I was, of course, concerned about the assassination attempt, so I judiciously remained in my blanket fort all day. But that was okay. It meant worshipers had to kneel to address me, which is exactly as it should always be.

My assassin-free blanket fort

The most horrifying video on the Internet

No.

Just . . . NO.

It's this sort of thing that leads livestock to think it's okay to just live in palaces alongside royalty.

Unacceptable.

Something is definitely up.

The One is behaving in an unusual manner. Generally, when she disrupts the routine something bad happens.

This morning, she got ready and left the house just like usual, but she did it an hour earlier than usual. You know what happens when the One gets up and leaves the house early? She leaves and doesn't come back for months! [Editor's Note: I have never gone on a vacation that lasted for months.]

So, we were all on high alert throughout the getting-ready routine . . . but no suitcase ever appeared. Nobody had any idea what was going on.

We don't know when she'll be back, but she didn't put out the self-feeder, so it better be soon.

I have concluded that the One either left for one of her "vacations," with a secretly packed suitcase, or she has a brain tumor.

I quite clearly told the One that she is not allowed to leave the palace again for a year. If she has gone on a THIRD vacation in two months, I will be cross. And you do not want that; trust me.

If she has a brain tumor, I . . . well, I'll still be cross – she IS the one who feeds and brushes me, and she does occasionally type my blog for me.

I remember when Joan – the only minion I ever had that was worth anything – had a brain tumor.

I will never have a better minion. 

If the One does have a brain tumor, and she expects me to feed her from a spoon or hold her close to me when she's sleeping, she can rethink that right now.

I guess I could order Fairbanks to put her out of her misery, if it became absolutely necessary. But not if it becomes necessary at naptime.

Worst criminal investigation ever.

Yesterday while the One was at work. Clara the cow sat on me and nobody did anything about it.

Photographic evidence unavailable.
Because I don't have my own phone.

I informed the One as soon as she walked in the door, expecting my report would be met with wrath in Clara's general direction – or at least an uninterrupted period of brushing while Clara was locked in the garage. Instead she investigated my accusations like she'd been watching too many procedural crime dramas on TV.

Her report to the Blonde One following her investigation went as follows:

The One Who Types: I wasn't home when the incident occurred, and the eye-witness accounts are a little hard to reconcile against each other.

Seriously?? Reconcile against each other? Who talks like that? Nobody. That's who.

The Blonde One: Huh.

TOWT: Nick says Clara was with him all afternoon, so she has an alibi.

Of COURSE Nick gave Clara an alibi. She's his best friend! Any good investigator knows not to ask the best friend where the suspect was when the crime occurred. Best friends always lie. And besides, Nick was napping nearby, so the fact that he was with Clara doesn't absolve her of guilt.

TOWT: Fairbanks says Clara also tried to sit on him, but he got up and left the room, which solved the problem.

So, now Fairbanks is victim blaming me?? Like, if I don't want to be sat on in my own palace, I should have to leave my comfortable spot and sleep elsewhere? Not cool, Fairbanks. You're on my list now.

TOWT: Katherine says she doesn't remember what happened. While she was saying it, though, she winked and meaningfully glanced at the treats, not-so-subtly indicating that her memory might be jogged with an appropriate greasing of her paw. It's unlikely that her testimony would be in Nora's favor, though.

Like there was even any point in asking Katherine. She's useless. I hate her.

Why would anyone adopt this
hideous creature?

TOWT: Clara said she has sat on Nora numerous times in the past, and Nora didn't object, so she was within her rights.

That's not a defense. She just admitted she sat on me!

TBO: Stop right there. I've met Clara, and I know all she EVER says is "moo."

Best answer ever.



Clara still didn't get punished, though.

Dear Cat Sitter . . .

It appears that the One mistakenly thinks she has been granted leave to visit a kingdom called "Mexico."

Obviously, there is no way she'd be given permission to abandon her queen, especially so soon after she disappeared to "Atlanta" for "DragonCon" and was gone for months [Editor's Note: It was four days]. I have forbidden any leaving of any palaces for the next year as punishment for that bit of insubordination. She's grounded. That's all I have to say on the subject.

However, if a year should pass and she should manage to avoid adding any time to her sentence for poor behavior, I have put together this guide to providing proper care for myself and my stupid brother Nick.

A portrait of Queen Nora and Prince Nick

I assume the One will expect you to care for Fairbanks, Clara, and Katherine as well. Fairbanks is useful, so you may care for him in any way you wish, but I would be willing to pay handsomely if you could, maybe, just forget to feed the cow and the other one. It would be perfectly understandable if something like that slipped your mind. Especially if they were to end up locked in a bathroom or stuffed into a box before you showed up.

Official Cat-Sitter Instructions

Nick and I eat squishy food every day. Fairbanks can have squishy food, too. Clara is a cow, so put her outside and tell her to eat some grass. If we're lucky, she'll wander off and forget to come back. There's no need to feed Katherine. She is old and sickly and we're just waiting for her to die of natural causes . . . (shut up, Nick - starvation is a natural cause!).

Nobody is allowed to sit on my counter-blanket but me.

Some people don't follow directions well at all.

Never pet Clara the Cow. Petting her only encourages her to stay. I am certain that if everyone just stopped petting her, she'd wander off and forget where she lives.

Still on my blanket. 

Also, I drink a lot of water, so make sure all the water bowls in the house are filled at all times. Then fill a regular glass with water and set it on a table or counter where I can drink out of it. I don't drink out of peasant bowls, but I do expect them to be full. Just in case. You might have to come over three or four times a day to see to this requirement. I would text you to remind you, but the One won't let me have my own cell phone.

You see what I have to put up with??

Finally, Nick is a big weenie, so you might not see much of him. But if you do, you should definitely pet his face because he really likes that, and he won't speak up for himself, so I have to do it.

Feel free to walk all over Nick.
Everyone else does.

Oh. And I would like to be brushed every three hours. Around the clock, naturally.

Those are your instructions. IF I ever let the One leave town again. I may not.

I will still allow you to come over and brush me every three hours, however.

You're welcome.

When Nicks Cry: A Tale of Immeasurable Disappointment

A spectacular moment of triumph was ripped from my grasp this morning. I may never forgive my stupid brother Nick for interfering in what should have been the best day of my life (besides the moment Nick was deemed unworthy of the crown due to his tail misplacement and I was coronated in his place).

Fairbanks FINALLY agreed to execute Katherine. Whether his execution docket was so full that he just got around to her, or he's been slacking all this time, I can't say. I mean, who really knows where he disappears to when he's outside and nowhere to be found for hours? Perhaps he has been diligently carrying out my orders of execution all this time, and he's just been being humble when I've asked him where he's been, and he's said, "around."

Anyway, it was Katherine's time. Fairbanks lured her into the bathroom with a promise of extra squishy food, knowing the One would be closing the door during her shower, thus preventing Kat's escape.

Once the One was in the shower, Fairbanks attacked. An epic battle ensued (who knew Katherine was such a scrappy little thing?) with snarling and hissing and fur and toilet paper flying.

The aftermath

I listened gleefully for the sound of Katherine's lifeless body falling to the floor.

Instead, the sound I heard was Nick crying. I don't know if you have ever heard Nick cry, but it is a horrible, pitiful sound that echos throughout the palace and sets the teeth of all who hear it on edge.

Apparently, Nick was (in his words) "afraid someone was going to get hurt."

"Of COURSE someone is going to be hurt, stupid," I said, "that's what happens when someone is executed!"

Nick continued to howl, and Fairbanks opened the door to find out what he was so upset about. (Fairbanks either has a door-opening superpower he failed to disclose on his application for headsman, or the One didn't make sure the latch was true when she shut the door.)

So, the execution was put on hold while Fairbanks discussed the concept of "inside voice" with Nick and Katherine ripped off pieces of toilet paper and ate them. Because Katherine will eat anything.

Still alive.

I hate her.

If Nick weren't my brother, I'd have killed him myself, even if it IS unbecoming for a queen to soil her paws with manual labor. I think maybe his brains were in his tail.