Not Storming the Castle

Welcome once again my little litter diggers! I trust you are coping well through this strangest of ages in which we find ourselves. Today, I want to tell you about Mother’s failed attempt to entertain me with her craft-making ways.

As I’m sure you’ve figured out through my various stories, Mother is my second-favourite human bean. It was she who chose me from all the homeless cats and kittens at the London Humane Society. She brought me home and cleaned me up. It’s Mother who powders my nose when I can’t reach my own bum and tidies my bathroom every day. She does the thankless jobs that I appreciate very much.

But Father is my favourite.

He intuitively knows what I need, how I feel, and whether or not I will approve of a plaything. Father insisted on buying this strange and wonderful scratching post, which I use every day. It’s the best non-human-bean in the house.

Perhaps it was boredom or maybe her innate will to please when Mother happened upon the idea of creating a special home-within-a-home for me made of cardboard.

However, upon reflection, she determined that a piece of war machinery wasn’t appropriate for my delicate nature. No, I was more suited to the spoils of royalty. For me, she would build a castle. It would consist of three floors, with passageways up from one to the next. If I so chose, I could stretch myself up to the top to peer out at my kingdom.

Please, my wonderful furballs, do not feel bad if your first reaction is, that’s an ugly castle! Its unattractiveness is merely a fact and not meant to be hurtful or insulting. However, please take note of the details which the architect included: a drawbridge, tassels to tug on, and the official flag of my domain. I was immediately curious and investigated.

I got in as far as the beginning of my belly, and no further. Even coaxing from Father couldn’t persuade me to enter the faux fortress.

Note my indifference? Father is usually full of good ideas. Not this time.

He determined the size of the entry door was the problem, so Mother doubled it. They know I’m not a fan of confined spaces and his reasoning was sound, but not good enough. I knew what they wanted me to do but I couldn’t – I just couldn’t!

She placed treats inside which I ignored. It was not meant to be. But Mother is nothing if not tenacious and she decided to rebuild! I give you castle #2.

That’s me – sneaking in partway to chomp up the trail of treats, and then retreat to the safety of the carpet.

Mother will have to face it – I’m not a castle cat. You can leave a box on the floor and I won’t even be tempted to get into it. That’s not how this princess rolls. Drop a towel on the floor and I’ll appear out of nowhere like a Ninja to claim that as my own! A sheet taken off the bed and meant for the laundry? MINE! My tastes tend to lean toward softer things like the exhale of a butterfly or the warmth of a fur stole made from someone I didn’t personally know.

As of this writing, both castles have been dismantled and their materials burned in the furnace fire. Sorry Mother, but a leopard can’t change its spots and this princess cannot change her ways. I love you anyway. (But I love Father more.) Happy Belated Mother’s Day to all fur-Moms and makers of castles, tanks, and things upon which to crawl! Even if your efforts are misguided, we know they came from a place of love.

Until next week,

With love and food-breath,

Miss Sugar