Cats actually rule the household. The rest of us are loyal staff, promoted by head bonks and paid in purrs. Crowns may be paper and capes may be blankets, yet the authority is absolute. Sunbeams are royal courts, windowsills are balconies, and the couch becomes a velvet throne that relocates subjects from their seats.
Morning decrees arrive at 5 a.m. with a ceremonial paw tap. The royal procession inspects corridors, grants audience by slow blink, and appointments are sealed with biscuit making. One meow becomes law, summoning breakfast service with remarkable speed. When nap o’clock strikes, the kingdom pauses for purrliament, a very important meeting featuring loaf protocol and gentle rumbling.
Evening festivities feature feather jousts, corridor zoomies, and balcony speeches to Bird TV. The lounge lion reclines, whisker crown catching the last gold light, while scribes (that’s us) document history on our phones. Finally comes the proclamation everyone knows by heart. All furniture belongs to the crown, all blankets are annexed, and the bed is now the royal realm. Subjects, take a seat on the floor. Long live the floof.
Is your inbox feline too professional? Add some cats falling off counters. Subscribe here!