My name is Lady Hollyclaw III, but to the layman, Holly shall do. Today, I have stationed myself on your living room couch again. Yes, I know you were sitting there. No, I do not intend on moving. If you attempt with your brutish human strength to move me, I will glare at you profusely until you realize the gravity of the crime you have committed– however, for security’s sake, I will accept my new position in your arms or on your lap. I can watch you better from there.

 

Excuse me?! Purring? You dare accuse me of such… such pathetic behavior in such situations? Au contraire, mon amie. The vibrations you are sensing are no more than a warning to predators around you that I am en garde, ready to pounce if threatened. I know there are plenty about. I… may not have ever seen one, but I know there are plenty about.

Now please shut up, human. Pet me as I relay this important information. For aesthetics of course. I derive no pleasure from such a thing– remember, I’m sounding a warning.

As the head of this household and minister of all that matters, it is my sworn duty to report periodically on the state of affairs, fiscal or otherwise. There have been some changes that come to my attention. First of all, I approve of the new layout of the living room furniture. It gives me and my somewhat mentally lacking sister ample places to sit and stare at you and your human companions. Do we desire food? Are we messing with you? Are our reasons to deep for you to comprehend? Possibly. It is my job to ensure you never know; the mystique keeps you on your toes.

I have noticed that the door to the porch has been often left open lately. I find this to be a security breach… but I lack hands. (Mockery on that subject has not, is not, and will not ever be tolerated.) I enjoy the breeze now that the weather is nice, and staring out the screen door to what lies beyond. I do not much like when you remove me from the homestead, but I admit, this door is intriguing.

My sister is somewhat useless in regards to important matters, but she is dearer to me than any other cat I know. Well… I do not know any other cats, but I digress. We were both taken to this intimidating place called a “veterinarian” recently. I am healthy of course, but she had been acting rather ill. Now, thank the gods, she is doing far better.

I thank you kindly for all your help in assisting her to convalesce. Again, I lack hands. I am indebted to you– er, I redact that. I owe you nothing. My handlessness is debilitating.

Why else do you think I hired you? After all, you are typing this all out for me.

I have heard murmurs that you have changed our dry food again. While this is fine, it may impact our finances. I understand that my sister is ill, but we must consider the detrimenta– wait, you say it’s not expensive..? Ah, well… Wait… You say it’s not for her? For who then, is this “Indoor Weight & Hairball Care” food, for?

…

Oh, you went there…

Listen, I understand you are… concerned with my… breadth. However, I assure you, you need not be. Every one of my 14 1/2 pounds is pure feline muscle, strength I have built through hours of rigorous guarding. Without it, I would not be fit to serve as your protector.

Now, before I conclude this report, I feel the need to remark upon a few final things. One: I suppose I do care for you. Sometimes, when I curl up in your lap, or in your arms as you sleep, I realize that you are the most important thing I have ever had. This is why I have devoted my life to you, as you have devoted so much of your time and energy to me and my sister. I appreciate it all. Thank you.

But I never said any of that.

Two: you often lift me, cradle me like a baby, and reiterate how cute I am. Please stop. It’s patronizing. But I do understand– I am irresistibly soft. My mother was a Russian Blue, you know. I take pride in my heritage.

Third and finally… thank you for cleaning my shit box.

Again… no hands.

Sincerely,

Lady Hollyclaw III of Berry Farms
Minister of Aesthetics and Pulchritude