|"Oh, this food dish does|
appear to be silver. That's
all right, then."
I have a number of complaints about my accommodation, the other residents and especially the servants.
To begin with the accommodation: as you know, I had managed to get away from this place to live in a nice stormwater drain for some time. I enjoyed the noble pursuits of hunting and fishing, and found my servants here had the decency to put food out for me. But eventually I was captured and imprisoned in this place.
I am not allowed out. I keep hearing talk of ongoing work "catproofing" the yard so that even if I manage to get out of the actual house I will not be able to get further.
This is not a home, it is a prison. I am being held against my will. While this food dish does appear to be silver, very little else is up to my high standards. Food is only served at certain times, and I am summoned to eat by a bell. (Surely I should ring the bell and demand my food when I am ready.)
Now for my fellow residents: there are two. There is Fanta Dog and Bumpy Cat.
Fanta is overly friendly and fawns over me all the time. She is also large and clumsy and accidentally sat on me. For the most part she is harmless, but such sycophants can be very draining. She is also incredibly enthusiastic about absolutely everything, so much so that I have come to believe that she may be a little mentally deficient. Of course noblesse oblige requires that I do treat her with some care, and I certainly do her no harm.
Bumpy is a completely different matter. He is simply insane and dangerously so. This plebeian believes himself to be master of the entire household, possibly the world. He calls himself the Supreme Feline Overlord, and insists that everything must be done his way. I can't imagine how anyone could become so deluded. He attacks both myself and Fanta for any imagined slight or simply because he has an inclination to do so. I have warned him that I am younger, larger and stronger than him and that I am a master of both feline boxing and claw duelling. I have told him that if he continues to try my patience I may find it necessary to defend myself. So far most of his attacks have simply left him holding my shed hair as I have calmly walked away.
Now I must come to the worst of this entire situation: the servants. One does have hopes for a far better class of servant than this. The two main servants are Mum and Mr D, although others do visit from time to time. Mum and Mr D manage the basics of food delivery and litter tray changes to an adequate fashion (although I have already mentioned the issue with food not being delivered whenever I request it.)
They have a constant fascination with my hair. Yes, I do have exquisite hair, but they seem more concerned with how much I shed. They continually brush my hair. I understand that both Bumpy and Fanta enjoy being brushed, however I do not. I will not stay still for it, and I object most strongly. Worse, the servants have found mats in my hair they cannot brush out, and have cut my beautiful hair to remove them! I have heard their discussions on dealing with my mats and with my shedding. Mr D has suggested using clippers to give me a "poodle cut". Mum has suggested vacuuming me.
Worse, as I have a small spot of food on my head that brushing has failed to remove, and that I have not cleaned off for myself, they are now talking of bathing me again. (What kind of plebeian do they think I am? Clean myself indeed!)
I was bathed when I came back from my adventures, and I did not like it. I did not want it. I did not cooperate with it in any way. In fact, I managed to escape from the bath with my tail still partly dirty. My tail is still partly dirty, which is another reason Mum believes bathing me would be a good idea.
My humans are so poorly trained that one day Mum gave me an "unfood" item. She was clearly cutting up food on the bench, so I stood up on my back legs and asked very politely if I might have some of that food. She said, "It's tomato Percy, you don't want it." I explained in no uncertain terms that I definitely did want it. I absolutely wanted whatever food she was preparing. I told her loud and long of how I had a right to be given whatever food I wanted whenever I wanted it. Eventually, she gave me a piece. I smelled it and licked it. It was not food. It was "unfood". I demanded to know why Mum had given me an "unfood". Her ridiculous response was: "I told you so."
So, as you can see, my living conditions are nowhere near appropriate for a member of the aristocracy, and I expect the matter to be addressed with all possible haste.
Sir Percival Yowling-Feline