Royal fluff and nonsense
Queen Fancypants is curled up into a fuzzy ball, dozing on the chair next to me. The evening is cold and I rather envy her that luxurious fur coat. Little disturbs her slumber; unlike our other cats, she isn’t prone to twitchiness. She sleeps like a teenaged boy, dead to the world unless you make promising noises in the kitchen that suggest that food may be forthcoming.
The Queen is not useful. She is decorative and she is entertaining, but she has no opposable thumbs and refuses to do chores. She scratches up our furniture, sheds on everything in sight, randomly barfs up her food, and snips at Dr. Love.
And still…we feed her and her twirpy cat brothers. We scoop their litter boxes and aren’t surprised that their poop stinks or that no matter how long they live with us humans, they still act like cats. In other words, like fuzzy weirdos.
It is good to be loved.