📝🐱🐱😪 Miss Dickens, the Doorway Diplomat and the 5 a.m. Department
Dear loyal subjects,
I believe I deserve some recognition.
For several days now, I have been conducting what can only be described as the most delicate diplomatic negotiations of my reign.
The other party is Miss Dickens.
She is twelve weeks old, rather small, exceptionally vocal, and appears to have arrived with absolutely no understanding of royal protocol.
I am being extraordinarily patient.
Our meetings currently take place in a doorway, with a barrier between us. A sensible arrangement, apparently, while Miss Dickens learns that I am not a threat, a monster, or an unusually large white piece of furniture with opinions.
I approach with kindness. I remain calm. I offer her the opportunity to observe my magnificent presence.
And what does she do?
She chases me away.
Well, attempts to.
Naturally, I step politely aside and allow her some space. I am a gracious sovereign, and I understand that confidence takes time.
Although I must point out that being evicted from one’s own doorway by a creature approximately the size of a respectable slipper is a rather unusual experience.
Still, progress is being made.
Little steps. Very little steps.
The sort of steps one might require a magnifying glass and a written statement from the witnesses to confirm.
But steps nonetheless.
And perhaps today, the humans are considering something rather significant.
A proper meet and greet.
Without the barrier.
I have reviewed the proposal and remain cautiously optimistic. I am perfectly willing to meet Miss Dickens in person, provided she understands that my tail is not an invitation to declare war.
There is, however, another matter.
The Night-Time Vocal Department.
You see, poor little Dickens clearly misses her mother and siblings. She has found herself in an entirely new home, with unfamiliar humans, unfamiliar smells, and one exceptionally distinguished resident cat.
That is an enormous change for someone so small.
I do understand.
And I feel rather sorry for her.
But Miss Dickens has chosen a very particular method of expressing her feelings.
She calls.
And calls.
And calls.
During the first few days, one might reasonably have assumed she was attempting to contact her entire former family, several neighbouring counties, and possibly the coastguard.
Fortunately, after four or five days, the calling is beginning to decrease.
Unfortunately, nobody has informed the female human’s sleeping arrangements.
At approximately 5 a.m., the male human is often already attending to Miss Dickens, offering comfort and reassurance.
Five.
In the morning.
A time when civilised cats should be enjoying the final, luxurious stages of their night’s sleep. Or thoughtfully considering breakfast from a horizontal position.
The male human, meanwhile, has apparently taken up a new position as Director of Early Morning Emotional Support.
Unpaid, naturally.
I have noticed that the female human’s sleep is suffering rather badly. This is concerning. Tired humans make mistakes, and I cannot afford a decline in breakfast presentation standards.
Nevertheless, I am proud of how our household is handling things.
The humans are gentle. Miss Dickens is slowly finding her courage. And I continue to demonstrate remarkable restraint, kindness and impeccable manners.
I suspect she will eventually discover that I am rather lovely.
She might even decide that I am her friend.
I should like that.
After all, I know what it is like to arrive somewhere new and need a little time to feel safe.
So I shall continue to give her space, let her approach at her own pace, and quietly show her that she has nothing to fear from me.
Although I would appreciate it if she stopped chasing me out of doorways.
There is a limit to how much territorial surrender one can reasonably expect from a reigning monarch.
And should today’s meet and greet proceed, I have just one request.
Please ensure somebody explains to Miss Dickens that the large white cat is the welcoming committee, not the intruder.
Yours, Mrs. Cotton 🐱🐾