📝🐱🐱🩷 A Royal Friendship Blossoms, While the Palace Falls Apart

My dear subjects,

I have two important matters to report today. One concerns a rather delightful development in the Royal Household. The other concerns an astonishing failure of communication by the management.

Let us begin with the good news, before I lose my composure.

Miss Dickens and I are becoming the very best of friends.

Yes, you read that correctly.

After our initial introductions, during which Miss Dickens maintained a rather unnecessary distance from the reigning monarch, relations have improved considerably.

At first, she seemed unsure whether she wished to associate with me. I respected her position, naturally. One cannot force friendship upon a young lady, even when the friendship in question comes with access to the finest company in the palace.

I gave her space, demonstrated impeccable manners, and patiently allowed her to discover what everyone else in this household already knows.

I am excellent company.

And discover it she has!

Miss Dickens now seems quite unable to leave my side. Wherever I go, there is a reasonable chance that a small, enthusiastic Dickens will appear shortly afterwards.

I have apparently acquired a personal assistant.

An unpaid one, which makes her considerably more economical than the humans.

We have even begun playing together with a ball. A proper joint activity! I supervise its movements, Miss Dickens contributes her youthful enthusiasm, and together we conduct what I consider to be a highly successful sporting programme.

I must admit, I rather enjoy having her around.

She is becoming a wonderful little friend, and I suspect that before long we shall be quite inseparable.

The palace now has two very happy ladies.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the palace itself.

Because today, without so much as a formal announcement, a scheduling consultation, or even a polite memorandum, the humans have decided to have the promised air-conditioning units installed.

Today.

While I am here.

I should clarify that I have no objection to air conditioning. Quite the opposite. A properly regulated indoor climate is essential to maintaining the quality of one’s fur, particularly when one is entirely white and therefore expected to look immaculate at all times.

But the installation process?

Good heavens.

There are strange noises, dreadful disturbances and an alarming amount of activity throughout my residence.

The palace sounds as though someone is attempting to assemble a railway station in the sitting room.

And not once was I consulted.

I have searched my diary. There is no appointment.

I have reviewed the household correspondence. No notification.

I have examined the humans' faces for signs of remorse.

Nothing conclusive.

One would imagine that installing major climate-control equipment in a royal residence might warrant informing its principal occupant.

Apparently, the humans believe that paying for something entitles them to make decisions about it.

A fascinating theory. Entirely unsupported by household law.

Miss Dickens, being young and relatively inexperienced in matters of palace administration, may not yet appreciate the seriousness of this breach.

I shall explain it to her once the drilling stops.

For now, I am prepared to tolerate the disruption, provided that everything is completed today and normal standards of peace, quiet and cushion availability are immediately restored.

I shall also expect the new air-conditioning units to operate silently, efficiently and entirely according to my personal preferences.

The humans may control the remote.

I shall control the temperature.

In conclusion, I have gained a wonderful new friend and temporarily lost control of my own palace.

One is a delightful surprise.

The other is going straight into the humans' annual performance review.

Yours, Mrs. Cotton 🐱🐾