I am Stella, Queen of the Olde English Bulldogges. The cat acts as though she is the queen, but she isn’t. I have told her that any number of times. Still, she doesn’t listen. Like right now. She is sitting on one of the humans’ big chairs and sticking her snooty nose in the air.
Me: I guess that chair is her version of a throne. She does look regal.
Stella: Throne? Regal? Where is my dictionary?
Me: You haven’t finished it. Throne means a chair that a king or queen sits on. Regal means royal , like a king or queen.
Stella: The cat? Our Moon Cat? A queen’s chair? Regal? What’s she playing at?
Me: She’s just being herself. And the chair is not a new thing. She sleeps on them all the time at night. You all don’t notice because you are already asleep yourselves.
Stella: It’s not fair. Not fair at all. If that’s a throne and thrones are for queens, just you watch me sit on it. I’ll just…jump…climb…here I come…hold still, you silly throne! One more try! Hey, let me up there, dumb chair! I am your queen!
Me: Sorry. The chair does not seem to be cooperating. It must not be a royalist.
Stella: Sweetie can jump up on chairs and couches and pianos. Why can’t I?
Me: Sweetie is taller than you are. And younger.
Stella: Lady Human! How rude!
Me: We’re dealing with facts here, girl.
Stella: Here’s a fact. I need a throne. You are going to find me one. That is an order.
Me: I’ll look around.
Stella: Really look this time. Not like when you said you would find me a crown. And where is my crown? My head is still naked.
Copyright 2019 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.