Mr. Fleez' Agony Session #12: Venerated or Venomous? Take Your Pick.

Dear Mr. Fleez,

I have a beautiful white female who loves to display herself in the drawing room window of my flat. When people walk by they look at her and comment on how striking she is. The problem starts when they neglect to comment. I swear she knows and becomes angry over the matter. Every time someone walks by without commenting, she leaps down from the window and tears through the house with much caterwauling. You would have thought they had touched her with a branding iron. Why the devil is she like this?

Sincerely,
Brian.

Dear Brian,

There's something I simply must address before answering your question: You do not have a beautiful white female, she has you. That is all there is to it. I know you humans like to think you're in control, but try sleeping in without feeding your kitty her brekky and see for yourself who controls whom.

Ultimately, the answer to your question is a simple one: She deserves veneration, as she is superior and obviously commanding. Nevertheless, this scenario reminds me of a queen I used to know, and oddly enough she was also white. Her name was Flip, and I once roomed with her and five others, one of which was a filthy cocker spaniel.

Flip believed in feline supremacy, and had a knack for rabblerousing. At one point she managed to have us all-herself excluded-thrown into solitary confinement for sedition. I'm still not sure how she managed to keep herself from blame, but I suspect her gleaming white coat dazzled the authorities.

That night was, if nothing else, educational. Surprisingly, I can't even remember what triggered it now. I was resting peacefully upon the highest perch of the cat tree; as I am the alpha-male, and the top perch is therefore mine. I heard a vicious growl from near the window and soon noticed the others gathering beside her to have a look out. With interest piqued, I leapt from the cat tree and strode purposefully to the window. I tried to chucker my way through the hubbub, but that's when Flip ignited.

Bristling her back from ears to tail, she turned to us and demanded freedom to roam. She spoke of rodents, grasshoppers, and fields of catmint and grass. She made our harsh, urban garden sound like Eden, yet here we were, sitting before the picture window, watching it all pass by. Well, I was young and foolish back then, and to an almost kitten a revolt sounded fine. I sided with her, and the riots began.

At first the humans tried to quell us with squirt bottles, but we were on fire, rocking the end tables and turning over chairs. Our language was atrocious and vulgar, and our chants could be heard by all the neighbouring ferals. No squirts would stop what Flip had started, and much to everyone's surprise, the eldest, most sedate of us all, Fancypants, reached up her sleeve and pulled out a flick knife. She brandished it freely, demanding our oppressors open the door. They stood off, so the beta male pulled a set of brass knuckles from beneath his collar to add pressure.

I suppose things got a bit out of hand, and when the Patch Tabby started swinging nun-chucks a passer-by saw her through the window and phoned the police. It wasn't long thereafter that one of the humans, brandishing a broom handle, swept us off into our separate cells to contemplate what we'd done. Flip protested her innocence and was allowed freedom within the flat.

The mess took days to clear, and we remained in solitary confinement until all vestiges of our uprising had been eliminated. After this incident I recognised that humans are far too powerful to be taken by force. I've since come to realise that violence with the ultra-violent is not the answer. Manipulation of those of inferior intellect is far easier.

Yours Purringly,
W.C. Humphries II (Mr. Fleez for short.)



READERS REMEMBER! You may now ask Mr. Fleez for his jaded opinion* on your personal situations. Please send enquiries to: housecatwisdom@yahoo.co.uk.

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