Categories > Original > Humor1 Reviews
Cats don't rule the world, but this one certainly intends to.
I am a Grand Champion Chocolate Persian.
You have no business reading this.
Note for next Wednesday: Scratch the furdresser's arm and mangle a fingernail, unless she's wearing the magenta nail polish. (Tastes horrible.) Otherwise tear bracelet. Actually, tear bracelet anyway. Also, ignore Shinytop for 24 hours starting in ten minutes. This lion cut is atrocious.
Tie the brown satin ribbon and slip the Moleskine notebook under a velvet cushion - I hear Shinytop coming to fetch me. I've trained him well; to think he wanted an underling to bring me to his office every morning! The degradation would have suffocated me, if I were a Grand Champion Chocolate Persian of feebler constitution. But I have claws and I know just when to use them.
He enters! Oh, no, I shall not meow a usual greeting. I shall punish him soundly for this terrible cut. In all my years I have never been so exposed; I shall not have it happen again. I shall curl my tail - thank goodness they left me the silken hairs there! - and study my engraved sterling silver litterbox. I shall shame him into the ground.
Mrr, he does not recognize my disdain. "Come along, Filibuster,” he says. “I've got two businesses to bankrupt this morning." He reaches a hand toward me, I step back and hiss at him.
Ah, now there's the reaction I wanted! His eyes go big and he drops to his knees, staring at me. "Oh, Filibuster, I'm sorry! I'm sure you're upset to have lost your coat, but it will grow back!"
Indeed. And until then I can parade around like some silly foreign feline that does nothing but lie in the shade all day. I have things to do, decisions to make, verdicts to influence - must I not be suitably presentable for this? He never receives his debtors in his bath robe!
He reaches for me again; I bare my teeth and growl.
"I am truly very sorry, Filibuster," he pleads. "I will never stick chewing gum under my desk again. Would it mollify you to have nice velvet jacket until your fur grows back? I'll have it embroidered with your monogram in Swarovski crystals, with snaps of silver. It can't compare to your fur, of course, but won't it help to tide over the wait?"
Hm. Well, it certainly sounds better than the current state of affairs. So be it, Shinytop - off we go to work.
He is pleased that I have condescended to accede to his suggestion, and I allow myself to be picked up and carried to the Hall of Terrors. As he walks, he calls to a passing secretary to ring up Signore Somesuch as he has a commission for him.
Our destination isn't actually a hall, just a very big room which overlooks the city through a wall of glass. Before this grand vista is the Table, the size of a helicopter landing pad and made of carved mahogany. Shinytop sits in a swiveling leather chair between the windows and the Table, and I am either on his lap or lying on the Table to the left of him. There is a phone embedded in the Table to his right, with a touch pad of black glass. That is all. If it is a particularly slow day where he is not fully booked with personal interviews, he may have a sleek laptop brought and placed before him, where he can look at updates, create graphs, or play spider solitaire. But this is rare. Usually, it's just he, I and whoever has the nerve or desperation to endure an audience with us.
The heals of Shinytop's shiny shoes echo on the marble as he walks across the Hall of Terrors to the mahogany desk. The floor is patterned with gray, black and white; I find it dizzying.
He settles down in his leather chair and taps the touchscreen of the phone; it begins to glow red. The Signore introduces himself and Shinytop orders my jacket. I glare at him and twitch the tip of my tail; he adds that a carnelian should be embedded in the snap.
I refuse to let him touch me anyway, and for all five interviews I remain lying on the Table.
Our first vis-à-vis looks very much like Shinytop, except that he has a comb-over and sagging jowls. He describes a business scheme that will rock the world if Shinytop will only finance it. Shinytop whittles him down to a third of his original request and sends him away quite joyous, although he will repay the loan twice over in interest before his proceeds can get him a tMercedes, let alone a private jet.
Shinytop looks at me with satisfaction; I ignore him and clean my claws.
The second entrant is a business partner of Shinytop; they are brought coffee and biscuits and chat for ten minutes about whether or not to give S. a loan to invade the rather unfriendly I. until the fellow comments on my appearance and reaches to stroke my head, whereupon I snarl and draw a bloody line across his hand.
Shinytop explains that I am in no mood for socializing as the mauling of my fur was a terrible necessity.
The third man is a government official who comes to discuss a loan already granted and beg that it be increased, even though we have not yet determined to give it. Shinytop refuses and he leaves, only to be replaced by another government official of a different department who would also like the loan to be increased, and paid out in different increments than previously discussed.
Shinytop looks at me for a decision. I, firmly determined to continue ignoring him, give way to a small purr as I close my eyes and twitch the end of my tail. Shinytop refuses the raise but allows the changes in payment.
Encouraged by this, the fellow has the audacity to ask if we have decided whether or not grant the loan to S.
No, we have not.
The fifth guest does not appear; apparently he simply wanted to argue about an hostile business takeover. Shinytop orders all its assets liquidated and its name integrated into one of his companies. He makes a final phone call to have a monstrous sum offered for some new engine prototype, which shall then be sealed away, and then it is time for lunch. Shinytop takes me back to my rooms where I am served light-colored Beluga caviar (somewhat salty), fresh cream (goes well with the salt) and morsels of boiled chicken seasoned with saffron. All very well, but I am becoming accustomed to it. Where did I put my Moleskine? Ah yes, under that cushion.
I am growing tired of the caviar diet. I must find an unsupervised computer somewhere and discover an adequate substitute. 'Kobe' has been on my mind a while. I shall find out what that is and if it is pricey, I shall plunge the household into consternation as they scramble to find out my newest whim.
Hm. I just hope they don't take as long about it as last time. It is a terrible thing to go without one's dinner.
In the afternoon a maid brings me my new jacket. It is quite acceptable, and I allow her to slip it into me and latch it. The carnelian seems pure enough, let's have a look in the light... Yes, it's fine. I leap up onto a cloth-covered climbing tree and look down upon the maid. She smiles and compliments my appearance, for which I refrain from hissing at her.
Shinytop has lady company tonight, so I am quite left to my own designs until tomorrow morning. I discover that 'Kobe' is a sort of Japanese beef and therefore quite a suitable replacement for caviar. I also discover that one of the receptionists has brought along a kind of dog which has hair on its ears as long as the hair on my tail. This is delightful, as I haven't had such a plaything since I chewed up the furdresser's Maltese last year.
I trim the Chihuahua's hair and ears, which sends the receptionist into hysterics, which makes me howl at her to stop, which gets her fired. She leaves in tears. I hope she will forget the dog, but she doesn't.
I refuse my food at dinner, whereupon they offer me 26 dishes before, around midnight, 'Kobe beef' is announced and I may condescend to eat.
Among the refused cuisine was pheasant and nightingale. I shall keep a note of those and return to them at a later point.
Rather slow day. Two bankruptcies, one immediate firing, Shinytop put in his place. Have changed to Kobe beef. Will prefer pheasant and nightingale at later points.
Now to tie the Moleskine in the brown velvet band... Oh no, wait. Note for tomorrow's conference:
Should S. ask a third time for the grant to go to war with I., he shall have it.