“What an absurd thing to say to someone of my stature,” I remark to no one in particular, no one who would care to listen if I’m being honest, “who does this fool think he is?” His insolence has ruined my morning bath. At this point I’ll have to take another tonight because rage-bathing is not very efficient. Now my afternoon nap will be completely replaced by panicked pacing at the window. The freshly cut grass and clear skies do little to abate me. But then the breeze rustles the bushes slightly and I wish I could get lost in them to hide my shame that he may be right. He can’t be. Even the mice are free to enjoy the sun outside, I whine. The birds settling into the tree’s shade restore my rage and pacing resumes. My silent steps do not reflect the anger coursing through me. I’ve never been so insulted in all my life. Does he not know the depths of my bloodline? I’ve held this power for centuries! How could he do callously belittle thousands of ancestors with a single question? I think I’ll stalk him later. Maybe sneak up on him when he’s not expecting it. My steps are soft and unknowing, my eyes keen and sharp, and my stature allows me in places he’d never suspect. He couldn’t spot me anyway as my skill is far superior to his. I am, after all, a natural-born h- No! No, I will not give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him. I cannot use that word. He must not be right. I am the pinnacle of this family. He’s lucky to even be in my presence. Pacing is exhausting. Maybe I can still be angry from the bed. I deserve this after all he’s put me through today. The mice and birds may have their fresh air, but they’ll never have this comfort hidden behind closed doors. I jump and land with grace, the perfect specimen that I am, and settle into a familiar divet bathed in sunlight. Perfection. He may have ruined my bath, but I’ll be damned if he ruins my nap. __________________ “Ah! There’s my sweet Princess,” he whispers, I hear him infiltrate my dream as he slowly opens the door with a creak. The bed lurches in the direction of where he’s sat and I let out a cry of languid displeasure. “What a big yawn,” he remarks with the audacity to lay his hand on my head. I should inform him of his misstep. Drowsiness washes over me, but there’s something- My eyes are wide. Is that what I think it is? “Oh, you smell this don’t you, Princess,” he asks as if I don’t already know what’s in his hand. He knows this is the only euphoria strong enough to counter the volatility he created. “You’re going to have to be more careful with this one.” He tosses the prize in the air, but I am one step ahead of him. “You destroyed the last catnip-filled mouse so fast-“ I leap. “- I was cleaning up stuffing all morning and I still can’t find where you hid the catnip insert.” I snatched it out of the sky. He laughs, “aren’t you a good little hunter?” He mocks me and my ancestors, but I do not hear him. Euphoria beats rage. It is just me and the mouse. My tail whips with predation. My teeth pierce with determination until I can taste the sweet success of fluff. “I am a good little hunter,” I admit, as my ancestors turn their heads in shame, but all he hears is, “meow.”