5 p.m. Monday, April 1, 2008

I am pleased to report there is relative peace in my kingdom. The windows are often open, allowing a fresh breeze to blow through. The servants are tolerable. I am shedding my winter coat and they are kept busy vacuuming my hair off the carpet. The he-servant is especially anal about it. I am careful to cast my hair about the carpet so he receives maximum exercise. Because “maximum” is starting to describe his physique, if you know what I mean.

As for the she-servant, I am surprised she can rise from the couch. I know she does, though, because I see her standing while she plays Guitar Hero. This is not among her talents. When the she-servant plays, the game should be called “Guitar Zero.”

Anyway, the peace in my kingdom does not reflect the state of my soul. I am deeply disturbed. I just finished watching a documentary on the world’s most beautiful animals, and was shocked to see that I was not listed among them. Except for possibly the peacock – such a vain animal – I should top the list. If there were an Animal Universe pageant, I would be sure to win it. Though I would frown on such a frivolous waste of time. Maybe.

I desperately want to go outside. If I could get past the servants, who block my exit, I would create a real sight. My gleaming hair, my sharp teeth, and my jewel-like eyes would cause traffic to back up from here to L.A. Oh how the world would swoon. Yet I ache for praise and reassurance of my beauty. My servants do compliment me, but I have grown accustomed to their praise and do not appreciate it. I need more, from someone else.

As the he-servant returned from work just now, I caught a glimpse of the outdoors. The grass is turning green; I wish I could eat it. Then I could return indoors and vomit my name into the carpet. “Handsome Howie,” it might say. Or “Fancy Feline.” Yes. I quite like that.