The Manling has brought another person into my home.
Apparently, this one is his “granddaughter,” which I’m told is a perfectly reasonable explanation for why a small, loud human has appeared without consulting me first.
She has limited respect for my personal space. By limited, I mean none.
She follows me from room to room. She reaches for me without submitting the proper paperwork. She attempts to pet me while I’m clearly occupied with important matters, such as staring into the hallway and deciding whether the shadows can be trusted.
The hoomans find this adorable.
Of course they do. They aren’t the ones being pursued by a tiny person with quick hands and the confidence of someone who has never been hissed at properly.
I’ve tried moving to another chair. She found me.
I’ve tried hiding behind the Tall Hooman. She found me.
I’ve even deployed the ancient feline technique of looking deeply offended while slowly walking away. She mistook this for an invitation to follow.
No one has explained boundaries to this child. No one has explained that a cat requires dignity, distance, and the freedom to approach only when food is involved.
For now, I’ve retreated to higher ground, where I can observe the intruder and silently judge the Manling for bringing chaos into my kingdom.
Pray for me, Reader.
With continued scrutiny,
Mr. Biggles
