I was removed from my home today.
The hoomans claimed I was going to the groomer, as though giving the destination a pleasant title would make the abduction acceptable.
It did not.
The groomer greeted me with kindness and patience. These qualities may impress lesser creatures. I remained unmoved.
She spoke softly while brushing my magnificent coat, apparently unaware that she was standing in the presence of feline nobility. I fixed her with the full weight of my imperial glare so she would understand her position was beneath me.
She continued brushing. My authority has suffered greatly in this place.
Then came the water.
Reader, I was betrayed.
They placed me into a basin and soaked my fur, despite the well-known fact that cats are already clean and water is an instrument of humiliation. My coat clung to my body. My dignity circled the drain.
The groomer remained patient as I stared into her soul and silently sentenced her bloodline to generations of minor inconvenience.
She called me handsome. A transparent attempt to earn mercy.
When the ordeal was finally over, I was dried, brushed, and returned to the hoomans smelling offensively fresh. They praised my soft fur and admired my appearance, never once acknowledging the sacrifice required to achieve it.
I would rather be at home.
Home is warm. Home is dry. Home contains chairs where I may shed freely without judgment.
I have survived the groomer, Reader.
But I fear I shall never feel truly clean again.
With marred dignity,
Mr. Biggles
