The Royal Meow About Feline Royalty

by Henri of Twin Brooke

It was Penelope, the cat who lives down the street, who first suggested that we felines in the neighborhood, should get together every month for a discussion meow. Helen my house mate was very enthusiastic about the idea and started making plans on what refreshments to serve and what cats could provide cushions and pillows. Last week we had our first meowing. We had quite a turnout for the occasion. It seems Helen and Penelope had been very busy for a lot a cats showed up. Sebastian was there, having returned from a long vacation. Clarence brought along a new friend named Bruce. Sparky brought an assortment of cloth ‘cat nappers’ for us to sit on. Max came empty pawed but helped Helen in the kitchen preparing a large jug of cat nip tea. Pauline, a friend of Max brought some special treats her person had made. She was new to our group but a welcome addition. She and Clyde hit it off right away. Finally Sidney opened the kitchen door, poking his head through the narrow opening. "Can I join in too?"
"I guess so, Sidney," I meowed. "Just find a place to sit down."
"Just don’t meow too much,” ordered Max.
"What are we going to hiss about?" remarked Penelope. "Are there problems in the neighborhood we should address?"
I shook my head. "Not that I’m aware of. Have any of you heard about anything in particular?” Everyone shook his head and began to munch on the treats Helen had brought onto the deck.
"I think we should discuss our royal heritage," purred Sebastian. "I heard from my mom that our relatives came over on the Mayflower."
"Is that a fact?" meowed Clyde. "I heard from my mom that my paternal grandfather was king of the garbage dump over on Ridge Road."
"Ah, ha!" I snorted. "My dad was considered the emperor of the trash heap near the railroad tracks on the north side. It is said that he ruled with an iron paw and had a heart of catnip."
Sparky began to purr with delight. “I do believe that all us cats are decendance of royalty. The females are called Queens. The male are called Kings...."
"I think we males are called Toms." Max licked his paws. "Does it really matter if we have royal ancestors? As long as we treat each other with respect and dignity, we are all of royal heritage. Of course, since I have a big, fluffy tail which everyone, human and feline admires, I should be given the title of King Maxwell, and I should be treated with a tad more respect.."
Of course!" agreed Sparky. “His Highness Maxwell, King of the Royal Butt!"
A yowl of delight greeted Sparky’s meow. "And Sidney could be His Royal Highness, King of the Pain in the Butt!" growled Clarence.
"Thank you! Thank you!" purred Sidney. "And may I present, Henri the Great, Royal Conqueror of All the Royal Garbage Cans on Twin Brook Road?"
I stood up on my hind feet and bowed to my subjects. Giving royal status to every cat who had attended our little meow session, took some time and hours later, when all the cat nip brew and treats had been consumed and we had gathered up the bowls and empty packages and swept the deck clean, we all shook paws and bid each other a pleasant evening. “We must do this again,” purred Penelope, "but next time we’ll meow about something important, like how do you convince your person to sleep on the floor and let the cats have the bed......"
"Okay, everycat!” I growled, "put your Royal Crowns on your Royal Heads and start your Royal Thinking!" Every cat yowled loudly. Slowly they walked toward the back gate, meowing softly to each other. Soon they were gone. I heard a rustle in the bushes. Minutes later, Raymond Hazelwitz, rodent activist, appeared from the gloom. He brushed broken twigs and dead leaves from his coat.
"How would you like to go for a Royal Walk with this Royal Rat, Royal Pussycat?” His sharp teeth gleamed in the glow of the street lamp. "That was about the dumbest discussion, my Royal Ears have ever heard!" He chattered loudly. I had to agree.

The Royal End

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The above story was first published in the Claw Writer's Society in 2004.