Mithy's Adventures (Part One): My Love Affair with Handel's Messiah

It is a sad fate that the homo sapiens species thinks me adorable and intelligent. 

I say this because I have my human owners wrapped around my paw. This idea of ownership is tenuous; the question of who truly owns the other is pertinent. Every trill, purr, meow, and chatter that emits from my lips calls humans to surrender their sovereignty and bow to the monarchy I embody. 

"Yes, my Lord. What do you want?" 

An ingratiating woman is one such owner. She hovers over me, fascinated with the innocuous things I do. I sleep with my paw covering my face when the sunlight streaming through the trees into the bedroom is too bright. She gasps. My stomach growls, and I purr at seeing a lizard defying gravity by crawling on the ceiling. This, too, titillates her. 

"Oh look at that, Bee, he's found a lizard." She calls out to her husband, giddy.

What a simpleton. Little does she know my ploy to take over the human species with my bare teeth and nails when the time is right. Don't they know that we devour our human owners once they die?

They call me by the disparaging diminutive "Mithy". But I am King. King Mithrandir. King of all kings. Lord of all Lords. That ridiculous song ripping the air with the cacophony of shrieking choristers declares the presence of my majesty. 

Unfortunately, compared to the magnificent spectrum of sounds I create, human singing is akin to bloodcurdling banshees.  One of my human owners endeavours to be a drunk opera singer in the bathroom, which I detest. You call these noises emitting from your mouths that reek of sour breath music? How. Cute.

My human owners think my slow blink demonstrates affection. But really, humans bore me. Their insipid intelligence makes me fall asleep, hence the partial closure of my eyelids at the sight of a grinning obtuse human face. Imagine entire articles written by humans engaging in half-crazed discourse about the wonders of the cat's slow blink. This one describes studies where cat owners mimic the slow blink towards their cats. The procedure of such maddening mimicry, where resources are poured into studying a gesture that indicates sheer boredom, is appalling to the feline species. 

"Make sure your cat is in a receptive mood and try slowly blinking at them when they are most relaxed." 

Stupidity knows no limits in human knowledge seeking to outwit the creature deified in Egypt as the goddess Bastet 2900 years ago.