No Cats At The Castle

In the wake of the funeral of Queen Elizabeth II, and all the focus and intense scrutiny that came before, during and after, I have noticed something.
There are all sorts of dogs, from corgi’s, to dorgi’s, to spaniels to jack russells to labradors to God knows what.
There are horses and ponies of all sorts, Canadians, Fells, you name it.
But there are no cats.
Not a single feline to be found.
Never mentioned, never photographed, never talked about.
Are there no cats at the castle?
A place where one would think cats would be very much welcomed, given their propensity for getting rid of vermin and the like.
But no.
And I can’t help but wonder why.
Are they not regal enough? Royal enough? Dignified enough?
It would seem to me that they are all that and then some.
And perhaps that is the problem.
There is only enough room for human royalty in those large expansive castles.
The cool and sophisticated demeanors that cats offer may make it too crowded.
Or perhaps those royal types only prefer dogs because they can be their lord and master.
Oh, those poor dogs.
They have to sit and beg and roll over and obey commands and follow their leader, the alpha royal.
And the royals no doubt lap it up – pardon the pun.
They have their own little sovereignty, in the castle, with the dogs as their subjects.
The dogs look up to them, and they get to feel like the royalty that they are.
They are adored by their canines, who are ready to cater to their every whim.
Not cats, however.
They would look down on those royals, stalking by, tails up and proud, silently padding down the long hallways, wondering where the hell their litter box is, and why hasn’t it been cleaned out today please!
They would not give the slightest glance at the royal who is on the throne, preferring instead to give themselves a deep cleaning, smoothing their silky fur, pawing their long, lovely whiskers.
Despite being one of the most popular pets in the world, besides dogs of course, cats seem to have been banished and abolished from the castles and royal houses in Britain.
Am I missing something?
Did I miss a photo of a little feline, sticking its head out from behind its princess’ skirts?
But there is a legend about Mohammed whose cat was sleeping on his sleeve and he cut his sleeve rather than disturb the cat!
Perhaps the British royals don’t take to that idea very kindly.
There is a rule in our house that if there’s a cat on your lap, you’re excused from any sort of duty.
And I know our house is not the only one with a similar rule.
If a cat has deemed you worthy enough to be sat on for a nap, then that is something to have earned its trust.
And perhaps that’s what the royals take issue with.
They can’t abide by the fact that dogs have masters, cats have staff.
They like to be the ruling class whether it is of people, horses or dogs.
And cats didn’t get the memo.
They would never agree to those terms even if they did get the memo.
They are nobody’s subjects. Nobody’s serf. No one’s peon.
They are their own masters. Their own rulers. Their own entities.
And they don’t give a toss what anyone thinks – don’t care at all.
Perhaps that’s why they have been subjected to so much badness over the centuries – because people just couldn’t accept that a creature didn’t seem to need them, to heed them.
A creature so beautiful but it couldn’t be tamed – wouldn’t be ruled.
And so, out of spite, it’s been shut out.
Banned from the castles.
Shunned from the royalty.
Perhaps there are cats in the royal kitchens that we don’t know about – working away keeping the mice at bay.
Or perhaps there were cats at one time, but the blasted dogs kept chasing them.
And so the cats chose to vacate the premises, to live a more peaceful and dignified life elsewhere, anywhere.
A little research did find that there is one royal who has a cat – a cousin of the Queen.
And apparently Queen Victoria’s son had a cat named Snowdrop.
Perhaps it is too difficult to manage and look after cats in a 10,000 square foot castle with 77 rooms.
One knows those cats would be off exploring every single one of those rooms.
And heaven knows they would be scratching their claws on the historical sofas, marking them for eternity.
And who would be changing the litter boxes? Would the cats even remember how to get back to those litter boxes?
And what would be the royal kitty litter brand – Pretty Litter by Martha Stewart? Perhaps!
Oh, to be the company that provides the kitty litter to royalty – By Appointment To Her Majesty The Queen would be imprinted on every bag – just as it is with certain brands of marmalade and soap.
Well, it is the loss of the royals, I say, to not have cats at the castle.
For they would certainly add far more beauty than any damned dog.
Be a lot less smelly, a lot cleaner, fewer muddy paw prints, zero shed hair, and a lot more decorative than a drooling, panting imbecile of a canine.
But perhaps the inherent royal air of a cat is too much for human royalty to handle – or compete with.
To have a cat look down their nose at a queen would upset the tea cart, so to speak.
Off with their heads!
You can see I am a little bit biased.
But that’s alright.
It’s a free country and a free world.
And I am a cat person, after all.


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