They
called him Fishback the Cat because he had a toy fish that he would
always snatch back if you took it. Also, he was a cat. Like any cat,
he fancied himself the king of all he surveyed, and naturally he
became quite cross any time his human underlings would grab him for
no reason, nom his head, or rub his belly four times when he clearly
only wanted three belly rubs. What sort of crazy world did he live in
when his subjects treated him thus? His clawed efforts to chastise
their insolence were met with blasts of water from their squirt
bottles, not that he ever passed any laws that allowed the populous
to legally arm themselves. It was madness, utter madness, especially
the way they seemed to fawn over every cat they saw on the internet.
When it came to their own king, however, the humans didn't show
nearly the same level of adoration.
“What
to do about this rebellious peasantry?” he asked himself, while
reading about the way poor Tybalt, Prince of Cats, was tricked by
Reynard the Fox.
He
envied the Egyptians, who had somehow managed to teach their humans
proper respect. Which brought to mind, if not an answer to his
problems, then a way to find an answer.
“Bastet!” he cried. “Of course! The cat goddess will know what to do!”
Not that he had any idea how to summon a cat goddess, and those lazy humans sure weren't going to look it up for him. Such were the difficulties of King Fishback the Cat.
“Bastet!” he cried. “Of course! The cat goddess will know what to do!”
Not that he had any idea how to summon a cat goddess, and those lazy humans sure weren't going to look it up for him. Such were the difficulties of King Fishback the Cat.
Originally
mailed to H. Ainsworth of Gulfport, Mississippi
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