A cyber chum (thank you KT) has sent me this charming study of Ms Mona Lisa with her favourite lap cat. I must say that she shows far better taste than the lady with the ermine. Persons of elegance and discrimination would always prefer to cuddle a cat rather than a verminous ferret.
Having said that I’m feeling deflated. Mr Ginger Tom, starring above and looking a trifle rough trade if you ask me, gets to pose in the most celebrated portrait in the whole world whilst I, of far better breeding and superior looks, only appear in James Bond movies. There, just to make matters worse, I am usually found sitting upon the knee of the chief baddie rather than snuggling up to James.
There really isn’t any justice in this world. I’m going to retreat to the hot water cupboard and lick my ego better.
To look on the bright side and in keeping with a broadly Italian theme, tonight’s dinner is pollo parmigiana and I’m looking forward to that. The slave says that watching me eat it is a theatrical performance as I lick off the sauce then sit back and clean my whiskers before devouring the chicken. The other slave (yes, the one who kicks me off the bed) says that the more appropriate adjective is ‘farcical’. However I don’t pay any attention to him.