It's All About Me.

I know all of you minions out there are wondering what it would be like to spend a day as me. To appease your interest, I allowed a film crew to tail me (Haha! I'm hilarious.) for a day so you could see exactly what it's like to be the queen of a giant castle. Click here or watch below and prepare to eat your heart out.

It certainly isn't Catmas...

I'm not a fan of Christmas. The servants tend to disappear for days on end and then seem distracted when they do deign to show up. There are all kinds of interesting things hanging from trees and the stairs and everywhere else that the servants tell me not to interfere with. I assume this is to protect myself from some unseen threat, but I'm not quite sure.

But the absolute worst part is that an ongoing stream of minions keep bringing absolutely delicious smelling morsels into my kitchen. We're talking honey-glazed hams and smoked turkeys that will make your mouth water. And the servants don't allow me to have any of it. I'm sure they deserve some sort of reward for their work throughout the year, but I think one cookie, or maybe even two if they've been good, would suffice. Instead, they insist on keeping the meat all to themselves.

So until New Year's, I will continue to look at the servants like this:

My domain

I know some of you minions out there probably doubted me when I said I lived in a castle, but I have no need to lie about the grandeur of my home. See for yourself:


Every single one of these 10,507 square feet belongs to me. I know the sign out front reads Texas Veterinary Medical Association but that is only to fool the paparazzi. Otherwise my many fans would be clamoring to get inside the castle's walls to catch a glimpse of me. Luckily, in addition to the decoy sign, I have a very competent security system.

Even though I have my run of the entire building, I prefer to keep to my favorite spots. Sure, I've explored every nook and cranny, but I feel confident enough in my position of power that I don't need to constantly check to make sure no one is encroaching on my domain. Because of that, I tend to spend most of my days like this:


The servants keep trying to encourage me to move about the castle more for what they call "exercise." I don't know why they insist on disrespecting me so much lately, but I know I get plenty of exercise. For example, most afternoons I move closer to the window to get some afternoon sun.

Royalty are supposed to be hefty.

After I made my disdain known about the dwindling size of my breakfast and dinner, the servants pulled out these rather complex charts to show me.


According to the chart, domestic shorthairs like myself should weigh between 8 and 10 pounds. My actual weight is 14, because I am a firm believer in the idea that royalty are supposed to be hefty. It's a demonstration of power and riches. But my half-witted servants beg to differ.

They also showed me a drawing of other felines of various body sizes. As a queen should, I look like the most well-rounded cat. The servants tell me that the label above this drawing reads "Obese."

I prefer zaftig.

This is unacceptable.

When the servants finally arrived this morning, they set out my breakfast. I went over to inspect it to see if it was as meager as the past three days have been.

Unfortunately, my worst fears were confirmed. Slim pickings.

Why can't you get good help these days?

Eavesdropping

The servants seem much too intimidated by my presence to discuss their diabolical schemes when I'm in the room. So whenever I suspect that they are plotting to overthrow me, I'll assume this position:

Yes, the servants are so stupid that they don't even check to make sure I'm actually asleep. So by feigning catnapping, I eavesdrop on all their secret conversations. (Granted sometimes by feigning catnapping, I end up really catnapping and subsequently miss out on the secrets they disclose. I haven't yet determined how to avoid that.)

After I noticed the new R/D bag of food, I decided it was time for a little subterfuge. I oh-so-casually drifted off off to "sleep" and overheard two servants discussing something called a "Slim Pet Challenge" that they seemed sure would "help TC lose weight." The female servant I have dominated into submission by forcing her to clean up my excrement had the nerve to say the following: "If we feed her just a 1/3 cup of Reducing Diet food in the morning and another 1/3 cup in the evening, she'll lose weight. We'll also have to take her to the veterinarian for regular weigh-ins and check-ups."

I haven't yet made sense of this statement, but I figure it can't be good. This is the third day in a row my food supply has been limited. How dare they think they can control me this way?

The servants think I'm fat.

Last week, the servants brought this bag into my master bedroom.

It was completely unbidden so I can only assume it is a hostile gesture. I overheard them discussing that the letters R and D mean Reducing Diet, which leaves two possibilities. Either they intend attempting to reduce (a) my unlimited and unchecked authority over my castle, or (b) my physical size. Since the very idea of them trying (a) makes me meow with unrestrained glee at their idiocy of thinking it's even a possibility, that can only mean they are trying to accomplish (b). Ugh.

Since the bag's arrival in my quarters, I no longer have the luxury of grazing all day on the morsels of my choice and instead receive just a meager amount of this R/D food at breakfast and dinner.

I am seriously displeased.

Hello, my little minions.

My name is TC, and I own you. The little minions who bring me sustenance think my name means Temporary Cat, which is obviously a cruel joke, but in reality, TC stands for Tyrannical Controller. You see, I am queen of a giant castle that is entirely my domain, and I make sure all the servants know it. Meow.