Once my horrendous behaviour subsided, apologizing became a way of life. It seemed like every tweet I sent to my beloved contained the words, ‘I’m sorry’ or phrases to that effect. ‘I’m crestfallen, my Queen. If you were to say, ‘off with his head’, I would gladly stretch my neck out. I apologize for my wicked conduct.’
A perfect example of the grovelling which I was prepared to endure. It felt as if I had been sent to the doghouse which is no place for a cat to hang out.
The reason for this humble conduct was, despite my Queen’s generous and lenient nature I could not believe, she (nor anyone, for that matter) could be so forgiving. What kind of angel had I got myself mixed up with? Do such heavenly bodies exist in this day and age? Apparently, they do in Cheshire.
To say my actions were embarrassing was the understatement of the century. How could I possibly make things up to this beautiful, young British Short Hair?
Having plenty of time to ponder the situation, as the chatter I had previously enjoyed on Twitter was conspicuous by its absence. In other words, I was receiving ‘tumbleweeds’; ‘crickets’, dare I say it, the silent treatment. Not that I blame anyone for deserting me. The sparkling wit which is usually so evident, hotfooted it and I was left an empty shell. (Okay, not so empty as I continued to gobble up all the food.)
The only one who had not forsaken me was my love, my destiny, the greatest, sweetest kitty on this planet, my Queen Cleopatra. I may be exaggerating here but all I had left was my catfriend. So, the decision to pour my heart, soul and whatever talent I still possessed into making amends, was an easy call. She would be the main focus.
Taking my punishment like a Tom humbled this, once, popular kitty. ‘From now on, I promise you only fun.’ I offered my Queen. I had come up with a clumsy solution to weedle my way back into her heart. Deciding on a self-imposed exile from reviews of any kind, I would concentrate on my Lady Love. ‘Be prepare to receive love letters from now on, my Queen.’ I submitted.
‘Looking forward to it.’ She responded in the positive. There is no malevolence in this Angel, whatsoever. She is pure love.
For the next week, I plied Cleopatra with verse. Everyday contained a new poem.
‘Another dawn has broken The sun rises in the sky ‘Meow’ my Queen has spoken Enamoured, need some pie
Mr. Tibbs, 😽🌹😻’
Another of the better masterpieces was,
I lost my way and you were there A sanctuary for my soul Without you, I cannot bear My great, big heart you stole
I must say, the lovely Cleopatra motivates a tremendous amount of heart-felt emotion from this lovesick Tom. Even I have to admit to being surprised at the depth of my inner feelings.
I do believe the best one was,
My heart, my soul my destiny To your bosom I will cleave Because your love has set me free I’ve got back my joie de vivre
Mr. Tibbs, 😽🌹😻’
While inundating, the lovely Cleo with these poems, took it out of me and the rest of my tweets suffered. It seemed no matter how hard I tried, coming up with any smooth lines for my returning and adorable fur friends had vamoosed. I had lost my mojo. What could I do? A sweet-talking Tom without words is a mum bum. I needed something to reinstate my savvy way with words.
Next Chapter: Will Tibbs get his mojo back?
From Bad To Worse
Things were looking up. I was on my way to getting the marriage annulled (with the help of Lord Graydon who happened to know of a good lawyer, Bella Bassett.) Turns out the female that had hoodwinked me into marriage was not even a cat at all but a rabbit! Bella came up with a brilliant defence (temporary blindness) and I was well out of it.
The euphoria took over and when next tweeting with my Queen I got carried away, ‘I’m truly humbled by your generous nature, Babe. There’s no one in the world I’d rather . . . Oh, stuff it! Will you marry me?’
I’m embarrassed to admit it but this next bit of the story is where I come off looking like a total jerk. I was fraught with anticipation for her answer.
My Queen, of course, could not have been more gracious or level-headed. She suggested I take some time to think over my wayward proposal.
Being the hot-headed (and in my eyes, jilted) lover, I flew off the handle. I believed the feline I had given my heart to, had rejected me. Full stop. ‘Obviously, my bad behaviour is not forgiven. *sniffs loudly* I’ll carry a torch for you always, my Queen. But I understand. Tibbs *out*.
I was desvastated. Imagine if you will, plucking up the courage to ask your love to marry you and to give up flirting for that love, only to be told you are acting rashky. I would never relinquish my dailliances lightly.
‘Too late. I’m moving on. Thanks for the laughs, Babe. Mr. Tibbs, *putting on a grave front* *hurt beyond repair*’. I shot back when she tried to explain. This was my cold-hearted response and I was stubbornly sticking to it.
‘Nooooo! Tibbs . . .’ My Queen pleaded.
Try as she might to elucidate, I was obstinate and unwilling to listen. This led to a quick campaign to replace her. (As if that were possible). Others tried to get me to see sense. The sweet SassyCassyCat did her best to explain the misunderstanding. I refused to relent. ‘You’re wrong Sweetness Babe, all is not forgiven and Cleo has spurned me. I’m crushed. Mr. Tibbs.’ There is nothing so desperate as a broken-hearted fool. And fool I was.
I began to flirt with every lady cat I could. Holly Purr (Sweet Pea, I like to call her), Moët (to my shame I asked about her sisfur, Luna) and Cleo,Love (Cleo, my love, who is a fantastic friend); all of them were subject to my painful rejection. Luckily, they could see my pathetic behaviour for what it was; excruciating, disreputable conduct born of a failure to understand.
Then the green-eyed monster hit, as Cleopatra complimented the adorable Lord Graydon. ‘I hope Cleo and you will be happy together. Tibbs, *wipes tears away*. I did not mean any of it.
‘LG is my BSH friend and that’s all’. Cleo insisted.
I was having none of it. My tirade continued until my pal, Basil finally had become fed up. He tweeted a stern, ‘Enough of this! Cleo says she loves you. Be happy with that!’
‘Bas, I asked her to marry me, she told me to take a hike. My world has fallen apart. I may need professional help. Mr. Tibbs, *floundering*
‘Prove it. She did not reject you.’ Basil shot back.
The harsh words stunned me. Was it true? Had I been over-reacting this whole time?
I swallowed my pride and asked, ‘Cleo, the others are telling me you did not rebuff my proposal, is this true? Have I been a total bounder?’ To be honest, making up with her was uppermost in my mind. I did not want a future without her.
‘I wanted you to take things slowly and not make any hasty decisions.’ She answered truthfully.
She was thinking of me and my well being. I felt like a heel. ‘I’m a lout. A cad. Oh Cleo, I’ve been acting in such a churlish manner all day. I’m ashamed. Wouldn’t blame you if you chucked me for good. Mr. Tibbs.’
Next Chapter: Will this Angel forgive me?
Cat’s have this inate ability to take possession of everything within paw’s reach. Wherever they plant themselves, be it on the table, on your desk or on the sofa next to the remote. As soon as one attempts to retrieve an item next to them, a lightning quick paw will shoot out and grab at said item.
Even if it is something they have shunned, a moment ago. No one gets a hold of their stuff. If the humans get scratched for their rude behaviour, so be it. Comes with the territory of being owned by a cat.
When a feline has the attitude of ‘that’s mine’, you better believe whatever has been claimed, is well and truly theirs.