Mozart

They call me Mozart. That isn’t my real name of course, but it means I can live incognito, safe from those who might wish royalty harm. I live with Robert.

I do worry sometimes about Robert, or Rob as I like to call him. He puts earphones on his head and pumps truly outrageous sounds into his brain. It can’t be good for him. Have you noticed how his ears stick out a bit? I bet it’s because of the earphones! They must act as incubators causing them to grow, just like tomatoes in a greenhouse, though I haven’t actually seen that myself. I do my best to protect him and seem to be constantly having to get him to turn off what he calls music.

Rob is my custodian. I think that sounds better than servant, somehow, and it’s an important role as befits someone serving royalty. In fact, a privileged role, which he seems happy to have. I have to admit, there isn’t much else he has in life, and I do feel sorry for him sometimes. I mean he has some friends. Yes, I know that might surprise you, but he does, I know these things because I notice them coming and going, now and then. Though I have to admit, it’s only when they talk too loudly and wake me from my afternoon nap. It’s funny that Rob calls my naps ‘afternoon’ naps, because they can happen anytime. I accept it’s one of his shortcomings, on the other hand I suppose a nap can start in the afternoon and continue until the next afternoon. Does that make it qualify as an afternoon nap?

I remember selecting Rob, it was a long process; you should never rush into these things. I was in my spring quarters, admittedly along with several others of my kind, though they were of questionable lineage and clearly not as discerning as me as they picked their custodians without much thought and no kind of assessment that I could see. But, on the positive side, it meant that I had the place all to myself in no time and didn’t have to put up with their whining and meowing for long. The only problem with my quarters was their size, certainly a lot smaller than I would have liked and with no privacy, but the outlook was excellent as I watched quite a menagerie come and go around me. The food was questionable though, not at all what I would have expected. Though I know for a fact because I saw them myself that they kept fresh fish on hand. Nice plump little goldfish, they swam in their tank tantalizingly close, but sadly out of my reach. Now, if I had been full grown, things would have been different I can assure you of that! I would have feasted on fresh fish every day; would have done wonders for the shine on my fur. Though having to fish them out of the water myself, mightn’t have been so much fun. I don’t know why, it must be genetic, but my kind do not like water. The benefit of having a custodian is that they do all that messy stuff for you. I shiver at the thought of what would happen if I had ever fallen into a fish tank. The stuff that nightmares are made of. But I digress, I was talking about the selection process for Rob. It was exhaustive, I can tell you. Each day he would come and parade himself in front of me, separated only by a pane of glass. (Security you know), I would look him over, assess how he presented. Was his hair cut? Was he neat and tidy? These things are important. Can you imagine the horror of living with someone who isn’t tidy? It isn’t something I want to think about. I took my time, always aloof as is my way, never paying him too much attention, but then months after living ‘on display’ I decided he would do, and I used that power that all of my kind has to bend human will to our wishes and that is how I came to live here.

Ok, it is a little less than I was expecting; for one thing, there is no garden, which means no chasing butterflies, no lying in the grass soaking up the sun and no prowling the neighborhood looking for interesting things, it also means not being chased by dogs, which, on reflection is probably why we don’t have a garden. I should probably be grateful for Rob’s attention to my security. The palace, which Rob calls a flat, is mostly underground, being in the basement of a building, probably another security feature. A good thing about my abode is that it is relatively quiet and never draughty; perfect for my needs of rest.

A highlight of my daily routine is dinner time, though I have to admit that Rob’s idea of when dinner is often differs from mine, but an idle stretch against his leg with my claws out usually works to remind him, if me standing beside my bowl doesn’t work. He really should be more observant, but one thing he is always good at is the quality and variety of my meals. I see the cans and note that they always say the word gourmet somewhere on them, as befits a person of my breeding. I really like the shrimp and lamb! It’s scrumptious. But, it’s not all canned food, there is the food cooked by our personal executive chef. Her name is Jonty and I think she likes Rob. We had a rocky start with her food, but I blame Rob since I can’t imagine Jonty adding lemon of vinegar, yuck, to perfectly good fish, battered or crumbed! Though I have to admit that I am less fond of the chips, not at all to my taste, but then I suppose someone of Rob’s standing can’t be expected to have too refined tastes, and I suppose he has to eat. At least he doesn’t expect me to share the shrimp and lamb with him!

Rob is always coming and going, I suppose he has lots of palace business to do; personally, I prefer to stay at home, where Rob has provided a couch for me to stretch out on. Can you believe that he has the temerity to then complain about hair on everything! You would think he would understand that these are royal robes and that he should feel privileged if I shed a little here and there. But I do feel sorry for him on one account. He doesn’t have much hair. I mean there is hair on his head but not much else as far as I can tell. It means that to keep warm he needs to wrap himself in cloth. Most inconvenient, if you ask me, but that’s the price you pay for owning a custodian.

I do go out occasionally, royal visits you know, except that one time when Rob put me in a cage and took to me to visit a vet. I am not sure what a vet does, but I knew I wasn’t going to tolerate it. Imagine me, in a cage! Not a chariot, or riding on a velvet pillow but a cage. I don’t know what he was thinking unless it was for my own safety. Yes, that must be it. But he needn’t have worried about my safety, now the vet’s safety was another matter. It was fascinating to watch how far the blood spurted from his wrist after I sliced it with a claw. It was also interesting to learn what a tourniquet was and that an ambulance can come so quickly when needed. I won’t be visiting him again. And let’s be honest, he smelt of dog!

Royal visits can include a holiday as in my stay at the Royale Cattery in Hampstead. True to its name there were a few other nobles of our kind and the usual hodge podge of, well, those of lesser breeding. I had a room with both a view and an outside area, though it didn’t extend to butterflies, and true to form with culinary matters, Rob had made sure that my gourmet meals continued. Very thoughtful of him, but no less expected from one who serves.

overall, I think that Rob was a good choice as custodian and things could have been much worse if by some accident I had ended up housed with a dog. Can you imagine the misery in that?! Time for my afternoon nap……purrrrrr.