I am in a puckish mood today. I do not feel much like being productive or adding to the worth of the world around me so I am harassing the staff instead. Ultimately my entertainment takes precedence over anything else at the Chateau. (I firmly believe that most organizations and city governments should adopt this philosophy as well but they act as if my being amused is not their top priority – who are these animals?) Anyway, Mrs. Walters has already resigned to not speaking to me and we aren’t halfway through the day; the old bitty acts as if she doesn’t enjoy being called to my room with a fruit and cream cup only to find an empty room… empty, that is, until I jump out from behind the door and scare the cream from her cup. Unfortunately she seems to be on to me and it is getting harder to lure her in to my traps. She is sending Clarice to do the errands I reserve for her. Well Clarice is no fun; I can make her cry by telling her they cancelled her birthday this year because of her crimes against attractive footwear. If there isn’t a challenge then why bother? So I have started in on Chef. She claims she doesn’t have time for my nonsense and that I don’t bother her. However, dipping her favorite tasting spoon chili oil when she isn’t looking proves otherwise.
Everyone is tolerating me today because last week they barely escaped with their heads as I was biting most of them off. I am not sure why I was so upset but my rage found outlets in all things each person I encountered did. I was given a wide berth every place I went and then that started to anger me (chickens, every last one of them.) Before I knew it, I was entirely alone in this cavernous abode. I could throw ninja stars in any direction and not be in danger of hitting anyone (trust me, I tested that theory.) Even Mouffette went to his special hiding place under the chaise in my dressing room – the ridiculously fluffy pain the in the neck. When I lured the fussy mutt out with a lamb bone, he left a pile of fur on one of my best peignoirs – I told him I was selling him to the circus. The Entitled Alley Cat took to me in this state, of course, since she saw me as a kindred spirit. Either that or the little b!tch knew her purring around my ankles annoyed me beyond reason; I had half a mind to make a stole of her. I was at such at a want to yell at someone; I was forced to call out for victims (because of course I had to make the effort.) Opie proved of no worth as he merely ran over with a six-pack of beer and an expectant grin – that boy is as clued in as a lobotomized tree sloth (I told him as much.) I placed a call to Persephone overseas but she was in the same mood as me and we had to end the call when the hotel manager rapped on her door due to the noise complaints. Don’t people have better things to do than listen in on others’ shouting matches? Romeo positively littered this place with flowers trying to cheer me up; I should have never called that simpy romantic. I had Mr. Brown toss every last stem into the street so my driver could run over them repeatedly. Mr. Brown ratted me out to Romeo who wept for days. There is nothing worse than wanting to inflict pain and being forced to apologize for doing so; I sat on Mr. Brown’s best hat accidentally as recompense. In the end, I called Adonis because he would hang up on me before he suffered my abuse. Such an act would infuriate me to such an extent the air around me would combust from my ire. But he didn’t, because he’s Adonis and he never performs as expected. I thought the line had gone dead but he was just patiently waiting. I accused him of not listening to which he responded by reciting every grievance I had aired and each offender I had fingered. I was positively livid that I could not have gotten a rise out of him had I added yeast.
When I paused to wipe the foam from my mouth, Adonis began – slowly at first, but most deliberately. I told him I was in no mood for such antics but unbeknownst to me, I was; I was desperately in the mood. He persisted – his low, bass-drum-resonating voice seeping through the phone lines, explaining in detail how he would rectify the situation. I stammered my response, my resolve to be furious crumbling with each punctuated point. Eventually all vehemence had seeped from my fingertips and I lay panting in a pile of silken robes on the floor. I cursed him for torturing me with such distance lying between us but my words dripped of desire; my tongue caressing every objuration. He had single-handedly undone my mood and me in the process; the giant cad – how I adore that man.
Oh, there’s Mr. Brown! If you will excuse me, I have a pair of binoculars with shoe polish rimming the eyecups with his name on them.
My point is, darlings, sometimes the best medicine is to simply indulge in what ails you.