The queen rests upon her throne, surveying her subjects and her kingdom...
Oh, how I wish that was me! The queen upon her throne. Not THIS particular throne. And not the bathroom type of throne. You know what I mean. But all I have is this picture of our cat, Dusty, atop a highchair that Farmer H picked up from the end of someone's driveway many months ago.
Yeah. He HAD to have that highchair. And two other regular chairs, too. That are still sitting at the end of the porch. Like this one, on the side porch. Just a cat climber. Being weathered to look far worse than that early spring day he found it along the road. You might see some of his other treasures jammed into the shelves in the background. I've lost track of Farmer H's stuff. And I don't dare dispose of it.
This was a mailbox cat. We found her and five others down by the creek, dumped out by Mailbox Row. Young #1 son persuaded Farmer H to let us take in three of them. They are not my favorites. Have never been friendly. This is probably the best of those three, which also include Simba the tan tiger-stripe who almost lost an eye in a fight, and Stockings the black-and-white tuxedo cat who sashays his oversized rump in a come-hither manner for our male canines. Not sure what's goin' on there, but Tank the Beagle and now Puppy Jack have had a more-than-passing interest in him.
Our good cats, Genius and Snuggles, have gone to the big farm in the sky. Or in Snuggles's case, perhaps to the house of the neighbor we think of as that creepy Anthony Perkins dude in Psycho.
I don't actually begrudge Dusty her throne. It would be really uncomfortable for me.