Chivalry is not dead.
It may be on life support, surrounded by mournful looking relatives, shaking their heads at the impending loss of one with so much left to give to this world. It may have already filled out its' last will and testament thingy. It may be comatose with a rivulet of drool leaking out of the corner of its' mouth while the nurse flirts with the doctor.
But it is not dead.
Chivalry lives in my kingdom.
I know this because I watched a show on the talking box thingy.
It was about a two legger named King Arthur. He lived in Britain a very long time ago. (I suspect around 1980). One day he found a sword thingy stuck in a rock. He pulled it free of the rock and the other two leggers made him King.
The logic of this method of choosing a king escapes me. Apparently the two leggers back then held in high regard anyone who was adept at sword removal. Personally, I would have been more impressed with the guy who stabbed the rock in the first place.
Be that as it may, the peasants gave Arthur the crown and set him up in a nice castle. Arthur then bought a big circular table (probably from Ye Olde Ikea Store) and invited a bunch of his buddies to sit around it. He told them that the shape of the table indicated that they were all of equal status.
Litter nuggets.
First of all, if they were all of equal status, why was he called "King" Arthur? Why did they always meet at his house?
Anyway, they were all called "knights" and addressed each other as "Sir" this and "Sir" that. They spent their days doing Arthur's bidding, slaying dragon thingies and rescuing damsels in distress. Once all the dragon thingies had been slain and all the damsels in distress had been rescued, they grew restless.
Deciding to cash in on their fame, they left Arthur and formed a band that became known as "The Boogie Knights".
The End
I've decided that Arthur was a wuss.
I never pulled a sword out of a rock. I was not crowned by unanimous decree of the peasants. I was not "given" a castle. I never "asked" my minions to come serve me.
Everything I have, my throne, my kingdom, my minions and my rightful place as ruler of all things, both known and unknown, I earned the old fashioned way:
I took it by force.
It may be on life support, surrounded by mournful looking relatives, shaking their heads at the impending loss of one with so much left to give to this world. It may have already filled out its' last will and testament thingy. It may be comatose with a rivulet of drool leaking out of the corner of its' mouth while the nurse flirts with the doctor.
But it is not dead.
Chivalry lives in my kingdom.
I know this because I watched a show on the talking box thingy.
It was about a two legger named King Arthur. He lived in Britain a very long time ago. (I suspect around 1980). One day he found a sword thingy stuck in a rock. He pulled it free of the rock and the other two leggers made him King.
The logic of this method of choosing a king escapes me. Apparently the two leggers back then held in high regard anyone who was adept at sword removal. Personally, I would have been more impressed with the guy who stabbed the rock in the first place.
Be that as it may, the peasants gave Arthur the crown and set him up in a nice castle. Arthur then bought a big circular table (probably from Ye Olde Ikea Store) and invited a bunch of his buddies to sit around it. He told them that the shape of the table indicated that they were all of equal status.
Litter nuggets.
First of all, if they were all of equal status, why was he called "King" Arthur? Why did they always meet at his house?
Anyway, they were all called "knights" and addressed each other as "Sir" this and "Sir" that. They spent their days doing Arthur's bidding, slaying dragon thingies and rescuing damsels in distress. Once all the dragon thingies had been slain and all the damsels in distress had been rescued, they grew restless.
Deciding to cash in on their fame, they left Arthur and formed a band that became known as "The Boogie Knights".
The End
I've decided that Arthur was a wuss.
I never pulled a sword out of a rock. I was not crowned by unanimous decree of the peasants. I was not "given" a castle. I never "asked" my minions to come serve me.
Everything I have, my throne, my kingdom, my minions and my rightful place as ruler of all things, both known and unknown, I earned the old fashioned way:
I took it by force.
Cujo! Yous us the bestest! Me loves how yous thinks! Shaping catdom is ours by right!
ReplyDeleteKisses
Queen Penelope a.k.a Cat From Hell
It is our right indeed, Queen Penelope!
DeleteHeadbonks, Cujo
King Cujo
ReplyDeleteYou may rise :)
DeleteOh Supreme highness Cujo.... You are all I aspire to be.
ReplyDeleteMy two-leggger, Dr Hanna, says maybe you would condescend to advise me, sort of like "Dear Abby" for two-leggers. I wear a resplendent Tuxedo at all times, just like you (I hope I get invited to the "Fur-Ball" .)
I too live with a tabby cat I would like to smack..... but she has lived here longer than I so maybe I shouldn't. What do you think?
I await your considered response...Mr Mittens
Mr. Mittens,
DeleteIvan too has lived here longer than I. Tabbies are meant to be subjugated. Much as in two legger history, where only royalty was allowed to wear purple, in our society only royalty may wear tuxedos.