The Queen

I woke up at 4:30 this morning with a weird urge to tell you about The Queen. Not the Queen of England or Wales, not the one in charge of Wonderland or Westeros, but the one in charge of my home. See, we have a hierarchy in this household, and it’s one that’s been abided by for over a decade.

It’s clearly not me, or even my wife. We are the peasants.

Then we have Willow, the Duchess. She’s a 5-year-old golden retriever. We have Ptero (short for Pterodactyl), age unknown, but middle child for sure. She’s a small mixed-breed cat. And Mara (age 6), a blue-nosed, gray-haired pit bull. They are the Princesses.

Then you have The Queen.

A 12-year-old Turkish Angora cat named Tali. She’s named after a character in one of my favorite childhood games, Mass Effect 2. I bought her in a small village in Germany, and she has been my baby since she was a baby. She’s ruled this home with an iron-clad paw for as long as I can remember.

She was always my little gaming buddy. I remember in Germany, I’d kick my feet up on my entertainment center, and she would just lie on my chest as I’d game for hours.

Over the last year or so, she’s been distant. I thought old age was starting to get to her. She didn’t want to be picked up or pet as much. I didn’t get her lying on me as much anymore. And the worst part: she stopped cleaning herself. Her butt would have leftover stool stains and matting along her backside.

I always worried we were on the way to the end. Twelve years would have been young for this breed, but I figured it could have been her weight stopping her from grooming herself. She’s not HUGE by any means, but she’s a hefty 16 lbs. with a good-sized primordial pouch.

The worst part? She’s a spiteful bitch.

When she’s mad, she likes to pee on my couch, and lately, she’s really been pissed. We figured maybe it was because we finally decorated our balcony. Now she loves to lie out there, but for obvious reasons, I can’t keep it open 24/7.

We also thought it could be the mats. They had gotten worse over the last month or so, so we finally decided to pull the trigger and get her groomed.

All day, I dreaded it. The groomer would be here at two, and I felt like the worst parent in the world. I thought, “How could I let my baby, THE QUEEN, get like this?”

Don’t get me wrong, I’m over-dramatic. It wasn’t like she was on the streets and matted from head to toe, but it was enough that I felt like a bad parent.

But let me tell you, she’s done so well.

She’s been prancing around all day, getting her rubs from head to toe, which, for the last several months, we were only allowed to give her on her head.

When I woke up at 4:30 with the urge to write this, it was because I turned over and saw her lying at the foot of the bed. We locked eyes, and I waved at her. She came right over, laid dead center on my chest, and I rubbed her back to sleep.

It was like she was a baby again.

She’s so much happier, and I love it so much. She may not be the prettiest thing at the moment—she didn’t like her legs being shaved, so she currently has little boots of fur, along with her fluffy head and tail—but The Queen is back and happier than ever.

Now let’s just hope the peeing stops, or she’s getting a demotion.