My name is King Samuel I of Wickinghamshire, but pretty much everyone just calls me Sammy or Sam.
Some background about me: In my past 8 lives I was a powerful King in England, but now I’m just an ordinary American house-cat. *Shudder*. I still feel and look aristocratic though, and I don’t understand many of the American ways. People can be so uncivilised here.
I am about 10 years old now, but certainly not an old man by any means. My keepers tell me all the time I still have a “kitten-face” but that just belittles me. I’ve got major spunk and personality and I am looking for someone with those same traits. I am built much like King Henry VIII was. Strong, powerful and yes, maybe I carry a bit of weight around my midsection. I do tend to gorge, purge and gorge, much like my Kingly predecessors, because that is our way!
As you can see, I am very playful and do take great delight in the small things in life such as ribbon, string, shoelaces, etc.
But I do have a pensive side. There are times where I just stare into the nothingness of the outside world and ponder my very existence. What is life about? Why am I here? Am I just a plaything for the humans? Why can they not understand my inner turmoil?
As you might be able to tell by now, I look down upon most humans. Except for my human mummy. She is the light of my life. When she first met me I was terrified and hiding underneath my litter-mate. I refused to let her hold me. But she saw the potential in me, and knew I would come out of my shell eventually. I’m pretty sure she was immediately seduced by this gorgeous face and fur as well.
Actually I like my mummy so much, some might think I tend to obsess about her and stalk her. Where she goes, I go. Sometimes I just sit and stare deep into her eyes. Other times I reach out and hold onto her arm as she sleeps. I might have been known to lash out at her when she gets a little too snuggly with me. This isn’t because I am mad at her. This is my frustration coming out because I am a cat, she is a human and our love can never be recognized in a legal manner.
One might call me a mummy’s boy. I so love to snuggle with her and drool a little on her shoulder. And she lets me, oh yes she lets me. She calls me her “dream cat.” Her “gentle giant.” Her “best friend.” And it is interesting that our song (yes we do have a song) happens to be by the band Queen (who are English, of course) and it’s called You’re My Best Friend.
You know, now that I think about it, I don’t know why I am running this personal ad. It’s plain to see, mummy is the one for me. I have forsaken her for all others from here on out. She is my Queen and I am her King. Forever and always.
Good day madams.