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Archive for the ‘I Hate Cleening’ Category

Just when Buddy and Bear thought conditions at the palace could not get any worse, they were subjected to a Saturday filled with what the caretaker calls “cleening” but the cats call “hooman-generated mayhem.” The cats have no idea what the goal of this activity might be; they only know it is sheer terror for them, as large sticks with brushes are wielded, toxic chemicals are sprayed, and furniture is moved around. But this weekend, an unforgiveable act occurred, and Buddy has decided it is high time he lodged a formal complaint against the caretaker (hereinafter called “the party of the worst part”). Unfortunately, he has watched enough snippets of courtroom dramas to gain a smattering of mind-numbing legalese. But his text shall be reproduced verbatim below, to prevent yet another complaint from being lodged:

A Formal (and Buddy-Eloquent) Complaint
against The Odious Woman Who Cleens

Whereas the mighty Sovereign of Stratford Palace has repeatedly been frightened by the rapid motions of brooms, mops, and dusters (hereinafter called “brushes-on-a-death-stick”); and

Whereas the serving dishes of said Sovereign have been removed from their appointed positions to accommodate the frantic gesticulations of the Odious Woman and her brushes-on-a-death-stick; and

Whereas the sleep of said Sovereign has been interrupted on multiple occasions by the inordinate fluffing of pillows and flipping of bed linens; and

Whereas the flagrant processing of pelts has been pursued so rampantly in the palace that said Sovereign has been sent fleeing for his very life (and pelt); and

Whereas, the peace and tranquility of a previously leisurely Caturday have been shattered forever by the hissing of spray bottles and groanings of the Laundry Beast; and primarily

Whereas the personal bathroom facilities of said Sovereign were just this weekend removed to the palace front lawn in a wanton disregard of decorum and propriety, causing the same said Sovereign to spend half an hour staring out the front door in disbelief and another half hour cowering under his own personal cot;

Whereas all these indignities and more have heretofore been borne with quiet patience and grace, therefore, to wit, the previously mentioned Sovereign has taken pen in hand to bring suit against the Odious Woman and all of her cleaning paraphernalia. Since there is not enough money in the world to pay restitution for the damage she has caused, the Sovereign of Stratford Palace wishes to inflict the following tortures on her, as payment in kind for the pain and suffering she has inflicted upon his person:

  • May all of her hair fall out except in the places where she does not want it to grow (to wit, her chin)
  • May her ice cream melt and her chocolate sauce run out.
  • May she be eternally stuck in traffic thirty yards from a Starbucks so that she may smell the coffee but be unable to purchase a cup.
  • May her shoes all have tiny little sharp stones lodged in places from whence they cannot be removed.
  • May her radio get stuck on the country music station.
  • May she be awakened at 3 every morning instead of 4.
  • And finally, may she spend the rest of her natural life ensuring that the Sovereign and his cranky sidekick are lavishly provided with the finest treats.

The final item may, we repeat *may*, already be occurring., but Buddy refuses to believe that the caretaker is doing her level best to serve him. We shall see.

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