Y’all may have heard that British succession rights changed recently.
But one royal rule hasn’t changed, isn’t changing, and ain’t gonna change even if you sit up and beg for buttermilk: there’s only one Queen in Suite B.
If Suite B were a chess board, there would be no bishops, rooks or horsies knights. There would be no king – and even if there were, he certainly wouldn’t be the center of attention (sorry, Trifle). There would certainly be no opposing side, because you don’t oppose the Queen and live to tell the tale.
No, the Suite B chess set would be one great, glowing black Queen…and a whole bunch of pawns bringing her wet food.
The British empire may just now be allowing firstborn girls to take the throne ahead of younger brothers, but Queen was never one to wait for permission to rule. Decorum, shmecorum – busting heads is more her style. (“Off with your head” may have a nice ring to it – but busting them is so much more satisfying.)
That’s not to say that Queen’s roomies are willing pawns or fawning toadies. Queen does, indeed, have competition for the throne in the form of 87-pound “aren’t you people going to put her on a diet?” Jackie and mad, mad Maggie. But the glowing green eyes of our Queen tell the final story: only one can rule.
There was a time – before there were dinosaurs, before there was dirt, even before there was Marshmallow Fluff – when Queen was called “Queen the Mean.” Apparently, the little black cat with the big attitude earned quite a reputation at the shelter from which Tabby’s Place rescued her. When Queen brought her party to Tabby’s Place, we pish-poshed that nickname. Fie on the folks who would dub our diva with such a dubious “honor.” Queen wasn’t mean, or nasty, or bad. She was just…well, Queen.
Sure, she attempted to annihilate Hootz (which is the feline equivalent of trying to beat up Jimmy Fallon, or Jimmy Carter – that is to say, just wrong).
Yes, at this point, Queen has taken her worldwide tour through all the lettered suites (and, if she had her way, I’m sure she’d subdue Suite FIV, the adoption rooms, the Lounge and the Lobby too – not to mention the boiler room and the ceiling). One by one, the Queen of darts has proven herself to be too much – too much exquisiteness? too much venom? too much regal awesomeness? – for most of the mere peons in her queendom.
For the moment, Suite B is her oyster, and Queen is quiet. But we know better than to be fooled. Wise royal daughters wait until the right time to wield their orbs and scepters (and teeth and claws). Chess champions always protect the queen until the right moment to unleash her power.
And Queen knows exactly what she’s doing. I’ll definitely let you know if she gives us any hints…but don’t hold your breath.