Sir Percival, Supreme Feline & Unofficial Ruler of the Afterlife Garden..

Ahem.

Well, well, well… what do we have here? Another year, another aerial bombardment. I must say, you humans are a curious species. A little bird drops its business on you and you act like it’s a sign from the heavens. In a way, it is but not for the reasons you lot think.

Back in my day, when fur was thick, mice were plentiful and nobody told me what furniture I could or couldn’t scratch – a bit of bird shite was nothing to get flustered about. I once took a direct hit from a seagull the size of a small sheep, right on my favorite sun patch. Did I screech? Did I sprint around like a half-plucked chicken? No. I sat down, gave myself a thorough cleaning, flicked my tail and stared down the entire sky like I owned it. Because I did.

Lesson from your old pal Sir Percival:

It’s not the shite that lands on you that matters, it’s how gracefully you strut away from it. The world will fling all sorts of mess your way, my dear. Some of it from the skies, some of it from the mouths of fools and some of it from those sneaky backstabbers pretending to be your best mate. But whether it’s feathers, words or dirty looks – never let it muss your whiskers. Chin up, tail high.

And speaking of fools, I hear that Bully fella has a new truck. Oh, the gossip up here is fierce about that contraption. Even the crows call it ‘the rolling shitebox’. If I had my way, I’d organize a formation flyover and give it the kind of fresh paint job only nature can provide. But alas, celestial regulations are what they are.

Final Thought:

Remember, my dear, when life drops a steaming mess on your head, you have two choices:

1. Wail and moan and let the stink cling to you.
2. Flick your tail, clean your ear and sashay through it like the world revolves around you – because secretly, it does.

You were never meant to blend in with the pigeons, love. You’re a cat at heart. Act like it.

Purrs, judgement and eternal smugness.
Sir Percival 🐾