My human, in their infinite and often misguided wisdom, has presented me with what appears to be a transportation device for inanimate fluff. This "GAGAKU Baby Doll Carrier" is a contraption of pink, star-spangled fabric with adjustable straps, ostensibly for a small human to tote around a stuffed facsimile of life. On one paw, the sheer indignity of being treated like a doll is almost too much to bear, and the garish pattern is an assault on my refined aesthetic sensibilities. It seems like an egregious waste of a perfectly good afternoon nap. On the other paw, however, the idea of being chauffeured around the house, observing my domain from an elevated, cushioned throne without having to engage in the tiresome act of walking… well, that has a certain appeal. The playability is nonexistent, but the utility for a pampered monarch such as myself is potentially very high.
I was in the midst of a particularly deep slumber in a patch of sun, dreaming of chasing a laser dot the size of a dinner plate, when the human approached. They were making that cooing sound that usually precedes either a trip to the V-E-T or the introduction of a deeply flawed toy. In their hands was a limp sack of offensive pink fabric covered in white stars. A low rumble started in my chest. They called it my "kitty pouch." The nerve. I am not a "kitty." I am a king, and this was no royal litter.
My protest was, of course, dignified. A flick of the ear, a twitch of the tail, a refusal to make eye contact. But the human was persistent. They scooped me up, and I allowed myself to go limp, a classic tactic of passive resistance. They fiddled with the adjustable straps, draping the thing over my magnificent gray and white torso. For a moment, I was a suspended loaf of cat, paws dangling, dignity in tatters. Then they hoisted me against their chest, and my world changed. I was high off the ground, secure, and had a perfect, unobstructed view of my entire kingdom.
The human began to walk. We glided past the kitchen, and I could see, for the first time, the tantalizing crumbs on the very back of the counter. We floated by the tall bookshelf, its top a dusty, unexplored continent. This was not a humiliation; it was an elevation. I was a furry emperor being carried through the forum on a palanquin, surveying all I ruled. The soft fabric was surprisingly comfortable against my fur, and the gentle swaying was not unlike being rocked in a very slow, very comfortable hammock.
When the grand tour concluded, the human gently deposited me back in my sunbeam. The pink carrier lay discarded beside me. I looked at it, then up at my large, simple-minded staff. I gave a single, slow blink—the highest praise one can bestow. The carrier was gaudy, it was ridiculous, and it was originally intended for a brainless doll. But it offered effortless transportation and a superior vantage point. It was, I decided, a worthy chariot. It was acceptable.
