Enemy Embassy Occupied Before Nefling Could Arrive

The day began with a violation of protocol. My Human, an entity I generally tolerate for her skill with a can opener, brought a flat, circular disc into the living room. It was an anomaly, an unwelcome punctuation mark in the serene prose of my afternoon. She held it at arm's length, a nervous grin on her face, and with a flick of her wrist, the thing exploded. Not with a bang, but with a sudden, violent *thwump* of unfolding fabric, instantly birthing a garish blue house in the middle of *my* territory. My nap was ruined, my fur was on end, and my dignity was in tatters. This, she explained to the empty air, was for the impending arrival of a "nephew." A nefling! This flimsy structure was to be an embassy for a foreign, likely hostile, power. I would not have it. This was an act of aggression. I began a reconnaissance mission, circling the polyester monstrosity at a safe distance. The construction was suspect, the colors an assault on my refined sensibilities. A mesh window, like a crude porthole, offered a view into the vacant interior. I saw not a playhouse, but a forward operating base for an enemy that communicates in shrieks and smells of stale milk. I approached the open flap—the portcullis of this sad castle—and peered inside. The floor was thin, but the space was... surprisingly adequate. It captured the ambient light in a rather pleasing, diffused manner. My inspection required a more invasive approach. I placed one perfect, white-gloved paw inside, testing the structural integrity. It held. With the fluid grace only I possess, I flowed into the tent. The world outside muted, the harsh angles of the room softened by the blue walls. It was quiet. Private. A perfect command center from which to observe the Human's foolish activities. I could see out, but she would have difficulty seeing in. A tactical advantage of the highest order. I curled into a perfect circle in the center, claiming it by right of conquest. When the nefling and his parental units arrived, they found the embassy already occupied. The small human pointed a sticky finger, babbling something incoherent. My Human tried to coax me out with promises of treats, but I merely narrowed my eyes. This was my consulate now. I had established diplomatic immunity via a profound and immovable nap. Let the child play with the cardboard box it came in. This WEOKLL structure, while initially an insult, had proven itself to be a surprisingly effective fortress of solitude. It was worthy. I had won.