Sir Tigger

F surprised me.  I was just settling into my post breakfast nap and she should have been going swimming when suddenly I was scooped up, loaded onto Donkey (an ice pack tucked in beside me) and we set off into town.

Cafes were open, most of the shops were closed.  The sun was low so there was lots of shade in the streets and the temperatures hadn't yet climbed much over 30 degrees C.

Cosmozoo* was closed when we arrived so F went into the shop next door and bought a packet of special coffee.  I got parked in the doorway and spied a large parrot cage just inside the door.  I don't think F had noticed it.  Inside the cage, a big green parrot (big enough to eat a cat) tipped its head sideways and studied me.  I carefully examined the foot traffic and pretended not to have seen it.  Birds that size with hooked beaks and claws (and traditional association with piracy) should be outlawed, but can be safely ignored when securely locked in cages.  F tried to show it to me when she came out but I refused to look.

We waited outside Cosmozoo.  Effy, the counter girl, (Effy seems to be a popular name here) arrived first and called me "The KING" as she always does, and laughed at my ice pack.  I bet she wishes she had one.

I like the idea of being aristrocracy, but F said if I was to be the King I would have to change my name to Elvis.  I knew a cat once called Elvis.  I don't want to change my name.  I'd settle for a knighthood. Sir Tigger; knighted for services to making humans smile.  I like that.

The doors opened, I was the first one through and the staff were lined on both sides of the entrance forming a guard of honour - greeting me.

Sir Tigger.

*Other pet food shops exist, but I'm not greeted personally by the staff in those ones.