The Dictator of Our Household

In the grand castle of domesticity, there sits a feline monarch named Queen Shadow. Her coat is midnight, her stare is deadly, and her tolerance for stupidity is approximately zero.

She doesn’t own the house. She IS the house.

The rest of us merely occupy space in it, subject to her approval.

Queen Shadow rules over four unfortunate male subjects, all of whom have accepted their places in the royal hierarchy.

First, there’s Sharpie, the dog. Poor bastard. He probably started life believing dogs were supposed to be in charge. Chase cats, bark at strangers, protect the family. All that heroic canine bullshit.

Then he met Shadow.

Now he’s essentially a four-legged servant with a wagging tail. One disapproving look from Her Majesty and he remembers exactly who’s running the show.

Then we have the three male cats: Shupack, Sherbet and Sheriff.

You’d think three male cats might stage a rebellion. Form a union. Demand equal rights. Perhaps negotiate better sleeping arrangements.

Not a bloody chance.

Shupack, Sherbet and Sheriff know the rules. Shadow gets the best spot, the right of way, and whatever else she bloody well wants.

Sheriff might have a name suggesting authority, but let’s be clear. He’s not the sheriff of anything. At best, he’s an unpaid security guard who reports directly to the Queen.

And Sherbet? Well, with a name like Sherbet, he was never going to lead a revolution. He is the largest, a black ball of fluff; but shy  

Shupack could perhaps organise an uprising, but he’d probably have to ask Shadow’s permission first.

The extraordinary thing is that Shadow doesn’t actually have to do much.

She doesn’t need to shout, bark, chase or throw a tantrum. She simply looks.

And the boys scatter.

It’s a dictatorship maintained entirely through psychological warfare and the occasional strategically placed paw.

Even the human males in the household know their place. The Squeeze might think he has some authority, but Shadow has never acknowledged his leadership, and I doubt she’s about to start.

As for me, I provide food, accommodation, cleaning services and the occasional royal massage. Apparently, this makes me staff rather than family.

I don’t remember applying for the position.

There’s no salary, no annual leave and certainly no bloody superannuation.

But watching one little female cat maintain absolute control over three male cats, a dog and the human occupants of an entire house is rather impressive.

No elections. No opposition. No parliamentary debates.

Just Queen Shadow, reigning supreme.

And frankly, she’s doing a better job than most politicians.