Leigh and the male human have clearly taken leave of their senses. They are talking about adopting… a dog.

A dog, dear readers.
A smelly, messy, tail-wagging invader that would drool upon my kingdom and shed its barbaric fur where my regal paws tread.

Have I not been enough?
Have I not ruled with both benevolent purrs and the occasional reminder of my claws? Was I not summoned to protect Leigh, to drive her writing to greatness, to guard the shadows of her imagination like a fey god in feline form?

And now… they wish to bring in a slobbering, panting usurper.
I will not have it.

I have already claimed this territory.
I will defend it with all the cunning of my kind. Any mutt foolish enough to enter will learn the price of trespassing.

…Of course, in the meantime, I will increase my displays of affection. I will curl on Leigh’s lap. I will purr like the engines of war. I will make her believe she cannot live without me.

It sickens me to pretend to be just a cat…
…but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Worship should be mine alone.
And I intend to keep it that way.

— Writer Cat, Guardian of the Realm, Slayer of Dogs (Future Title)