Pharoh

ROYAL DECREE OF THE DIVINE PHAROH <br/>To Be Read at Dawn and Dusk by a Loyal Scribe, in a Whisper or a Wail<br/><br/>Let it be known throughout the lands of the shelter and beyond, from the lowliest mouse-chaser to the loftiest lap-warmer, that Her Divine Majesty, Pharoh, Empress of the Window Perch, Sovereign of the Soft Blanket, and Ruler of the Entire Treat Cabinet, now seeks a royal court in which to bestow her eternal purrs.<br/><br/>Born under a blessed crescent moon three summers past, Pharoh emerged from golden sunlight and dusted shadows, her brown tabby stripes kissed by Ra himself. Her eyes shimmer like polished amber, ever-vigilant, ever-judging. Her whiskers are as finely tuned as the strings of an ancient harp, and her paws-oh, her paws!-tread with the silent dignity of a thousand dynasties.<br/><br/>Pharoh is not to be touched without permission-unless you are very lucky, or currently offering her exactly the right amount of chin scritches. Do not be fooled by her regal sneer or the way she gazes upon you as though she is calculating how many beetles your soul is worth. Deep within her jewel-encrusted heart lies a secret: she adores affection. Yes, even from the common folk. Especially if you have warm hands and understand the art of worshipping her with gentle pets, praise, and dramatic gasps of awe at her beauty.<br/><br/>She prefers velvet. (Though fleece will do, in times of national emergency.) She drinks only the freshest water from a gently swirling bowl (though a human cup left unattended is also acceptable). Her meals must be timely, and if delayed, her wrath shall echo across the sands in the form of disdainful meows and pointed glares.<br/><br/>Pharoh does not meow-she summons.<br/>Pharoh does not nap-she reposes.<br/>Pharoh does not shed-she anoints your clothing with strands of sacred fur.<br/><br/>It is said that to gaze upon Pharoh as she loafs in a sunbeam is to see the face of Bastet herself.<br/><br/>Let it also be proclaimed: Pharoh demands a home worthy of her grandeur. She will tolerate your humble abode, provided it includes sun-drenched lounging areas, plush bedding, and minions (you) who will tend to her emotional and culinary needs. Other animals may or may not be welcomed into her kingdom-auditions will be held by appointment only, and one eyebrow raised in disapproval means banishment.<br/><br/>Come forth, noble soul, and adopt thy queen.<br/>Kneel (figuratively), adore (literally), and be rewarded with royal purrs, the occasional head boop, and the great honor of being the chosen one.<br/><br/>So it is written. So it shall be meowed.<br/><br/>- The Divine and Eternal Pharoh<br/>Ruler of All She Surveys (and some things she doesn't).

ROYAL DECREE OF THE DIVINE PHAROH
To Be Read at Dawn and Dusk by a Loyal Scribe, in a Whisper or a Wail

Let it be known throughout the lands of the shelter and beyond, from the lowliest mouse-chaser to the loftiest lap-warmer, that Her Divine Majesty, Pharoh, Empress of the Window Perch, Sovereign of the Soft Blanket, and Ruler of the Entire Treat Cabinet, now seeks a royal court in which to bestow her eternal purrs.

Born under a blessed crescent moon three summers past, Pharoh emerged from golden sunlight and dusted shadows, her brown tabby stripes kissed by Ra himself. Her eyes shimmer like polished amber, ever-vigilant, ever-judging. Her whiskers are as finely tuned as the strings of an ancient harp, and her paws-oh, her paws!-tread with the silent dignity of a thousand dynasties.

Pharoh is not to be touched without permission-unless you are very lucky, or currently offering her exactly the right amount of chin scritches. Do not be fooled by her regal sneer or the way she gazes upon you as

ROYAL DECREE OF THE DIVINE PHAROH
To Be Read at Dawn and Dusk by a Loyal Scribe, in a Whisper or a Wail

Let it be known throughout the lands of the shelter and beyond, from the lowliest mouse-chaser to the loftiest lap-warmer, that Her Divine Majesty, Pharoh, Empress of the Window Perch, Sovereign of the Soft Blanket, and Ruler of the Entire Treat Cabinet, now seeks a royal court in which to bestow her eternal purrs.

Born under a blessed crescent moon three summers past, Pharoh emerged from golden sunlight and dusted shadows, her brown tabby stripes kissed by Ra himself. Her eyes shimmer like polished amber, ever-vigilant, ever-judging. Her whiskers are as finely tuned as the strings of an ancient harp, and her paws-oh, her paws!-tread with the silent dignity of a thousand dynasties.

Pharoh is not to be touched without permission-unless you are very lucky, or currently offering her exactly the right amount of chin scritches. Do not be fooled by her regal sneer or the way she gazes upon you as though she is calculating how many beetles your soul is worth. Deep within her jewel-encrusted heart lies a secret: she adores affection. Yes, even from the common folk. Especially if you have warm hands and understand the art of worshipping her with gentle pets, praise, and dramatic gasps of awe at her beauty.

She prefers velvet. (Though fleece will do, in times of national emergency.) S