“Hi y’all I am Roberta Snowshoe. Please, do take a moment to appreciate the name. It has a certain “creme de creme”, don't you think?”
“I made my debut with this household in 2015. At a mere age of six months. Even then I possessed an unmistakable refinement. Some cats need years to develop grace. Darlin’ I was simply born with such charm. Momma Kitty and Daddy Kitty both had humble beginnings in the country in which I earned the nickname of “Country Bumpkin” as I am kindly referred to by my mere housemates. But I prefer to refer to myself as a “Country Princess.”
(She delicately grooms one paw and the next paw and continues to talk.)
“While Edgar…bless his little heart… crashes like some sort of caffeinated tornado and Otis, a distinguished gentleman lounges in his routine, I maintain the “Southern Charm” around here. Someone has to. Every surface I grace becomes instantly magic. Every ray of sunshine I occupy transforms into a portrait opportunity. It's not vanity, darlin’. It's simply awareness of one's natural gifts.”
(Roberta switching into a different position with her front paws stretched with the likes of an Egyptian Sphynx)
“My fur? Softer than fresh-spun cotton and twice as pretty. My posture? Flawless. My ability to look devastatingly beautiful, darlin’ ? Pure Southern charm.”
“ I chose to be rescued. I simply authorized a tactical relocation to more suitable accommodations. “
( With a slow and elegant blink Roberta stood from her cat loaf position and gave a forward stretch of her front limbs)
“Now, if you'll excuse me darlin’, I have some cooking to do in the kitchen. Nothin’ like some southern cooked tuna covered with some tuna puree gravy. Who better to cook than a “Country Bumpkin” I mean “Country Chef”.
( As Roberta exits the living room with a regalness, another cat alert emerges from behind the furniture cautiously and carefully. With a compact built body and eyes of gold this female black cat mirrors a miniature panther. She pauses to survey the room).