The Roaring Usurper: A Chronicle of Gross Indignity
Every household has its villains. In lesser domiciles, these are rats, damp, or the neighbours' cat. In the sovereign territory of His Royal Fluffiness, the threat is more ancient, more terrible, and considerably louder. Once a week, without warning, without declaration, and without so much as a formal notice of intent, the Staff deploys the Roaring Usurper — a grey cylinder on wheels that screams and devours and has, to date, never once been brought to justice.
“The measure of a civilisation is not its architecture, nor its art, nor the treaties it has signed under duress. It is whether a sovereign may nap upon his chaise without a shrieking machine attempting to consume his tail. One sets a low bar, and the Staff still cannot clear it.”
The vacuum cleaner was patented in 1901 by Hubert Cecil Booth, who, one must note, did not consult a single dog before proceeding. This is the oldest unredressed grievance in domestic history, and His Fluffiness intends to redress it.