09/07/2026
🐾 Smudge’s Box Thoughts of the Day 🐾
Apparently, it is honey harvest time here in my kingdom.
Mom and Dad spent ALL DAY yesterday harvesting, spinning, straining, and bottling the 2026 honey crop.
Frankly, the entire operation looked exhausting, sticky, and deeply beneath me. I supervised from a safe distance, naturally.
The servants have been carrying on about what a “rough year” it was for their bees. One hive died, a couple of colonies swarmed at inconvenient times, and they sold a bunch of bees to friends.
This sounds like a series of unfortunate personal choices followed by predictable consequences, but for some reason they insist on bemoaning the situation in my presence.
I am not a honeybee enthusiast. They buzz around like they own the place, despite the fact that I have seen exactly ZERO bees contributing toward the mortgage. Worse, I have to fight them for sipping space at the dozens of bird baths Mom insists on maintaining around MY property.
And does she defend my territorial water rights? Of course not. She spends her time fishing stupid, drowning bees out of the bird baths so they can fly away and return five minutes later with all their friends.
Perhaps natural selection was trying to tell you something, Mother.
Anyway, because Mom and Dad apparently mismanaged their tiny striped livestock, this year’s honey harvest was limited.
This could be a problem because people start hounding them for jars every year as though honey cannot be purchased in stores.
Apparently, their precious “liquid gold” is in high demand, and some hopeful customers may not get their hands on a jar of fresh 2026 bee spit.
Tragic.
Devastating.
Still not seeing how this affects me.
While the humans fret over honey shortages, I am focused on the issues that actually matter.
Are my servants responding quickly enough when summoned?
Will the dimwitted house hippos ever stop incessantly following Mom around the house and begging for food every second of the day?
Will the doors open immediately whenever I scream to be let in, let out, or let back in again because I have changed my mind? My prerogative.
Will my water bowl remain filled with crystal clear, room temperature water?
And why, exactly, are bees receiving emergency rescue services while I sometimes have to meow TWICE before someone acknowledges me?
These are the crises deserving attention.
So congratulations to Mom, Dad, and their remaining employees with wings. You produced a few jars of bee spit despite your year of poor management decisions.
I assume the profits will be invested appropriately in premium cat food, additional water bowls, and perhaps a dedicated servant whose only responsibility is operating doors for me.
After all, this entire kingdom, including the bees, the bird baths, the house hippos, and every last jar of liquid gold, exists under my rule.
The honey may be scarce, but my opinions remain plentiful.
You’re welcome.
Smudge Out 🐾
