My husband and I now proudly serve in King Arthur’s Court, loyal subjects to his every royal decree. We have accepted his knighthood with grace — bestowed through paw taps, head butts, and the daily love bites he so generously delivers — and are honored by the highest sign of his trust: presenting us with his royal hindquarters as a mark of true acceptance into his court.

On his very first day, Arthur wasted no time in surveying his new territory. Like a seasoned knight charting unfamiliar lands, he paced the perimeter of each room, studying every corner and corridor. To me, it was more than curiosity — it was a sign of sharp intelligence and the instinct of a cat destined to reign his new domain.

King Arthur the Kitty rules with snuggles, squeaks, and never a meow or hiss. He gives himself completely to the cuddle, pressing in with all the love in his royal heart. He is a true Kitty King, and court etiquette is clear: he may stroll across our keyboards, books, laps, and face with full royal entitlement. The reverse, however, is dictated by the whim of the Kitty King himself. Most of the time he welcomes our affection, but every so often, in classic Kitty King fashion, we are met with an adorable paw swipe or light nip — gentle reminders that even the sweetest of kings has a spicy side.

And truthfully, I adore his spicy side just as much as his sweet one. We embrace every part of him — each swat, cuddle, and squeak — as expressions of his royal personality. We wouldn’t have him any other way, for life is richer under the reign of a Kitty King.