Fenya La Diva: Too Glam to Give a Damn. Part 3: Fame, Fluff, and Cattitude

She’s got fur. She’s got flair. She’s got fans.
💋 Fenya La Diva. Glamorous. Delightfully moody. Unapologetically fabulous.
✨ She came. She purred. She conquered America.

Earlier Acts of Brilliance (Part 2) ✨

Staff Acquisition

After several glorious years on top of the world, I began to tire of fame in its pure, unfiltered form. Don’t get me wrong—being universally adored is delightful—but even a creative genius needs fresh stimuli. I was bored. Restless. In desperate need of a new summit conquer, preferably one tall enough to admire me properly.

And then, events took a turn. Though, in hindsight, I should admit: I had no idea what I was inviting into my life.

As previously noted, I already had a human agent — a female one, and a rather competent specimen. After years of basking in my overwhelming charisma, she finally grasped the obvious: she was dealing with a once-in-a-generation phenomenon. One human simply wouldn’t suffice. Sensibly — or so she thought — she recruited a male assistant.

Together, they devised a plan.

A terrible, terrible plan.

La Diva Skyrockets to New Horizons

On an obscenely early morning — what about my beauty sleep?! — those two humans seized each of us felines and stuffed us into outrageously tiny portable compartments. The audacity. Truly breathtaking.

To be fair, I was granted a private trailer, unlike the others. As a VIP, I expect nothing less. Still, the sheer fact of compressing me — me! — into this absurd little box for hours on end was completely unacceptable.

My trailer was lifted, dragged, wheeled, and repositioned in what felt like every possible undignified manner. Eventually, I was abandoned at last, parked beside another trailer containing two of my companions. Hardly the sort of company befitting a star, but under the circumstances, it was oddly reassuring to glimpse familiar — if not especially photogenic — faces through the ventilation holes.

No matter what, I'm still on top!

Then came the noise. And the vibration. Both were nearly unbearable and went on forever. I even began to wonder—briefly, and only briefly—whether I’d been insufficiently gracious to my agent and she’d decided to outsource my pampering privileges. Imagine the depth of my despair, doubting myself at such a dark hour.

Still, true star material is resilient. And I, naturally, am forged from the finest kind.

Luckily, nothing lasts forever. After yet another round of infuriating rumble and tumble, I was—much to my faint surprise—confronted with the faces of my human agents.

They had come to attend to me, and I fully intended to exploit this development. After all, I was owed a truly magnificent compensation for the trials and tribulations they had dared to subject me to. The bill would be substantial.

For the moment, however, I settled for unveiling my signature Utmost Dissatisfaction grimace — an expression carefully perfected to convey betrayal, suffering, and the clear expectation of reparations.

After yet another rattling journey, I was so utterly drained that I accepted the offered lodging without even inquiring about its star rating—a level of exhaustion no self-respecting VIP should ever reach.

Still, standards must be restored. I promptly scheduled a morning briefing with my human staff, fully intending to educate them on the fundamentals of proper VIP treatment.

A Palace for a Diva

The following morning, I emerged from my hideout with caution and purpose, ready to conduct a full inspection of the premises. A detailed list of grievances was already forming in my mind, prepared for immediate delivery to my agents.

Yet with every room I explored, my irritation softened into — dare I say it — pleasant surprise. A solid four stars, without hesitation. On second thought… perhaps more.

At last, I found myself in a place that actually resembled a diva’s residence—something previously absent from my life of relentless endurance.

Naturally, I proceeded to test every amenity. Thoroughly.

Every step was taken in full glamour. Beauty, after all, is a full-time commitment.

At last, I could stretch my legs — figuratively speaking — without bumping into anyone beneath my level. There was finally enough space for my dramatic personality to unfold properly.

Naturally, I was granted a brand-new private lounge, reserved exclusively for me. I prefer to keep my toys in and around it. My home, my fortress.

Occasionally, Mouse commits acts of pure vandalism by peeing in it. Unforgivable. Fortunately, justice is swift: the soiled item is removed, and I receive an immediate replacement.

I have long harbored suspicions about Mouse’s so-called royal status, and this habit does nothing to confirm its authenticity. True VIPs simply do not indulge in such pedestrian behavior. Vomiting on the carpet — yes, that happens. But urinating outside facilities expressly designed for one’s needs?

Pish.

Smelly Belly

The palace, it turned out, came with an unexpected annex—large, loud, and aggressively aromatic. Clearly some sort of security detail. Honestly, fame does come at a price, and privacy is always the first casualty.

The creature bore the tragically inappropriate name Bella, which allegedly means “Beauty.” Ha. Even officially crowned beauty queens would hesitate to mention aesthetics in my presence — let alone this walking violation of good taste.

Still, my brilliance proved irresistible. My sheer presence conquered her in record time, and she soon acknowledged my unquestionable superiority. As a gesture of gracious condescension, I occasionally lick her paw — purely symbolic, of course. One can only reach so high.

Nature Calls

The greatest delight — aside from the palace itself — turned out to be its gardens. Here, the locals insist on calling them the “back yard” and the “front yard.” How quaint. I wasted no time claiming both as part of my personal estate.

Naturally, I did not explore alone. I allowed the other cats to accompany me, generously assigning them the menial task of scouting for potential dangers. Someone has to do the groundwork.