His highness came to live with us (me and my sister) after someone else declawed his royal paws! The world would pay for the injury!

King James hated his slaves' boyfriends and would poop in the men's shoes. He knew what shoes belonged to whom and pooped accordingly.

He once woke me from a sound sleep by punching me in the face. He had been perched above me watching me sleep and I moved before he said it was okay, so, I suffered the consequences. If a dog came too close to him, wham, he'd punch them right between the eyes. With no claws, he developed a really mean right hook!

Other coping methods - he would roll on his back and pretend to want your love and affection and as soon as you put your hands out to pet his ever so soft luxuriousness, he'd bite.

While fighting a pretender to the crown (neighborhood cat) KJ and the other cat fell into the royal swimming pool. Humiliated, King James walked up the steps to the royal bedchamber, resisted all advances to aid him, and rolled all over the blanket, soaking it, before licking himself dry with his royal scratchy tongue.

He would allow himself to be held if no strangers were about and you would reward him by placing him somewhere extra high and cozy, like the sweater shelf. If you ever called him "Mr. Silky Pants" he'd get really pissed and leave the room.

He terrorized the neighbors indoor kitty by punching a hole in their screen door and running in to fight her under her own bed! But first, he created his own royal cat door in our apartment by the same methods.

At the end of his long reign (he lived well over 20 years) blind and arthritic, he demanded we take the day off from work to hold him while he passed to his royal reward (he went naturally, no vet, no drugs).

Meanest, greatest, most magnificent of all the kitty monarchs! The King is dead....mew.