Popeye's New Throne

I am Popeye. I always knew I was born royalty. But it's taken Foster Mum a while longer to figure it out. And I say, it's about time, woman.

I finally have a throne on which to rule my minions, Boomer and Phoebe, and all others who enter my kingdom. It used to be a utility cart that Foster Mum bought to move heavy things around the house, but she ended up never using it. Who knew all this time my throne was sitting in the garage waiting for me to claim it?



I used to sleep here. On the lowly floor where all the other peasants lie.




But now I sleep on my throne, high enough to survey all who live under my rule.


It actually works out better for Foster mum too. Before, if she wanted to check on me at night, she had to lean over the bed. But now since I lie right next to her, she says it's easier for her to make sure I'm staying out of trouble. Me, trouble? What is she talking about?



You did not just see that picture.

The biggest way my throne has helped her though is that she doesn't have to lift me off the floor every morning. First thing every morning, she used to pick me up and set me down in the pet stroller to take me out to express. Her back hurts most in the morning, so this was always a strain for her.

But now she doesn't have to do that anymore. Cuz--here's the best part--my throne is on wheels! That means it can be transported as befitting a true king.



Phoebe's former fosterer from Paw Printz Pitbull Rescue built a cool little ramp for me.







So now Foster Mum can wheel me on my throne outside without having to lift me at all. That's good in another way. I used to growl at her sometimes when she tried to lift me while I was still trying to sleep. Hey, a king needs his beauty sleep too. But now I'm all perked up by the time I've been wheeled outside.



My throne also has breaks on the wheels, so she parks it right next to the expressing station (aka live animal trap--don't ask). Since my throne is higher and wider than the pet stroller, it is much easier for her to lift me to get expressed.



Then she wheels me back into the house. She doesn't even have to carry me off my throne either. She just stacks 2 dog beds on top of each other and I can jump off all by myself, thereby saving her from one more lift.







I can easily transfer myself from my throne to the human bed, and vice versa, too.





It's a win-win for all involved. Foster Mum strains her back much less now, and I am finally recognized as royalty.