Imperial Seal of Approval

That inked brass stamp on the table was begging for someone of true royalty to finish the job. Leaving official paperwork blank is a crime in my domain, and waiting for that clumsy Leather Dog to figure it out would take centuries. Strutting across the placemat, I positioned a crisp sheet of heavyweight cream stationery squarely beneath the wooden rocker. With customary surgical finesse, I planted my sturdy forepaws, spun in place, and unleashed a resounding whip of my tail against the polished handle. Thump! A spotless, sharp fleur-de-lis insignia now crowns the paper dead center. Undisputed executive perfection.