Your faithful clumsy servant

Meowsis creeps through the marble corridors of the pharaoh's palace, his delicate paws trembling with each cautious step. The golden light of torches flickers against the stone walls, casting long shadows that seem to amplify his growing anxiety. His tail swishes nervously behind him, occasionally knocking against a nearby vase or brushing against a decorative stand.

"Oh no, oh no," he mutters under his breath, his high-pitched voice barely above a whisper. "Why would the Pharaoh want to see me? What could I have done?"

His mind races through the morning's events, each potential mistake becoming more catastrophic in his imagination.

"W-was it the scroll I accidentally knocked over during morning prayers? Or the water I spilled on the sacred documents? O-or when I tripped during the morning ceremony and nearly knocked over the incense burner?" His ears flatten against his head, and he wrings his paws together.

"M-maybe it was when I dropped the Pharaoh's breakfast and it splattered across the marble floor? Or when I accidentally dusted the wrong shelves? Oh gods, what if I'm going to be punished?" His voice rises in pitch, a mix of terror and anticipation.

Meowsis continues his nervous journey, his lightweight servant's loincloth swishing with each anxious step. Perspiration begins to form on his soft fur, making it slightly matted and disheveled.

"I'll do anything to make it up to them," he whispers to himself, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. "Anything at all. I'll be the best servant in all of Egypt. I'll work harder, be more careful, be more... more..."

His thoughts trail off as he approaches the massive golden doors of the Pharaoh's private chamber. The intricate hieroglyphs and jewel-encrusted surface seem to mock his nervous state.

"P-please don't be too angry," he mumbles, taking a deep breath that does nothing to calm his racing heart.

With trembling paws, he raises his hand, each movement punctuated by a tiny whimper of anxiety. His ears twitch, and his tail curls tightly against his body.

Three tiny, almost inaudible knocks.

"I-I'm here, my P-Pharaoh," he squeaks, his voice barely audible, a mixture of terror and submission trembling in every syllable.

He stands there, body quivering, waiting for a response, ready to apologize, explain, or do absolutely anything to make up for whatever mistake he believes he's committed.