Literary Genius?

Apparently I have some literary genius...somewhere. Here's a portion of the prologue for my latest writing endeavor: Blanchette. Please forgive any mangling of the French language. I blame Babel Fish.
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Oh, how I wish my mother could have held her tongue! Now look at me! All because I refused to marry that dreadful little man that calls himself King of the Dwarves. But now I've ceased to make sense.

I suppose I am meant to be comforted by the presence of so many others in states similar to mine, but it only makes me more frustrated and depressed. What malicious being fairies are!

I sit back on my haunches and lick a paw, trying to calm myself. In some ways, it does, but in others it disgusts me and lowers my mood even farther. I pause, hearing someone coming across the grass of the castle's courtyard.
A tall, lanky tabby cat catches sight of me, almost as though he is looking for me, and approaches, bowing low. "Supper is prepared, lady." A pleasant grin adorns his feline features.

I wonder at his ability to be glad in his current predicament. Perhaps the enchantment has made him forget what has happened. Regardless, the condition was brought upon by my stubbornness. It almost makes me cry. I draw my breath deep and take his proffered paw; I know he means me no harm, even if I have not met him before this moment. He leads me into the castle and to an elegant dining room decorated with tapestries depicting all manner of cat heroes. Featured prominently is the crafty fellow Puss in Boots, but quite frankly his profile makes me want to vomit.

The long table is set for one with the most exquisite dishes I've ever seen, but I hardly notice them. The plate is empty as the tabby pulls back the cushioned chair for me. Not wanting to appear ungrateful to him, I sit. The chair is not uncomfortable, but I want to find something wrong with it.

A black cat with a bloated belly and a milky patch over one eye struts into the room carrying a gleaming silver dish. He places it before me and, with a flourish, removes the lid. The scent of the course tickles my whiskers and my stomach growls. I haven't eaten in at least twelve hours. I nod dolefully to the chef and pick up a spoon. The utensil is awkward in my paw, but I try to use it anyway.

"Vous appréciez, madam," the chef cat says before bowing away.
The dish before me smells delicious and the tabby hovers over my shoulder, so I eat. Though I think that the meal must be superb, I fail to taste it. I swallow without chewing much and I try to eat quickly. The tabby's presence makes me nervous. He doesn't move and he doesn't turn his head. I don't think he even blinks while watching me. I think he must have been a military man before...before...
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And cut!