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The Argonians have their maid. Scaly, sudsy, and strangely beloved in every corner of Cyrodiil. She scrubs, she blushes, she becomes legend.

But where is the tale of the Khajiit? Where is the moon-sugar-sweet purr of a clever, shapely cleaner from Elsweyr, whose tail sways with both grace and mischief? This one sees none.

Khajiit scrubs floors too, yes? Khajiit balances trays, opens doors, and sometimes hearts. Yet the bards are silent. The shelves are bare. Not a single scroll flutters with tale of "The Lithe Khajiiti Steward" or "The Sensual Suthay-Raht."

This one demands equality in smut and scandal! Let the people dream not only of scales, but of fur—golden, striped, perfumed with moon sugar and mystery.

We purr, too.