Sunday, December 25, 2016

Christmas Calamity

Over the last week, I have spent much time pondering......

Aside from pondering a new strategy for defeating Santa Claus during his annual intrusion (I will get to that later), I have also been thinking about how my minions across the world celebrate the season.

Since starting my blog thingy over six years ago, I have subjugated minions from all over the world. On every continent and in every hemisphere, my minions eagerly await my nuggets of wisdom and mayhem. But it occurs to me that though they may know how I celebrate Christmas, they may have little knowledge about how those of other cultures engage in yuletide festivities.

I have always considered it to be my responsibility to not only entertain my minions, but to educate them as well. In keeping with that, I shall now attempt to spread a little "Noel-edge"

Now everyone knows that on December 24th of every year, Santa makes his miraculous journey around the planet, spreading joy and presents to all the little embryonic two leggers. What they may not be aware of is the fact that he appears and behaves differently in accordance with the societal customs of the cultures he visits. I feel that it is important to know and understand these differences.

For instance:

In Australia, where Christmas occurs in the middle of Summer, it would not be practical for Santa to travel wearing a thick, red, fur-lined suit and high black boots. No, Down Under, Santa dons khaki shorts, a khaki shirt (unbuttoned to the navel of course), a crumpled safari hat and Blundstone boots with no socks. He does not say "Ho Ho Ho!", but prefers the traditional Australian greeting of "Oy Oy Oy". The children do not leave milk and cookies, but beer and vegamite in the hopes that he will leave them a boomerang and maybe a pet crocodile.

In Canada, Santa wears his traditional costume, but carries a hockey stick and uses a snowmobile instead of a reindeer-drawn sleigh on account of his reindeer constantly being shot at by over-zealous hunters. He is polite, but cautious. The children leave saucers of hockey pucks, drizzled with maple syrup. This Christmas it is reported that he was confused by the lack of American celebrities that were scheduled to be living in Canadian homes.

In Germany, he wears bright red liederhosen and steel-toed boots. While elsewhere in the world he is known as a "jolly old elf", in Germany, most children are terrified of Santa. It is not Santa's fault, he tries, but when he yells (Germans never speak softly) "FROHE WEIHNACHTEN UND GUTEN RUTSCH INS NEUE JAHR!!!" ("Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!), it comes across as a chastisement and scares the massenpoopen out of them.

I hope this small tidbit of Christmas trivia has been informative.

In the meantime, I must sadly report that my attempt to slay the sleigh driving freak, Mr. Claus, has once again failed.

Though my plan this year seemed flawless, I made the mistake of ignoring a large, stinky, dim-witted, orange monkey wrench that got thrown in the works.

This being the ninth Christmas of my reign, Santa has understandably become somewhat cautious during his annual visit to my Kingdom. He generally sends out several "recon elves" to scout my Kingdom ahead of time. Fortunately, I was able capture and eat two of the three before they could report back to Santa. Jaq captured the other one. She has renamed him "Betty" and has imprisoned it in the nativity scene. She promises to feed and clean up after it if I allow her to keep it.

Back to my plan......I decided to disguise Ivan as a plate of cookies. I have often heard that Santa cannot resist cookies and figured that if I could lure him close enough to Ivan, Ivan's natural instinct to attack anything red, white and fluffy should spell the demise of the irritatingly cheerful two legger.

While Ivan was sleeping under the tree thingy, I commandeered a couple of cookies from an unattended plate next to the two legger's bed. I then went to the bathroom where I procured a few pieces of dental floss. Using the dental floss, I tied one cookie to the base of Ivan's tail and the other to that large flat area above his shoulders commonly known as his head.

All went as planned. I watched from my vantage point on top of the refrigerator as the cookie-adorned Ivan lay dreaming the dreams of the witless. Right on schedule, Santa crept into the house. He snuck warily through the living room and approached the tree thingy. True to form, he became distracted by the cookies and reached down to snatch the one on Sleeping Booby's head. To his surprise, he found that the cookie in question was firmly affixed to the top of a suddenly awakened ball of anger and confusion.

Ivan for his part, found himself awakened by a great fat two legger attempting to steal a cookie that he had no idea he possessed. Just as I had anticipated, Ivan flew into a fury and attacked the cookie burglar that had materialized above him.

Everything was going exactly as planned. Ornaments were flying, Santa was screaming, I was dancing on top of the refrigerator in glee. Over in the Nativity, even "Betty" was rolling in laughter.

However, just as I was beginning to congratulate myself, Ivan noticed the other cookie. With Ivan's physique, a cookie tied to the base of his tail, though it appears to be tantalizingly close and within easy reach, might as well be in another dimension.

He broke off his assault of Santa and began chasing his own hindquarters. In ever-tightening circles, Ivan went round and round. This allowed the Fat One to drop the presents and escape without further injury. I was about to pursue him, but the commotion had awakened the two leggers and I was forced to assume my "innocent widdle kitty cat" position.

The two leggers, seeing the aftermath and used to Ivan's strange ways, assumed that Ivan had somehow gotten himself tangled in dental floss and cookies (again) and didn't even give me a second glance.

So in spite of my best efforts, Santa still lives. Oh well, there's always next year.

Next year, Santa......Next year.

I would like to extend a very merry Christmas to all of my friends, minions and followers from me and my entire Kingdom. I hope that everyone has a wonderful holiday and a blessed New Year.

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

The Flying Kiwi

This week has been quite eventful.

I am being visited by one of my favorite minions. She has traveled from far away to offer her praise and adoration.

Though her name is Kirsha, she has asked me for the sake of anonymity to change her name in regards to this post. I shall honor her wishes and simply refer to her as "Kersha".

Kersha has journeyed from a distant land called "New Zealand". To be honest, I am not quite sure exactly where New Zealand is located, but judging from her accent, I suspect that it is somewhere between New Jersey and East Madagascar.

From what she has told my two leggers, New Zealand is a wonderful place, which unlike Old Zealand is full of strange, mythical beasties, flightless bird thingies (Ivan's dream), and populated by strong-willed, resilient two leggers who have survived war, political upheaval, earthquakes and hobbits.

In fact, their national motto pretty much says it all. One cannot help but be moved when they all stand and shout: "OY! WE ARE NOT AUSTRALIA!!!!!"

Kersha's visit has been a very welcome change to my Kingdom's usual routine. Since her arrival, she has continuously showered me with great amounts of attention and worship. She has given me copious amounts of petting, stroking, bowing and other forms of worship. I must say that her presence amuses me. While she seems extremely cheerful for a two legger, I am willing to overlook this small character flaw owing to the fact that she is willing to turn on the firebox thingy whenever I request it.

That being said, I must point out that there is one other thing which does not amuse me. In fact, there have been a few times that I have almost become miffed. On occasion, she has trod dangerously close to making me peeved. She is walking the extremely fine line between Royal Amusement and Royal Displeasure...........

At times during her visit, Kersha seems to have forgotten that her visit is all about ME. I have often witnessed her paying attention to Jaq, Ivan, my two leggers and I suspect that she may even be petting Tiger Lily when my back is turned. This is intolerable. This cannot be condoned.

Perhaps, in her native land, this behavior is considered polite and respectful, but it simply will not fly here. I am beginning to think that I may need to teach her a lesson.

However, I am aware that she is a stranger in a strange land. For now I will give her some latitude. I shall bide my time. I will give her a chance to mend her ways and recognize her transgressions.

That being said, my patience is neither infinite nor unbreakable.

For now I shall wait and observe.

After all, I have been working on a good hairball and I know where her suitcase is............

Thursday, August 4, 2016

Wired Up

I have not been posting as often as I would like of late. Things in my Inner Kingdom have been a bit unsettled. However, I assure you that chaos and mayhem continue to reign.

Friends of my two leggers and members of my FussBook Fan Club are aware that my two leggers have been dealing with some health issues that have kept them too busy to attend the blog thingy as much as they should.

That being said, I have found that their misfortune has led to some excellent opportunities for me and my fellow felines.

Many of you may think that if they are suffering, or in any kind of distress, I should be sympathetic and perhaps "give them a break" (not lamps or wineglasses) or try to be a "good kitty".

Any of you who truly believe that I would be sympathetic and "give them a break" (not lamps or wineglasses) or attempt to be a "good kitty" are hereby ordered to study the first 384 posts of this blog until you attain a better understanding of just who you are dealing with. There will be a test later...

Their troubles began back in May.

The female, who had been feeling rather poorly, suddenly started getting "whoozy" and occasionally passing out. At first, I was not particularly concerned because the month of May coincides with the beginning of Sunbeam Season which can often cause me to grow "whoozy" and pass out in the bay window. I just assumed that she had at last fallen victim to the Supreme Power of The Sunbeam (SPoTS) and simply succumbed to the inevitable. In fact, she often stated just before passing out that she was indeed seeing SPoTS.

Well apparently, this is not considered "normal" among the two legged breed and the male insisted that she see her veterinarian.

Her vet ordered a series of unpleasant pokings and even required her to wear a bunch of wires attached to her body for an extended period of time. While these wires made her uncomfortable, Ivan and I had many hours of enjoyment playing with them while she attempted to sleep. Swatting and pulling on them was most amusing, We quickly discovered that the female is capable of many amazing and unexpected vocalizations when she is awakened in the middle of the night by having two cats wrestling wires on her chest.

******IMPORTANT SAFETY TIP*******  
 Never BITE any wires. 
One would think that Ivan would have learned this lesson after the Fried Feline Incident of 2014, but Ivan is proud of the fact that he never learns lessons.

So anyway, after much scientific stuff and testing, it was determined that the female had something wrong with her heart thingy and required something called a "pulsemaker'.  The pulsemaker is a tiny machine thingy that her vet hooked up to her heart to make it beat properly (it seems that he decided to implant it internally so that Ivan and I would be unable to play with the wires).

The day that she came home from the hospital, the male installed a unit next to their bed. It is hooked up to the phone and apparently it communicates (wirelessly, dammit) daily with her pulsemaker. Via this device, the vet can see what the pulsemaker is doing and adjust it accordingly, all without her having to return to his office.

It even has a "battery" which powers it. This is not to be confused with a "baddery" which according to my two leggers is the power source for all cats. Every time they find me taking a nap, they insist that I am simply "re-charging my badderies".

So the female came home and was recuperating from her surgery. She seemed to be feeling better and all should have been rainbows and unicorns. However, I don't care for rainbows and unicorns are a bit too smurfish for my taste, so I felt that a bit of mischief was required.

Throughout the process, I had vainly attempted to explain the whole pulsemaker thingy to Ivan. Ivan, in his normal thick-skulled fashion, was unable to comprehend any words that exceeded 1.75 syllables. However, he is quite fond of the female and continued to press me for details. So I finally dumbed-down the explanation to this: The female's heart thingy needs help, so her vet put in a remote control thingy.

Sure, I could have left it at that, but that is not my way........

I've assigned Ivan the duty of "turning on" the female's pulsemaker.

Every morning.........

At 5:47 AM..........

By smacking to the floor, every single remote control (eight in all) in our house.......

As loudly as possible.

Ivan truly believes that it works because every morning, just as the last remote control strikes the floor, the female comes flying out the bedroom with an amazing amount of enthusiasm and energy.

Her screams of gratitude truly warm Ivan's little heart.

Thursday, July 14, 2016

Poofed About Pokemon

My last post was part one of two of "The Lumber Joke". I had every intention of writing the conclusion today. However, something else has caught my attention and I decided to discuss that instead. Rest assured, I shall conclude "The Lumber Joke" soon.

Being a cat, I am sometimes easily distracted. An errant moth, a wild dust bunny incautiously playing in the breeze or a careless eight legger skittering across the floor can instantly distract me from my current activity and send me into a ferociously frisky feeding frenzy that will captivate my entire attention for seconds at a time.

Two legger behavior can also distract and amuse me, and recently more than ever.............

Two leggers are very susceptible to crazes or fads. Being herd animals, if one two legger engages in an activity, suddenly the entire population must brainlessly engage in the same activity. Never has this been more evident than in the latest mania to sweep two legged society. I speak of course, of  "Pokemon Go".

Where do I start?

First of all, let us examine exactly what "Pokemon Go" consists of. 

Basically, using "cutting-edge" technology, two leggers are rushing around, willy-nilly, chasing things that only they can see.

News Flash: We feline types have been doing that for gazillions of years! But when we run around chasing invisible beings, we are chastised and called names like "Spazz, Goofball, Weirdo" and many other unflattering monikers. The difference between us and the two leggers is that our seemingly insane fits of activity have a real and necessary purpose that benefits both four leggers and two leggers alike......

We are chasing ghost thingies.

All felines are equipped with a small gland inside their brain thingies (in Ivan's case, VERY small) called the Pewtewitary Glandulus. The Pewtewitary Glandulus secretes the furrymone Omigodigottakillit  that triggers a very special self-defense reflex known as the "Poltergeist Early Warning System (PEWS). When our PEWS is triggered, we are compelled to jump up suddenly and eradicate any and all poltergeists that may be lurking, skulking or performing other nefarious poltergeisty activities.

 By eliminating these spooks, we save everyone from their evil doings. 

If we destroy any knock knacks in the process, that is just a bonus.

This Pokemon thing however, is a mouse of a different color.

For years, two leggers have complained that due to the access to technology, they have all become hermits who sit in their houses or offices with their noses buried in their phones or computer typey thingies. They complain that the younger generation is not getting enough exercise and has become anti-social. They have lost their imagination.

So someone said "There's an app for that!" And they invented a new game designed to get two legger younglings out walking around.

It worked...........kinda.

Now every two legger is out, roaming aimlessly around, single-mindedly searching for imaginary critters with cutsie names like "Pikachu, Jiggly-Poof and Pidgie". They predict that soon, everyone will be fit as a fiddle thingy again.

They will still be mindless, non-sociable mush-brains, but at least they will be healthy, mindless non-sociable mush-brains.

At least those who don't wander onto train tracks, into traffic or attempt to drive while looking at their phone thingies.

Meanwhile, me, Pikachew (Ivan), Giggly-Poofed (Jaq) and Pudgie (Tiger Lily) will continue using our PEWS to keep the rest of you safe from ghost thingies.

Monday, May 30, 2016

Lumber Joke

MWHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!

I am amused!

I am amused like I have never been amused before!

If it were not beneath my personal sense of decorum, I would be dancing down the hallway, fluffy-tailed with giddiness!

You may be justifiably curious as to what could possibly cause such an undignified reaction in one as dignified and stately as myself.

Incredibly, it is the two leggers who have made this sense of happiness possible.

This morning, I noticed that the two leggers were walking around my front yard. They were looking up, pointing to different spots in the trees and seemed to be in deep discussion. Knowing their sympathies towards all things small and furry, I naturally assumed they were considering new ways to attract animals to my Outer Kingdom. Perhaps they were planning on hanging a little hammock for the squirrel thingy to lounge on during the warmer Summer afternoons. Maybe they were thinking of erecting a small discotheque for the squirrel thingy to entertain his mangy little friends. Possibly, they were considering building tiny condos and starting a squirrel commune.

Nothing they do surprises me anymore.

In this case however, I was greatly mistaken.

Around three O'clock this afternoon, a large, black truck of the "pick-up" variety drove up and the most massive two legger I have ever seen climbed out. If a clean-shaven Bigfoot was inducted into the Witness Protection Program, taught to drive a pickup truck and made to wear a flannel shirt, jeans and a ball cap, it would look something like this two legger.

Rather than hiding all the food and cowering under the bed in fear, my male two legger greeted him with a pawshake and a smile. They then proceeded to wander around the front yard in animated conversation. The semi-civilized sasquatch was writing something on a large clipboard while my male two legger continued to point and gesture at the tree tops. After about 20 minutes of this curious activity, they once again shook paws and Tyrannosaurus Two Legger climbed back into his truck thingy and left.

The male came back into the house and informed the female that the "plan was a go".

What was this "plan"?

More importantly, how could I thwart it?

As a cat, I consider it my sworn and natural duty to thwart any and all plans that the two leggers may make. After all, goals are made to be broken and breaking things is what I do.

But before I could interfere, I had to discover what they were trying to achieve. This was easily accomplished. Before he left, the humongous hominid had given the male a sheet of paper. Upon examination, this paper turned out to be a diagram of my front yard, showing all the tree thingies contained therein. Two of the tree thingies had large, red circles drawn around them. Next to the red circles were the words "Recommended removal and disposal". These two trees happen to be the very same trees in which the squirrel makes his home!

Fairly jumping for joy, a single thought kept repeating itself in my head thingy.......

Hairless Sasquatch is a lumberjack and he hates squirrels!

For once, the two legger's plans coincide with mine.

Next week, the squirrel thingy will be gone at last. I have already taken the liberty of typing up his eviction notice.

Yes, seven short days and my nemesis will be gone. No more fluffy-tailed freak prancing around my Outer Kingdom. I will no longer have to sit idly in my bay window while the tree rat dances around my yard with impunity. His reign of irrational cheerfulness is at an end! Soon my yard will be vermin-free and I shall enjoy a Summer of uninterrupted, non-squirrel-filled bliss.

Until then, I shall sit in my bay window with a grin on my face, making chopping gestures with my paw every time the squirrel looks at me.

TO BE CONTINUED.............

Sunday, May 22, 2016

Food Fright

I am annoyed.

Annoyed and irritated.

Annoyed, irritated and not amused.

I may even be miffed.

In the past, I would usually remedy this by slapping Tiger Lily around, bushwacking Jaq, or posing a philosophical question to Ivan just to watch his eyes cross and smoke come out of his ears. However, according to my vet thingy, I am supposed to be "taking it easy", "relaxing" and engaging in other non-violent stress reducing activities.

I suspect my vet thingy may be a Hippie.

The cause of my annoyance is the fact that the two leggers have changed their diet. They have started eating much healthier. Less meat, more nasty, green, earthy smelling leafy stuff. Lettuce, carrots, spinach, mushrooms, leaves, pine needles, beans, fruit, vegetables and other low-fat, low-calorie unmunchables. Things that not even an over-caffienated bunny who spends all his free time reading New Age, plant munching, gotta-get-healthy-in-under 60 days type books would consider edible.

Now you may assume that there is no way that a change in my two legger's diet should affect me, but your assumption would be wrong.

You see, after I developed my kidney issues, I was placed on a special diet myself. It consists of something called "KD Prescription Food". While I am unsure what the "KD" stands for (I suspect that it stands for "Kind of a Drag"), I know that "Prescription" means medicine and as for the "Food" part, well, I don't understand how anyone can call this stuff "food" while maintaining a straight face. It has the consistency of a re-recycled hairball and the taste of a dust bunny that is four years past its prime.

Ivan thinks it's delicious.

Ivan thinks that anything that he can fit in his mouth is delicious.

But I digress.

The only thing that made my diet bearable was the fact that I could always count on the two leggers to leave some scrumptious morsel laying about after their meals. Oh sure, they always tried to clean and put everything away after eating, but invariably, something would be missed and I could always count on a bit of a dietary supplement after they had retired for the evening. The male especially could always be relied upon to forget a dirty plate on the counter, or to drop a small morsel of his meal on the floor...... or on his shirt........or next to his chair......possibly smeared on the table......maybe drizzled across his pants......and always scattered throughout his mustache where I can count on obtaining a treat by grooming his face while he sleeps. I once discovered a partially consumed bratwurst complete with mustard, onions and sauerkraut just above his right upper lip (that was a good day).

My point is that with their new eating (grazing may be a better word) habits, the pickings have been slim.

The situation has become untenable. I must find a way to supplement my diet.

Don't get me wrong, it is not that I am being starved. Quite the opposite, I assure you. In fact, it is most annoying the way that they are constantly encouraging me to eat. Every time I turn around, they are pushing a bowl of the KD Prescription Food in front of me. If I should deign to take a couple of bites, they coo in joy and tell me how proud they are of me.

No, the issue is the quality, not the quantity.

I am a cat. I am the apex predator of my Kingdom. I am the very embodiment of 36.8 quatrillion years of evolutionary fine tuning. I am descended from saber-toothed tigers, from lions, from cougars and the like. My ancestors feasted upon mammoths, bison, primeval two leggers and the prehistoric predecessors of Twinkies. They thrived on hunting, stalking and batting around lower lifeforms. They did not eat vegetables and salads. They ate the eaters of vegetables and salads.

After much consideration, I have reached a solution.

My two leggers have been adequate in their servitude. They have maintained my Kingdom with conscientious diligence. They have provided for most of my needs and though they can be annoying at times, they can also provide amusement when I am bored.

So it is with slight trepidation that I have made my decision......

I must eat my two leggers.

I informed my fellow felines of my plan and was met with mixed reactions. Tiger Lily was for eating the male, but did not wish to lose the advocacy of the female (the female is the only one in my Kingdom that defends her). Jaq was initially totally against the plan, but after being promised first pick of the female's shoes, she conceded. Ivan's response was "Bout darn time".

Alas, it was not to be. Just as we were about to make our move, the male read my notes for this blog post.

Apparently, he no longer trusts me and is keeping the bedroom door locked at night.

Oh well, all is not lost. Rumor has it that we are expecting house guests this Summer............ 

Thursday, March 24, 2016

A Confusin Transfusion

As most of you who follow me on FaceBook, or are members of my Fan Club already know, I had another medical crisis last week. Once again, Death opened its door and invited me in. Being a cat, I wandered back and forth through the threshold for a while, rubbing my tail teasingly against the door jamb, until Death got fed up and slammed the door.

Someday, I know that he will be quick enough to catch me, but not today.

The crisis began Tuesday night when the two leggers realized that I had been acting out of character. Namely, no lamps had been broken, no blood shed, and most significantly.....the atmosphere in my Kingdom had been peaceful and serene for several days.

Like a character in one of those old war movies just before the enemy strikes, the male two legger turned to the female and said "It's quiet in here......too quiet".

 Wednesday morning, they placed me in the Safety Container of Royal Conveyance (SCORC) and took me to see Doc Brazle in The Land of Unpleasant Pokings. When Doc Brazle saw that my two leggers had made the journey with me from my Kingdom totally unscathed, she knew immediately that something was amiss. When she was able to draw my blood without losing any of hers, she knew that I was in bad shape.

Doc Brazle and the excellent staff at Best Friends Veterinary Clinic did an excellent job of getting me stabilized, but the following day the decision was made to transfer me to more specialized care in Seattle. The male two legger loaded me back in the SCORC and we began the three hour journey to Seattle Veterinary Specialists.

It was during this journey that I experienced my first boat ride. I have often heard and read about sea voyages, fraught with peril and adventure, swashbuckling antics on the briny ocean, I waited eagerly for the maritime mayhem that would ensue.

I must say that the reality was somewhat disappointing. During the entire 20 minute ferry ride, I saw not one cannon fired in anger, no sharks, no white whale, they didn't even make anyone walk the plank. There was a two legger with an eye patch, peg leg and a hook, but she was just the snack bar cashier.

As a matter of mutiny prevention, I was not allowed out of my SCORC for the entire passage. A fact that I protested vociferously.

Upon arrival at the specialized Land of Unpleasant Pokings, I was once again poked unpleasantly (but in a very specialized way). It was determined that I was lacking of blood and in need of something called a "transfusion". A transfusion is the process where they pump new blood into one's body via yet another unpleasant poking.

I understand the theory, but I question the method of delivery. First, they poke you unpleasantly until they find a vein thingy. Then they hook up a tube that comes from a machine and with much whirring and beeping, the fresh blood is slowly pumped in until you are full again. Terribly complicated, expensive and it takes hours to complete.

My method would greatly reduce time, and expense and would entirely do away with the unpleasant poking aspect. All it would require is a unit of fresh blood, one package of catnip and two squirrel thingies.

The patient would be given the catnip to stimulate appetite and general friskiness while one of the squirrel thingies would be filled with the fresh blood. Once all is prepared, the blood-filled squirrel thingy would be released into the SCORC with the ailing, but acutely frisky cat. After much batting, slapping and biting, the fresh blood would naturally be orally transferred to the patient thus turning a normally painful and dreadful process into an enjoyable experience for all (except the squirrel).

The second squirrel would be used as a snack in the recovery room.

In spite of my ingenious recommendation, the vet thingy chose to use the old barbaric method of transfusion.

Well, in spite of all the unpleasant pokings and so on, I have recovered and have returned to my Kingdom where once again I have regained my throne.

For now, my reign continues.

I would like to thank all of my minions for all of the love, support and prayers that you offered to me and my two leggers during this incredibly difficult week. Your kind words and thoughts sustained us even during the darkest of hours when all was thought lost.

I am truly grateful for you all.