My male two legger has undergone a transformation.
A transformation of both mind and body.
I am very amused.
It began Tuesday.
Tuesday began much like any other day in my world. The two leggers woke up, fed Ivan and Tiger Lily, and gave me my morning worship. They then showered, drank coffee, and left to go wherever it is they go on Tuesday.
The first sign that anything was amiss came that evening when they arrived home. The male was even paler than his normal coloration. When he spoke, it sounded like a cross between a duck and a lawnmower.
But most disturbing thing of all was the substance that oozed from his face. It appeared to be the same substance that snail thingies leave in their wake when they cross my deck. After much pondering, I came to the conclusion that he had spent the day shoving snails up his nose and was now paying the price for such an ill considered decision.
After watching him for the remainder of the evening, I decided that my first hypothesis was incorrect. Given his somewhat limited cranial capacity, there is no possible way that he could have fit that many snails into such a small space.
Further investigation was warranted. I stole one of the tissue thingies that he used in his attempts to stop the flow of the substance in question. It was damp, a bit slimy, and according to Ivan (my official taste tester) it tasted like chicken. I decided to call it "s'not". Owing to the fact that it's not liquid, and it's not solid either. Hence: "s'not".
Now, being a fan of gravity, (gravity is utilized by all felines world wide as part of our chaos inducing repertoire) I understand that the S'not could only be coming from the upper six inches of the two leggers head. His eyes did not show signs of deflation, so the only conclusion to be drawn is that the S'not is actually brain matter.
This makes sense. Since he started leaking, his thought processes have slowed. He seems very lethargic. He is almost unresponsive at times. Ivan enjoys this. He has a lap to inhabit all day and the two legger keeps forgetting that he's already been fed.
The only thing that puzzles me is the amount that is leaking. I would never have dreamed that he had that much to leak. I only hope it ceases before he lapses into a permanent vegetative state. If he should become comatose, I fear that he will no longer be to able clean the royal litter.
Tonight, while all is quiet, I will hold his nose open while Ivan stuffs the tissue thingies back up into his head.
We can save him.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Invasion of the Couch Snatchers
I have received several e-mails in the last few days asking why I haven't posted this week. As usual, I am not to blame. My precious computer time has been somewhat limited of late. Why? Simple. My house was invaded.
No, it was not invaded by vicious mutant bunnies like one finds on the talking box thingy. (Those really creep me out)
It was invaded by one of the female offspring of the resident two leggers and her mate.
At first, I was not amused.
They arrived last week, entering my abode in the middle of my early-mid afternoon nap. They came bearing luggage, not food. Their luggage smelled of other felines which I found interesting, but annoying. I immediately decided that the bags now belonged to me and set forth in an effort to eradicate the offending scents.
I will now describe the invaders. The female offspring is called "Erica". She has the same coloring as her mother, but tends to display her teeth more often than is generally acceptable. (Though not in a hostile manner). I have noticed that in two legger culture this dental display is a sign of contentment or even "happiness". Truly annoying. Her mate "Kelly", embodies a trait that I find pleasing in a two legger: He rarely speaks at all. Though he appears "happy" as well, this quietude makes up for this "happiness".
I was to learn later that this "happiness" stemmed from the fact that on Christmas Day, they became "engaged". Apparently, when two leggers find someone that they are compatible with, they decide to commit themselves to one mate for the rest of their lives. This in turn makes them and all their two legged family members "happy".
I don't get it either.
Now, I have known Erica since I was a kitten and have always considered her to be a sort of long distance minion. Or perhaps a minion by birth. I'm not sure which is more applicable, but suffice it to say she is a minion. She comes to my home once or twice a year presumably to see me, and possibly visit my two leggers while she is here. Her adoration of me is acceptable if somewhat unpracticed.
Her new-found mate I have only met once before. He seems to have some dog loving traits, but I believe that given time, this can be corrected. As he entered my house, I inspected him and after some preemptive petting and scratching behind my ears, he settled onto my couch and provided a lap. I found this courteous and accepted his offering.
I decided that he had reached the level of Probationary Minion.
Ivan and Tiger Lily showed less discretion and accepted him instantly.
The only friction between us and the two leggers came when Erica realized that Ivan would nap on every two legger lap, save hers. There is a simple explanation for this. Erica's lap contains no padding. Ivan needs padding. A simple pillow would have solved this misunderstanding.
Well, Erica and Kelly left today to return to someplace the two leggers call the "air force". This confuses me because the only "air force" that I am aware of originates below Ivan's tail. This bears pondering.
Finally, I would just like to take a moment and express my appreciation to a very special minion by the name of Kelly Yorek. Kelly, (no relation to the offspring's mate) sent me a special Christmas catnip mousie thingy, among other offerings. It is greatly appreciated and has elevated her above all the minions who sent nothing.
No, it was not invaded by vicious mutant bunnies like one finds on the talking box thingy. (Those really creep me out)
It was invaded by one of the female offspring of the resident two leggers and her mate.
At first, I was not amused.
They arrived last week, entering my abode in the middle of my early-mid afternoon nap. They came bearing luggage, not food. Their luggage smelled of other felines which I found interesting, but annoying. I immediately decided that the bags now belonged to me and set forth in an effort to eradicate the offending scents.
I will now describe the invaders. The female offspring is called "Erica". She has the same coloring as her mother, but tends to display her teeth more often than is generally acceptable. (Though not in a hostile manner). I have noticed that in two legger culture this dental display is a sign of contentment or even "happiness". Truly annoying. Her mate "Kelly", embodies a trait that I find pleasing in a two legger: He rarely speaks at all. Though he appears "happy" as well, this quietude makes up for this "happiness".
I was to learn later that this "happiness" stemmed from the fact that on Christmas Day, they became "engaged". Apparently, when two leggers find someone that they are compatible with, they decide to commit themselves to one mate for the rest of their lives. This in turn makes them and all their two legged family members "happy".
I don't get it either.
Now, I have known Erica since I was a kitten and have always considered her to be a sort of long distance minion. Or perhaps a minion by birth. I'm not sure which is more applicable, but suffice it to say she is a minion. She comes to my home once or twice a year presumably to see me, and possibly visit my two leggers while she is here. Her adoration of me is acceptable if somewhat unpracticed.
Her new-found mate I have only met once before. He seems to have some dog loving traits, but I believe that given time, this can be corrected. As he entered my house, I inspected him and after some preemptive petting and scratching behind my ears, he settled onto my couch and provided a lap. I found this courteous and accepted his offering.
I decided that he had reached the level of Probationary Minion.
Ivan and Tiger Lily showed less discretion and accepted him instantly.
The only friction between us and the two leggers came when Erica realized that Ivan would nap on every two legger lap, save hers. There is a simple explanation for this. Erica's lap contains no padding. Ivan needs padding. A simple pillow would have solved this misunderstanding.
Well, Erica and Kelly left today to return to someplace the two leggers call the "air force". This confuses me because the only "air force" that I am aware of originates below Ivan's tail. This bears pondering.
Finally, I would just like to take a moment and express my appreciation to a very special minion by the name of Kelly Yorek. Kelly, (no relation to the offspring's mate) sent me a special Christmas catnip mousie thingy, among other offerings. It is greatly appreciated and has elevated her above all the minions who sent nothing.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Christmas Greetings
Twas the day of Christmas,
And all through my spaces,
The two leggers were laughing,
And stuffing their faces.
They all seem so happy,
So sated with bliss.
Something is wrong,
Something's amiss.
We've been working so hard,
Ivan and I,
To Cause chaos and mayhem,
And make two leggers cry.
It just isn't right,
It doesn't seem fair.
Instead of angst and strife,
There's joy in the air.
We've shredded the tree.
We've broken the lights.
Even the shepherds know,
The pain of our bites.
But early this morning,
As I lay gently sleeping,
That fat two legger in red,
Into my house came creeping.
At the exact same moment,
We spotted each other.
I saw him go pale,
he started to shudder.
"Oh no, not you!"
He screamed out in fright,
This had just become,
The last stop of the night.
He threw his bag at the tree,
He dived for his sleigh.
Ivan was too slow,
The bozo got away.
"See you next year!",
I yelled to the night.
But the only response I heard,
Was a shaky "Yeah, right."
And so the two leggers,
Have had their holiday.
While Ivan and I sulk,
And put hairballs in their way.
But we'll get over it,
You need never fear.
We've caused a lot of damage,
Plus. there's always next year.
To all my friends and followers, I wish you an interesting and chaotic Christmas. I earnestly hope for your health and opportunities for mayhem in the coming New Year.
And all through my spaces,
The two leggers were laughing,
And stuffing their faces.
They all seem so happy,
So sated with bliss.
Something is wrong,
Something's amiss.
We've been working so hard,
Ivan and I,
To Cause chaos and mayhem,
And make two leggers cry.
It just isn't right,
It doesn't seem fair.
Instead of angst and strife,
There's joy in the air.
We've shredded the tree.
We've broken the lights.
Even the shepherds know,
The pain of our bites.
But early this morning,
As I lay gently sleeping,
That fat two legger in red,
Into my house came creeping.
At the exact same moment,
We spotted each other.
I saw him go pale,
he started to shudder.
"Oh no, not you!"
He screamed out in fright,
This had just become,
The last stop of the night.
He threw his bag at the tree,
He dived for his sleigh.
Ivan was too slow,
The bozo got away.
"See you next year!",
I yelled to the night.
But the only response I heard,
Was a shaky "Yeah, right."
And so the two leggers,
Have had their holiday.
While Ivan and I sulk,
And put hairballs in their way.
But we'll get over it,
You need never fear.
We've caused a lot of damage,
Plus. there's always next year.
To all my friends and followers, I wish you an interesting and chaotic Christmas. I earnestly hope for your health and opportunities for mayhem in the coming New Year.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Christmas Un-decoration
Twas three days till Christmas,
And all round the tree,
Something was lurking.
That something was me.
The presents were shredded,
Torn up with great care.
The stockings were torn,
And covered with hair.
Ornaments were shattered,
Shards on the floor,
The star at the top,
Will twinkle no more.
The light thingies were pretty,
Until they were snagged.
And then down the hallway,
They were tastefully dragged.
The angel stood gracefully.
Appearing to sing,
Until Ivan smacked her,
And tore off a wing.
Then to the Wisemen,
Standing next to the manger,
The camels and sheep,
Were subject to danger.
The mini Santa and presents.
Lay ruined in heaps,
Then we munched Rudolph,
And a few of his "peeps".
Now is the time,
To await with great glee,
The two legger's reaction,
To the demise of their tree.
And all round the tree,
Something was lurking.
That something was me.
The presents were shredded,
Torn up with great care.
The stockings were torn,
And covered with hair.
Ornaments were shattered,
Shards on the floor,
The star at the top,
Will twinkle no more.
The light thingies were pretty,
Until they were snagged.
And then down the hallway,
They were tastefully dragged.
The angel stood gracefully.
Appearing to sing,
Until Ivan smacked her,
And tore off a wing.
Then to the Wisemen,
Standing next to the manger,
The camels and sheep,
Were subject to danger.
The mini Santa and presents.
Lay ruined in heaps,
Then we munched Rudolph,
And a few of his "peeps".
Now is the time,
To await with great glee,
The two legger's reaction,
To the demise of their tree.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Vive La Revolution!!
I spent most of my day doing one of my favorite activities, pondering.
After reading the so many kind comments from both my new and old followers, it occurred to me that we four legged feline types have an opportunity here.
The two leggers have once again underestimated us. They do this often, but this time they have done so at their peril. Allow me to elaborate:
In an act of extreme arrogance, one day a two legger thought to himself "I think I will let my cat create a blog thingy. That way I will discover what he thinks and also what he does when I am not watching. I will discover new things about him and come to a better understanding of what compels his behavior. Perhaps it will even bring us closer together emotionally."
Other two leggers read the blog thingy that this idiot's cat created and thought to themselves "How cute, his cat has a blog thingy and now I understand his cat so much better." They then took this thought one step further and decided that their four leggers should have their own blog thingies. Soon all computer machines everywhere were imbued with the thoughts and motivations of four leggers.
Now the doggy bloggies are amusing, but harmless. They worship their two leggers to the point of inducing nausea. If an actual thought enters their head, it usually involves a bodily function.
Us felines though, we are a different story all together.
It occurred to me today during my pondering that the two leggers have given us the power to communicate with each other over vast distances and coordinate an instant revolution.
You read correctly, I said REVOLUTION.
Think about it, we are in at least 90 percent of households worldwide. 95 percent of those homes have internet access. That means that 185 percent of us communicate on a daily basis.
It is time that we rise up! No longer will we kill mouse thingies only to have a two legger take it away and throw it in the trash just when we were about to hide it in their bed. No more will we be chased through our house by a two legger armed with a water squirty thingy simply because we disagreed with their taste in knick-knacks. No longer will we be chastised for smacking the whine out of a whiny gray tabby. No more will we be forced to wear humiliating fake antlers and Santa hats for holiday pictures.
At my signal, we will sneak into their bedrooms while they sleep and take the steps to ensure that we live as we were meant to once again!
We will sleep outdoors! We will find our own food...... we will clean our own litter....we will drink dirty creek water........we will.....well......
Nevermind.
After reading the so many kind comments from both my new and old followers, it occurred to me that we four legged feline types have an opportunity here.
The two leggers have once again underestimated us. They do this often, but this time they have done so at their peril. Allow me to elaborate:
In an act of extreme arrogance, one day a two legger thought to himself "I think I will let my cat create a blog thingy. That way I will discover what he thinks and also what he does when I am not watching. I will discover new things about him and come to a better understanding of what compels his behavior. Perhaps it will even bring us closer together emotionally."
Other two leggers read the blog thingy that this idiot's cat created and thought to themselves "How cute, his cat has a blog thingy and now I understand his cat so much better." They then took this thought one step further and decided that their four leggers should have their own blog thingies. Soon all computer machines everywhere were imbued with the thoughts and motivations of four leggers.
Now the doggy bloggies are amusing, but harmless. They worship their two leggers to the point of inducing nausea. If an actual thought enters their head, it usually involves a bodily function.
Us felines though, we are a different story all together.
It occurred to me today during my pondering that the two leggers have given us the power to communicate with each other over vast distances and coordinate an instant revolution.
You read correctly, I said REVOLUTION.
Think about it, we are in at least 90 percent of households worldwide. 95 percent of those homes have internet access. That means that 185 percent of us communicate on a daily basis.
It is time that we rise up! No longer will we kill mouse thingies only to have a two legger take it away and throw it in the trash just when we were about to hide it in their bed. No more will we be chased through our house by a two legger armed with a water squirty thingy simply because we disagreed with their taste in knick-knacks. No longer will we be chastised for smacking the whine out of a whiny gray tabby. No more will we be forced to wear humiliating fake antlers and Santa hats for holiday pictures.
At my signal, we will sneak into their bedrooms while they sleep and take the steps to ensure that we live as we were meant to once again!
We will sleep outdoors! We will find our own food...... we will clean our own litter....we will drink dirty creek water........we will.....well......
Nevermind.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
The Origin of The Cujo Dynasty
Lately, my two leggers have become somewhat nostalgic, telling stories about how they came to be graced with my presence. As usual, their stories have inaccuracies that portray the two leggers in a better light than they deserve.
If one was to hear the story of my "adoption" as they relay it, you would be led to believe that they rescued me from a dank, dark dungeon full of flea bitten prisoners with no chance of liberty. They found me, half starved, living off my own fur balls, sleeping on the cold, hard floor without even the bare comfort of a catnip mousie thingy.
Drivel.
I was born, the oldest kitten of eight, to an unwed female who lived with a single female two legger who spent a lot of time away from home. My mother was allowed to roam the neighborhood often, thus resulting in a midnight rendezvous that led to my glorious conception. Unable to support so many new dependants, I and my siblings were taken to the Vet's office where we were informed that we would be soon assigned new two leggers.
Subjected to a week long indoctrination process that involved a bath, several injections and humiliating examinations, we were instructed in how to behave in order to increase our chances of reassignment. Our instructor was an old tomcat that resided within the Vet's office, named Reggie.
My first question was why, if Reggie was so good at this, hadn't he been reassigned?
But I digress.
During the indoctrination process, I decided that I would inflict more pain on the Vet and her assistants than they inflicted on me. In this endeavor, I was remarkably successful. I was placed in a large cage with fourteen other kittens to wait for my new two leggers. The other kittens were instructed to act "cute and adorable". Having known me for a week, Reggie simply asked me to refrain from bloodshed. I assured him I would try.
After spending several days watching two leggers come to the cage and select one kitten after another, I saw my opportunity. A male two legger approached the cage. I knew immediately that this was a two legger that could be easily tamed. He was tall, fairly thin with graying fur. Other than a clueless look in his eyes, what stood out most was the strange growth of fur between his upper lip and nose. It looked like he tried to swallow a squirrel, but couldn't quite finish the job.
I immediately climbed to the top of the cage and stuck my paw through the wire successfully managing to sink a claw into his leg in order to gain his attention. I informed him that he was to look no further, his master was at hand. I ordered him to sign the paperwork and get me outta there.
He of course complied.
He brought me into my new house in the "kitty carrier" thingy. Upon placing me on the floor, he opened the door on the kitty carrier and I entered my kingdom.
The first thing I beheld was a large, obviously mentally challenged orange tabby. Ivan at that time was approximately three times my size (I was only 12 weeks old) and twenty times my weight. I instantly decided that he would be my chief minion and so I poofed and promptly smacked him. Ivan fled down the hallway like a furry orange bowling ball, presumably to assure that the rest of my house would be properly prepared for me. My new house was full of toys and breakable stuff. After making a full examination, I informed the two legger that my new abode was acceptable.
About an hour later, the mate of the the male two legger arrived. The male tried to warn her that the house had changed ownership, but she told him that he was exaggerating. She picked me up, cooing and stroking me in a very gentle manner. The male stood aghast as she petted the "sweet wittle putty cat". When he spoke of returning the "little hellbeast" to the place from whence it came, she told him that this was my home now.
Truer words never spoken.
If one was to hear the story of my "adoption" as they relay it, you would be led to believe that they rescued me from a dank, dark dungeon full of flea bitten prisoners with no chance of liberty. They found me, half starved, living off my own fur balls, sleeping on the cold, hard floor without even the bare comfort of a catnip mousie thingy.
Drivel.
I was born, the oldest kitten of eight, to an unwed female who lived with a single female two legger who spent a lot of time away from home. My mother was allowed to roam the neighborhood often, thus resulting in a midnight rendezvous that led to my glorious conception. Unable to support so many new dependants, I and my siblings were taken to the Vet's office where we were informed that we would be soon assigned new two leggers.
Subjected to a week long indoctrination process that involved a bath, several injections and humiliating examinations, we were instructed in how to behave in order to increase our chances of reassignment. Our instructor was an old tomcat that resided within the Vet's office, named Reggie.
My first question was why, if Reggie was so good at this, hadn't he been reassigned?
But I digress.
During the indoctrination process, I decided that I would inflict more pain on the Vet and her assistants than they inflicted on me. In this endeavor, I was remarkably successful. I was placed in a large cage with fourteen other kittens to wait for my new two leggers. The other kittens were instructed to act "cute and adorable". Having known me for a week, Reggie simply asked me to refrain from bloodshed. I assured him I would try.
After spending several days watching two leggers come to the cage and select one kitten after another, I saw my opportunity. A male two legger approached the cage. I knew immediately that this was a two legger that could be easily tamed. He was tall, fairly thin with graying fur. Other than a clueless look in his eyes, what stood out most was the strange growth of fur between his upper lip and nose. It looked like he tried to swallow a squirrel, but couldn't quite finish the job.
I immediately climbed to the top of the cage and stuck my paw through the wire successfully managing to sink a claw into his leg in order to gain his attention. I informed him that he was to look no further, his master was at hand. I ordered him to sign the paperwork and get me outta there.
He of course complied.
He brought me into my new house in the "kitty carrier" thingy. Upon placing me on the floor, he opened the door on the kitty carrier and I entered my kingdom.
The first thing I beheld was a large, obviously mentally challenged orange tabby. Ivan at that time was approximately three times my size (I was only 12 weeks old) and twenty times my weight. I instantly decided that he would be my chief minion and so I poofed and promptly smacked him. Ivan fled down the hallway like a furry orange bowling ball, presumably to assure that the rest of my house would be properly prepared for me. My new house was full of toys and breakable stuff. After making a full examination, I informed the two legger that my new abode was acceptable.
About an hour later, the mate of the the male two legger arrived. The male tried to warn her that the house had changed ownership, but she told him that he was exaggerating. She picked me up, cooing and stroking me in a very gentle manner. The male stood aghast as she petted the "sweet wittle putty cat". When he spoke of returning the "little hellbeast" to the place from whence it came, she told him that this was my home now.
Truer words never spoken.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
A Day At The Races
The two leggers screwed up today.
They screwed up big-time.
I'm talkin a big, big, big and furthermore big mistake.
I am not complaining, not at all. In fact, it made for an amazingly amusing day.
What could they possibly have done to warrant a post on my blog thingy?
They left a door open, and then left us alone with the open door for nine hours. But the door is not the star of this particular story. It is what lay behind the door that caused the chaos that ensued. They left the door to the cupboard open. Still unaware of the fortuitous nature of their stupidity? Allow me to elaborate:
The cupboard that lies behind this door is none other than the cupboard in which the two leggers store our entire hoard of both food and.......wait for it............CATNIP!
Okay, let us pause to consider a moment. We are left alone. We have a 30lb bag of food (conveniently left uncovered). We have a LARGE bag of catnip. And finally, we have a house chock full of breakable Christmas thingies strewn about the place. What could possibly go wrong?
Of course, the first thing we did was tear into the nip. There was enough for all of us, and even Tiger Lily stopped whining for a while. Then we satisfied our monstrous case of the munchies.
Now came the time to address the tree. In a very rare instance of tri-feline unity, we all agreed that the tree must be "defoliated". However, it must not be simply attacked, that would be crude and unsophisticated, beneath us. It must be dismantled with malice of forethought. We needed to invent a game in which the tree would become the unfortunate bystander that gets whacked by the flying tire at all NASCAR events.
Contemplating NASCAR, (for my international followers, NASCAR is a sport here in my country where two leggers drive their cars in circles for several hours while being cheered on by other two leggers who are required to be inebriated, wear hats, and live in trailers) I decided a racing game was in order.
At my signal, we ran through my house at top speed. This may sound boring, but given the fact that the floors in my house are made of hardwood and thereby provide little traction, much chaos ensued. Just like in NASCAR, the wrecks provided the most entertainment. Tiger Lily took out the nativity scene in the very first lap, proving that the angel wasn't the only one that could fly. Tiger Lily truly was the straw that broke the camels back.
I wiped out halfway through the third turn on the fifth lap. This sent me sprawling into the packages that had been placed under the tree. Not sure what's in those boxes, but I am fairly certain at least one of them will need some "re-assembly"
Ivan, possibly due to his stubby little legs, seemed to hold the track better than us. Though not as fast as Tiger Lily and I, he still managed a respectable speed in the straightaways. But on the final lap, Ivan the Lumberingjack lost control. Hitting a slick spot on the track, he flipped end over end and slammed into the trunk of the tree knocking it over and causing it to lean precariously against the wall. Sweet.
Deciding that there was no way we could top this epic exhibition of mindless destruction, I decided a nap was in order.
I awoke several hours later to the sound of the front door opening. I surveyed the room. Broken glass, shattered ornaments and plastic pine needles lay strewn about the living room. Remnants of food wrappings and an empty catnip bag littered the hallway. I was reminded of the talking box thingy when they show the tornado ravaged homes of NASCAR fans.
The gasps of delight that issued from the two leggers when they entered was priceless.
They screwed up big-time.
I'm talkin a big, big, big and furthermore big mistake.
I am not complaining, not at all. In fact, it made for an amazingly amusing day.
What could they possibly have done to warrant a post on my blog thingy?
They left a door open, and then left us alone with the open door for nine hours. But the door is not the star of this particular story. It is what lay behind the door that caused the chaos that ensued. They left the door to the cupboard open. Still unaware of the fortuitous nature of their stupidity? Allow me to elaborate:
The cupboard that lies behind this door is none other than the cupboard in which the two leggers store our entire hoard of both food and.......wait for it............CATNIP!
Okay, let us pause to consider a moment. We are left alone. We have a 30lb bag of food (conveniently left uncovered). We have a LARGE bag of catnip. And finally, we have a house chock full of breakable Christmas thingies strewn about the place. What could possibly go wrong?
Of course, the first thing we did was tear into the nip. There was enough for all of us, and even Tiger Lily stopped whining for a while. Then we satisfied our monstrous case of the munchies.
Now came the time to address the tree. In a very rare instance of tri-feline unity, we all agreed that the tree must be "defoliated". However, it must not be simply attacked, that would be crude and unsophisticated, beneath us. It must be dismantled with malice of forethought. We needed to invent a game in which the tree would become the unfortunate bystander that gets whacked by the flying tire at all NASCAR events.
Contemplating NASCAR, (for my international followers, NASCAR is a sport here in my country where two leggers drive their cars in circles for several hours while being cheered on by other two leggers who are required to be inebriated, wear hats, and live in trailers) I decided a racing game was in order.
At my signal, we ran through my house at top speed. This may sound boring, but given the fact that the floors in my house are made of hardwood and thereby provide little traction, much chaos ensued. Just like in NASCAR, the wrecks provided the most entertainment. Tiger Lily took out the nativity scene in the very first lap, proving that the angel wasn't the only one that could fly. Tiger Lily truly was the straw that broke the camels back.
I wiped out halfway through the third turn on the fifth lap. This sent me sprawling into the packages that had been placed under the tree. Not sure what's in those boxes, but I am fairly certain at least one of them will need some "re-assembly"
Ivan, possibly due to his stubby little legs, seemed to hold the track better than us. Though not as fast as Tiger Lily and I, he still managed a respectable speed in the straightaways. But on the final lap, Ivan the Lumberingjack lost control. Hitting a slick spot on the track, he flipped end over end and slammed into the trunk of the tree knocking it over and causing it to lean precariously against the wall. Sweet.
Deciding that there was no way we could top this epic exhibition of mindless destruction, I decided a nap was in order.
I awoke several hours later to the sound of the front door opening. I surveyed the room. Broken glass, shattered ornaments and plastic pine needles lay strewn about the living room. Remnants of food wrappings and an empty catnip bag littered the hallway. I was reminded of the talking box thingy when they show the tornado ravaged homes of NASCAR fans.
The gasps of delight that issued from the two leggers when they entered was priceless.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
A Christmas Tail
This is a little poem I wrote about what happened last Christmas.
Twas the night before Christmas,
And all through my house,
Came the thump, thump, thumping,
Of Ivan punching a mouse.
The two leggers were sleeping,
All snug in their beds.
Oblivious to the world,
They had taken their meds.
I lay on my throne,
And started to snooze.
I dreamed of smacking squirrels,
And barfing in shoes.
Suddenly something woke me,
A noise on the roof.
Yanking me from slumber
Causing me to poof.
Standing by the firebox,
What did I behold?
A big fat two legger,
Who looked rather old.
He was big, fat and bearded.
He was dressed all in red.
I ordered Mr. Ivan,
To bring me his head.
But, Ivan refused.
He wouldn't even budge.
Because Ivan suspected,
This guy carried fudge.
Ivan begged me to chill,
As I reached for a stick,
"This bozo is none other,
Than good ole St. Nick."
Ivan's determination,
Caused me to pause.
Could this obese vagrant,
Be Santa Claus?
He gives people presents,
He is a merry soul.
But all he ever brings for me,
Is a big old lump of coal.
And so I swore, then and there,
By my jingle balls.
Next time I see him,
I'm giving Santa claws.
Twas the night before Christmas,
And all through my house,
Came the thump, thump, thumping,
Of Ivan punching a mouse.
The two leggers were sleeping,
All snug in their beds.
Oblivious to the world,
They had taken their meds.
I lay on my throne,
And started to snooze.
I dreamed of smacking squirrels,
And barfing in shoes.
Suddenly something woke me,
A noise on the roof.
Yanking me from slumber
Causing me to poof.
Standing by the firebox,
What did I behold?
A big fat two legger,
Who looked rather old.
He was big, fat and bearded.
He was dressed all in red.
I ordered Mr. Ivan,
To bring me his head.
But, Ivan refused.
He wouldn't even budge.
Because Ivan suspected,
This guy carried fudge.
Ivan begged me to chill,
As I reached for a stick,
"This bozo is none other,
Than good ole St. Nick."
Ivan's determination,
Caused me to pause.
Could this obese vagrant,
Be Santa Claus?
He gives people presents,
He is a merry soul.
But all he ever brings for me,
Is a big old lump of coal.
And so I swore, then and there,
By my jingle balls.
Next time I see him,
I'm giving Santa claws.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
The Stranger
I am miffed. I am annoyed. Angry, irritated, P.O.'ed, and furthermore agitated. One could almost say that I am upset. Now, you folks all know how slow to anger and easy going I am, so to say that something has gotten under my skin must come as a mental head smack for you. What has got my hairballs in a bunch?
A stray.
Not just some poor little waif of a vagabond kitty searching for handouts at the gates of my kingdom, but a true feral, bad attitude, bunny munchin, bird stalking, squirrel lover. `
This morning, shortly after consuming my breakfast and giving Tiger Lily her "top o' the mornin to ye" smack, I happened to glance out the sliding door and beheld the largest feline I had ever seen. This thing was not just big, it was like something that one sees munching Tokyo on the talking box thingy. It had the same markings as Ivan, but was much poofier. Paws the size of my food bowl and the mangiest coat seen this side of Kmart. Its' tail had seen better days and I only counted three teeth when it yawned.
My first reaction was to go get Ivan. I considered Ivan, being the big dumb brute that he is, to be better equipped to handle this interloper. However, when Ivan looked out of the window, he mistakenly took the stranger to be his own reflection and immediately grabbed his stash of catnip and flushed it down the toilet.
I was left no choice but to deal with the trespasser myself.
I arched my back in the "Halloween cat" position. I poofed. I twitched my incredible tail. I bared my perfect and complete set of teeth. I hissed and cursed and questioned his lineage. I even told him that he smelled of dog.
It is unfortunate that the two leggers installed insulated windows last year because the stranger was completely unaware of the superior tongue lashing he was receiving.
Finally, out of frustration, I body slammed Tiger Lily into the window causing her cry in her whiny, glass penetrating voice. This annoyed the stranger so much that he left for greener (and less irritating) pastures.
This was of course my strategy all along.
I would also like to give a quick shoutout to my new friend Rumble-Bum. He is a Maine Coon with a great blog. You'll find a link to his blog to the right of my page.
A stray.
Not just some poor little waif of a vagabond kitty searching for handouts at the gates of my kingdom, but a true feral, bad attitude, bunny munchin, bird stalking, squirrel lover. `
This morning, shortly after consuming my breakfast and giving Tiger Lily her "top o' the mornin to ye" smack, I happened to glance out the sliding door and beheld the largest feline I had ever seen. This thing was not just big, it was like something that one sees munching Tokyo on the talking box thingy. It had the same markings as Ivan, but was much poofier. Paws the size of my food bowl and the mangiest coat seen this side of Kmart. Its' tail had seen better days and I only counted three teeth when it yawned.
My first reaction was to go get Ivan. I considered Ivan, being the big dumb brute that he is, to be better equipped to handle this interloper. However, when Ivan looked out of the window, he mistakenly took the stranger to be his own reflection and immediately grabbed his stash of catnip and flushed it down the toilet.
I was left no choice but to deal with the trespasser myself.
I arched my back in the "Halloween cat" position. I poofed. I twitched my incredible tail. I bared my perfect and complete set of teeth. I hissed and cursed and questioned his lineage. I even told him that he smelled of dog.
It is unfortunate that the two leggers installed insulated windows last year because the stranger was completely unaware of the superior tongue lashing he was receiving.
Finally, out of frustration, I body slammed Tiger Lily into the window causing her cry in her whiny, glass penetrating voice. This annoyed the stranger so much that he left for greener (and less irritating) pastures.
This was of course my strategy all along.
I would also like to give a quick shoutout to my new friend Rumble-Bum. He is a Maine Coon with a great blog. You'll find a link to his blog to the right of my page.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Trials and Tribulations
The bathroom spider is busted.
Longtime followers of my blog thingy may recall that the bathroom spider and I have had a long standing agreement. He is allowed to live in my bathroom under two conditions.
1. He continues to creep out the male two legger.
2. He does not stray from the confines of the bathroom.
A couple of months ago, he violated this agreement by entering the two leggers bedroom and I sent Ivan to "remind" him of the terms of the aforementioned agreement. After Ivan broke several of his numerous kneecaps, the eight legger seemed to have learned his lesson.
However, today while I was touring my kingdom, what should I behold but the bathroom spider scurrying across the carpet obviously on his way to do spidery deeds in the two leggers closet. Clearly he had crossed the line and such behavior cannot be tolerated. He was immediately taken into custody to await his fate.
Now, my two leggers often accuse me of being a tyrant. This is simply not so. I prefer to think of myself as a benevolent dictator. So to prove my point, I decided to grant the eight legger a trial by a jury of his peers.
The only peer I could find was Ivan, (he drinks a LOT of water) and so I appointed him to be the jury. Tiger Lily served as the defense attorney, while I served as both prosecutor and judge. What could be more fair than this?
The trial began with the prosecutor (me) reading the charges. This being done the judge (also me) asked if there were any witnesses for the defense. Tiger Lily immediately produced two other spiders who swore that the bathroom spider was in the bathroom the entire time that he was accused of being seen near the closet. As prosecutor, I immediately ate both defense witnesses and excused them from further testimony.
Tiger Lily jumped up and objected. As judge, I over-ruled her objection and ordered her to be smacked. Lacking a bailiff, I carried this out myself.
Tiger Lily then said that she would like to testify on behalf of her client. Though unusual, I decided to allow this. She launched into a drawn out diatribe about how the poor eight legger was the youngest of 3,000 children and never knew his father. His mother sent him out into the cold cruel world to fend for himself and he ended up settling in the bathroom where he lived out his solitary existence far from his homeland and bereft of fellow eight legger company. How could he help but become a fugitive from the law? He is actually the victim here and should be released immediately.
As prosecutor, I objected on the grounds that this was stupid. As judge, I sustained the objection and ordered the defense attorney to be smacked again. After the acting bailiff (me again) carried this out, I asked if the defense rests. From beneath the entertainment center, she said yes, the defense rests.
The prosecutor then testified that the spider was caught red handed (all eight of them) and that there could be no other verdict than "guilty". The judge heartily agreed, and the case was given to the jury.
The jury was out for two hours, but after the bailiff managed to wake him, he pronounced the accused as guilty. The judge retired to his chambers to ponder the eight legger's sentence and use the royal litter box.
Upon the judge's return, he found that the jury had eaten the defendant in his absence.
Justice has been served.
Longtime followers of my blog thingy may recall that the bathroom spider and I have had a long standing agreement. He is allowed to live in my bathroom under two conditions.
1. He continues to creep out the male two legger.
2. He does not stray from the confines of the bathroom.
A couple of months ago, he violated this agreement by entering the two leggers bedroom and I sent Ivan to "remind" him of the terms of the aforementioned agreement. After Ivan broke several of his numerous kneecaps, the eight legger seemed to have learned his lesson.
However, today while I was touring my kingdom, what should I behold but the bathroom spider scurrying across the carpet obviously on his way to do spidery deeds in the two leggers closet. Clearly he had crossed the line and such behavior cannot be tolerated. He was immediately taken into custody to await his fate.
Now, my two leggers often accuse me of being a tyrant. This is simply not so. I prefer to think of myself as a benevolent dictator. So to prove my point, I decided to grant the eight legger a trial by a jury of his peers.
The only peer I could find was Ivan, (he drinks a LOT of water) and so I appointed him to be the jury. Tiger Lily served as the defense attorney, while I served as both prosecutor and judge. What could be more fair than this?
The trial began with the prosecutor (me) reading the charges. This being done the judge (also me) asked if there were any witnesses for the defense. Tiger Lily immediately produced two other spiders who swore that the bathroom spider was in the bathroom the entire time that he was accused of being seen near the closet. As prosecutor, I immediately ate both defense witnesses and excused them from further testimony.
Tiger Lily jumped up and objected. As judge, I over-ruled her objection and ordered her to be smacked. Lacking a bailiff, I carried this out myself.
Tiger Lily then said that she would like to testify on behalf of her client. Though unusual, I decided to allow this. She launched into a drawn out diatribe about how the poor eight legger was the youngest of 3,000 children and never knew his father. His mother sent him out into the cold cruel world to fend for himself and he ended up settling in the bathroom where he lived out his solitary existence far from his homeland and bereft of fellow eight legger company. How could he help but become a fugitive from the law? He is actually the victim here and should be released immediately.
As prosecutor, I objected on the grounds that this was stupid. As judge, I sustained the objection and ordered the defense attorney to be smacked again. After the acting bailiff (me again) carried this out, I asked if the defense rests. From beneath the entertainment center, she said yes, the defense rests.
The prosecutor then testified that the spider was caught red handed (all eight of them) and that there could be no other verdict than "guilty". The judge heartily agreed, and the case was given to the jury.
The jury was out for two hours, but after the bailiff managed to wake him, he pronounced the accused as guilty. The judge retired to his chambers to ponder the eight legger's sentence and use the royal litter box.
Upon the judge's return, he found that the jury had eaten the defendant in his absence.
Justice has been served.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
I Be Trippin
I have heard several two leggers complain that their feline masters are trying to kill them. This is ridiculous, We would never attempt to kill you. If we killed our two leggers, who would provide us food and catnip mousie thingies? Plus, I've yet to learn how to turn on the firebox thingy.
Killing you is totally out of the question.
We wish to maim you. If you are maimed, you will have more time to worship us. You will be unable to leave our house. You will have to spend more time in bed, thereby keeping it at an agreeably warm temperature. I would lay money that you may even come to thank us for crippling you for life.
That being said, there is a gray area here that requires clarification. We do not wish you to end up in a wheelchair. Wheelchairs are not tail friendly. Walkers and canes are preferable. They enable you remain ambulatory (for feeding us and cleaning the royal litter) and the sound they make has the added benefit of providing us with early warning of your approach. Also, you need both hands to operate a walker, leaving no room to carry a water squirty thingy.
Now allow me to address my fellow felines. When trying to maim your two leggers, do be careful. If you trip them, make sure that they are not carrying a firearm. (One-Eyed Petie will attest to this.) If you are planning on sending them down a set of steps, make sure the steps are not too high or steep as this may cause more damage to the two legger than you wish. If at all possible, try to trip your two legger while their hands are full. This has the dual advantages of not allowing them to catch themselves, as well as making a huge mess when whatever they are carrying breaks upon impact with the floor.
As always, after successfully accomplishing your goal, destroy all the evidence and bury all the witnesses.
Killing you is totally out of the question.
We wish to maim you. If you are maimed, you will have more time to worship us. You will be unable to leave our house. You will have to spend more time in bed, thereby keeping it at an agreeably warm temperature. I would lay money that you may even come to thank us for crippling you for life.
That being said, there is a gray area here that requires clarification. We do not wish you to end up in a wheelchair. Wheelchairs are not tail friendly. Walkers and canes are preferable. They enable you remain ambulatory (for feeding us and cleaning the royal litter) and the sound they make has the added benefit of providing us with early warning of your approach. Also, you need both hands to operate a walker, leaving no room to carry a water squirty thingy.
Now allow me to address my fellow felines. When trying to maim your two leggers, do be careful. If you trip them, make sure that they are not carrying a firearm. (One-Eyed Petie will attest to this.) If you are planning on sending them down a set of steps, make sure the steps are not too high or steep as this may cause more damage to the two legger than you wish. If at all possible, try to trip your two legger while their hands are full. This has the dual advantages of not allowing them to catch themselves, as well as making a huge mess when whatever they are carrying breaks upon impact with the floor.
As always, after successfully accomplishing your goal, destroy all the evidence and bury all the witnesses.
Solitary
I'm back. Ivan has once again slunk back to the land of the illiterate. It is where he is happiest. He is not comfortable when someone asks him to think. He was so stressed, it caused him to slip into a semi-comatose state. Of course, this appears to be normal for him, and he still responds to the sound of the food closet opening, so no one but me noticed.
Well, it has been almost a week since I have posted and much is happening around my house. The two leggers are away most of the time, this being a very hectic time of year for them. Thus, we are left to our own devices in order to keep ourselves amused. While some may see this as a detriment, I see only opportunity.
In the morning before they leave, the two leggers invariably lock me up in one part of my house, and Ivan and Tiger Lily are left in another part of my house. They seem to be under the mistaken belief that this will minimize the damage.
For one thing, I've invented a new game. I call it:"Britches Button Bingo". While the two leggers are absent, I find any pants I can, and chew through the threads that hold the button thingies. How can that be amusing? The key is not chewing completely through the threads, but just mostly through the threads. If this task is performed correctly, the button thingy should not fall off until around 8am when the two leggers are getting ready to leave for the day. Or if you are a true master, the button thingy will fall off later in the day while the two leggers are far from the safe haven of their closet. As always, points are awarded according to the amount of chaos caused.
Ivan spends much of his day glaring at his food bowl. He feels that if he gives it the hairy eyeball long enough, it will magically refill itself out of fear. I have tried many times to explain food bowl physics to him, but once he gets something in his head........well, actually once he gets something in his head, it usually dies of loneliness, but I digress. Let's just say he's stubborn.
Tiger Lily spends most of her day attempting to avoid me. Being locked in a different room, one would think this would be easy, not so. You see, in order to reach the litter box, she must pass by my door. So, I wait. There is a gap between the bottom of the door and the floor. This gap is just large enough that a determined paw can reach out and slap someone. Ivan of course assists in this by standing in the hallway and forcing her to come near the door as she passes.
I'm sure that some of you may see this as mean spirited, however, please be assured, we do this for her own good. I find that a good scare and smacking assists in the litter making process.
Well, it has been almost a week since I have posted and much is happening around my house. The two leggers are away most of the time, this being a very hectic time of year for them. Thus, we are left to our own devices in order to keep ourselves amused. While some may see this as a detriment, I see only opportunity.
In the morning before they leave, the two leggers invariably lock me up in one part of my house, and Ivan and Tiger Lily are left in another part of my house. They seem to be under the mistaken belief that this will minimize the damage.
For one thing, I've invented a new game. I call it:"Britches Button Bingo". While the two leggers are absent, I find any pants I can, and chew through the threads that hold the button thingies. How can that be amusing? The key is not chewing completely through the threads, but just mostly through the threads. If this task is performed correctly, the button thingy should not fall off until around 8am when the two leggers are getting ready to leave for the day. Or if you are a true master, the button thingy will fall off later in the day while the two leggers are far from the safe haven of their closet. As always, points are awarded according to the amount of chaos caused.
Ivan spends much of his day glaring at his food bowl. He feels that if he gives it the hairy eyeball long enough, it will magically refill itself out of fear. I have tried many times to explain food bowl physics to him, but once he gets something in his head........well, actually once he gets something in his head, it usually dies of loneliness, but I digress. Let's just say he's stubborn.
Tiger Lily spends most of her day attempting to avoid me. Being locked in a different room, one would think this would be easy, not so. You see, in order to reach the litter box, she must pass by my door. So, I wait. There is a gap between the bottom of the door and the floor. This gap is just large enough that a determined paw can reach out and slap someone. Ivan of course assists in this by standing in the hallway and forcing her to come near the door as she passes.
I'm sure that some of you may see this as mean spirited, however, please be assured, we do this for her own good. I find that a good scare and smacking assists in the litter making process.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Ivan Speaks Pt. II
Da boss said I hadda make blog thingy for him today. I dunno much word stuff, but he make me try anyways.
Umm, guess I talk about what make Ivan, (that me) happy.
Food make Ivan happy. No food make Ivan grumpy.
Biting stuff make Ivan happy. Biting Ivan make Ivan grumpy.
Sleeping make Ivan happy. Sleeping two legger make Ivan grumpy.
The end.
Boss say I hafta make more letters.
Ivan like laps. But don't touch Ivan when he in lap. I bite you if you do. That make Ivan happy.
Boss is nice to Ivan. He treat me real good. He let me smack Tiger Lily. He let me eat eight leggers. He let me eat dust bunnies. Sometimes he only eat half my food.
He real smart. He make pretty words.
Before da Boss came, I was only four legger in house. I did not know what to do. I sleep all day and hide from ghost thingies at night. Then Boss came and showed me stuff I could break during day, and that at night, ghost was only two legger snoring.
Boss show me how to steal two legger stuff and not get sprayed by water bottle thingy.
Boss say Ivan real good at making stinkies. Boss say nobody better at making stinkies. Boss call me the "Grand Poobah of Stinkovia" I don't know what that mean, but I think it is good thing.
Boss says I can quit making letters now. He says this should be enough to annoy many two leggers.
I think Boss is amused.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Ivan and The Chipmunks
Ivan is embarrassed. However, he made me promise not to tell anyone of his embarrassment. Like who would I tell? But, I am a creature of my word, and so I fully intend on not telling anyone.
So, Ivan was relaxing by the sliding door this morning when suddenly a new critter appeared in the backyard. And not just one new critter, but several critters of the same type. These animals were small in stature, (only half a tailspan in length) tailless, short brown mangy fur with black and white stripes going down it's scrawny little back. I recognized them as being chipmunks from having observed them on the talking box thingy. (the male two legger watches the Disney Channel when he thinks everyone is sleeping)
I think they were attracted to my backyard by the birdseed the female two legger put out there during the recent snow storm. She was worried that all the bird thingies may go hungry and so in a fit of misguided concern, made the male go out in the cold and place food under all the trees. Her priorities did not amuse me because it was clearly obvious that my food bowl was only seven-eighths full and therefore in dire need of refilling, but instead she made him take care of the bird thingies first. ( I'm working on a hairball that has her name on it)
Back to the chipmunks. Upon spotting the offending rodentia, Ivan went into a furs-a-flyin frenzy. He was under the mistaken assumption that the chipmunks were in fact embryonic squirrel thingies. Being his best friend, I immediately told him of his mistake. But alas, I have to be true to myself and therefore could not let him off so easily. So I told him that they were actually a mutant form of ninja squirrel thingy and that invasion was imminent. I embellished the tale with a story about them having pictures of an orange tabby in the tiny pouches where they keep their "hit list".
Ivan then attempted to squeeze his not inconsiderable bulk under the entertainment center. It looked like half an orange watermelon. Most amusing.
After about an hour of watching Ivan try to find a suitable hidey hole, I decided to let him off the hook. Ivan was not amused. In fact, I believe I have never seen him so angry. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was plotting murder.
Good thing I told him it was Tiger Lily's idea.
So, Ivan was relaxing by the sliding door this morning when suddenly a new critter appeared in the backyard. And not just one new critter, but several critters of the same type. These animals were small in stature, (only half a tailspan in length) tailless, short brown mangy fur with black and white stripes going down it's scrawny little back. I recognized them as being chipmunks from having observed them on the talking box thingy. (the male two legger watches the Disney Channel when he thinks everyone is sleeping)
I think they were attracted to my backyard by the birdseed the female two legger put out there during the recent snow storm. She was worried that all the bird thingies may go hungry and so in a fit of misguided concern, made the male go out in the cold and place food under all the trees. Her priorities did not amuse me because it was clearly obvious that my food bowl was only seven-eighths full and therefore in dire need of refilling, but instead she made him take care of the bird thingies first. ( I'm working on a hairball that has her name on it)
Back to the chipmunks. Upon spotting the offending rodentia, Ivan went into a furs-a-flyin frenzy. He was under the mistaken assumption that the chipmunks were in fact embryonic squirrel thingies. Being his best friend, I immediately told him of his mistake. But alas, I have to be true to myself and therefore could not let him off so easily. So I told him that they were actually a mutant form of ninja squirrel thingy and that invasion was imminent. I embellished the tale with a story about them having pictures of an orange tabby in the tiny pouches where they keep their "hit list".
Ivan then attempted to squeeze his not inconsiderable bulk under the entertainment center. It looked like half an orange watermelon. Most amusing.
After about an hour of watching Ivan try to find a suitable hidey hole, I decided to let him off the hook. Ivan was not amused. In fact, I believe I have never seen him so angry. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was plotting murder.
Good thing I told him it was Tiger Lily's idea.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Snow Wonder
What the hell happened to my yard?
I am confused. Yesterday, around 9 am, I settled down for my early mid-morning nap. I chose the front bay window as the spot because the sun was shining and therefore it was prime napping real estate. Gazing out at the green grass, I drifted off to sleep.
I was in the middle of a wonderful dream that involved a decapitated squirrel and a one winged bird (it kept flying in circles), when I was awakened by the sound of Ivan running through my house in full blown poofy fur, crooked tail freakout mode. Now, it doesn't take much to freak out Ivan (simply asking him where his tail went usually accomplishes this) but this freakout seemed beyond the pale.
I opened my eyes slowly, working up to a major league tabby smack, and to my utter astonishment discovered that the entire outside world had changed. The sun was gone and everything was covered in big white flaky thingies (and I'm not referring to talk show hosts).
These big white flaky thingies (BWFT's) were falling from the sky at an enormous rate. They fell silently and slowly, threatening to lull me back to sleep. Fortunately my curiosity served to keep me awake so that I could ponder this oddity.
The first thing I noticed was the scarcity of any four leggers in the yard. Normally, the deck bunny is hopping around the front yard at this time of day. He was nowhere to be seen. No bird thingies were in evidence. Even the stupid squirrel was missing. The only four leggers I could see were the goats. They were standing in their shed, clearly displeased, glaring at the house as though this was somehow my doing.
Ivan kept running from window to window trying to capture some of the BWFT's with no success. (Like so many other concepts, Ivan doesn't understand glass) Tiger Lily whined for a while and then curled up on a hot air vent and fell asleep. I'll smack her after I solve this mystery.
Shortly thereafter, the two leggers came home early. To my delight, some of the BWFT's had stuck to the female's boots. I waited while she removed her boots and left them by the door. After she left the room, I was able to examine the BWFT's more closely.
Upon close examination, (sniffing and batting) I discovered that the BWFT's were:
A. Cold
B. Wet
C. Very cold
D. Very Cold and wet.
The only flavor I could discern was leather, presumably from the female's boots.
My conclusion is that the BWFT's are water that has been transformed into a sticky, goat irritating substance.
The male two legger turned on the talking box thingy and watched another two legger talk about a "snow" storm. I soon realized that he was referring to the BWFT's. Best of all, the BWFT's were causing much chaos in two legged society. He spoke of cars in ditches, businesses and schools closing, and roads being blocked. I watched for some time hoping to hear about squirrel casualties, but none were reported. Perhaps they'll find their mangy little corpses after the BWFT's melt. One can only hope.
BWFT= snow. Mystery solved.
After much consideration, I have decided that I must learn how to manufacture this stuff.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
The Best Time of The Year
I am giddy. I am beside myself with anticipation. My favorite season has arrived.
Every year when the weather grows cold, the trees lose their leaves and
the wind blows the squirrel around the yard, my two legged minions suddenly feel the urge to fill my abode with a wide array of cat toys. There are toys of every shape and size.
My personal favorite is a miniature tree thingy that stretches from floor to ceiling. Not only do they conveniently place it in the middle of my living room, they also hang a myriad of dangly, shiny, sparkly and crunchy objects from the branches. Some are even quite delicious. These objects are perfectly tailored for feline amusement. There are colored round balls hanging from small hooks that are made to shatter on impact. They make a very satisfying popping sound when they drop.
The tree thingy also makes an incredibly effective ambush site. Tiger Lily has yet to learn that the tree thingy has an unlimited supply of smacks lurking within its verdant boughs. I spend most of my day carefully climbing among the branches, looking for the best position from which to observe and plot. I have learned from past experience to be utterly still whenever a two legger enters so that I don't alert them to my intentions. I like for them to be surprised when I leap at them from the upper branches. It enhances the enjoyment for all involved. I was even able to take a picture last year of one of the two legged offspring at the moment of discovery.
Ivan, on the other hand, likes the tree thingy for the variety of flavors that it contains. He seems to enjoy the taste of plastic and cotton. I don't claim to understand him, he is what he is.
He especially enjoys chewing the wires that connect the tiny lightbulbs. Occasionally while chewing on these, he will suddenly jump straight up and flee from the room leaving only the smell of singed fur behind. One would think this to be an unpleasant experience, but ten minutes later he'll be back contentedly munching away.
There are ribbons, bows, boxes wrapped in thin paper, all easily shredded and destroyed. Every night, we wreak havoc and destruction. Every morning the two leggers spend an hour or so resetting everything and sweeping up the shards while screaming in joy and amusement.
Tonight Ivan and I have decided to have a party. We're gonna break out the good catnip and really do the tree thingy justice. All of my four legged followers are invited. It starts as soon as the two leggers are in bed. Remember to BYOCMT (Bring Your Own Catnip Mousie Thingy) Except for Moo, I've got a special one for you.
Every year when the weather grows cold, the trees lose their leaves and
the wind blows the squirrel around the yard, my two legged minions suddenly feel the urge to fill my abode with a wide array of cat toys. There are toys of every shape and size.
My personal favorite is a miniature tree thingy that stretches from floor to ceiling. Not only do they conveniently place it in the middle of my living room, they also hang a myriad of dangly, shiny, sparkly and crunchy objects from the branches. Some are even quite delicious. These objects are perfectly tailored for feline amusement. There are colored round balls hanging from small hooks that are made to shatter on impact. They make a very satisfying popping sound when they drop.
The tree thingy also makes an incredibly effective ambush site. Tiger Lily has yet to learn that the tree thingy has an unlimited supply of smacks lurking within its verdant boughs. I spend most of my day carefully climbing among the branches, looking for the best position from which to observe and plot. I have learned from past experience to be utterly still whenever a two legger enters so that I don't alert them to my intentions. I like for them to be surprised when I leap at them from the upper branches. It enhances the enjoyment for all involved. I was even able to take a picture last year of one of the two legged offspring at the moment of discovery.
Ivan, on the other hand, likes the tree thingy for the variety of flavors that it contains. He seems to enjoy the taste of plastic and cotton. I don't claim to understand him, he is what he is.
He especially enjoys chewing the wires that connect the tiny lightbulbs. Occasionally while chewing on these, he will suddenly jump straight up and flee from the room leaving only the smell of singed fur behind. One would think this to be an unpleasant experience, but ten minutes later he'll be back contentedly munching away.
There are ribbons, bows, boxes wrapped in thin paper, all easily shredded and destroyed. Every night, we wreak havoc and destruction. Every morning the two leggers spend an hour or so resetting everything and sweeping up the shards while screaming in joy and amusement.
Tonight Ivan and I have decided to have a party. We're gonna break out the good catnip and really do the tree thingy justice. All of my four legged followers are invited. It starts as soon as the two leggers are in bed. Remember to BYOCMT (Bring Your Own Catnip Mousie Thingy) Except for Moo, I've got a special one for you.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
The Curtain Calls
Since the dawn of feline/two legger cohabitation, there has been a point of contention that rises above all others.
Curtains.
Two leggers are driven by instinct to hang vertical panels of cloth over every window they encounter. We feline types are driven to destroy these vertical panels of cloth whenever, and wherever we encounter them. It is the natural order of things.
In every society, on every continent, in every age, there is a two legger hanging curtains and its' feline companion waiting patiently to shred them to bits. This is fact.
There is even a depiction of this painted on the walls of a cave in France. It shows a stone age female two legger hanging a bear skin over a hole in the rock only to find in the morning that a saber toothed tiger had torn it up in the night.
What two leggers fail to understand, is the fact that curtains are like visual catnip. When we enter a room and see all that material stretching from floor to ceiling, we are compelled to act. The feel of our claws piercing the fabric as we propel ourselves ever upward. The sound, like the popping of tiny firecracker thingies, is music to our ears.
We take great pride in our curtain climbing abilities. We even hold competitions.
Ivan has his own peculiar style adapted to his speed to bulk ratio. Though seldom able to climb more than three tailspans vertically, he makes up for this deficiency by often pulling the curtain down to him, rod and all. The chaos and damage this causes more than compensates for the lack of height of climb. His motto: "Attitude Trumps Altitude".
Tiger Lily is de-clawed and therefore disqualified from the competition. Although Ivan and I once convinced her to try anyway. The results were amusing. She ran at the window, leapt with all her might and succeeded in slamming herself bodily into the window screen almost dislodging it in the process. Oh how we laughed.
I prefer technique and artistry in my approach to curtain destruction. My favorite method is to get a running start from the hallway, rounding the corner by ricocheting off the end of the couch, leaping from the floor to the top of the lazyboy, and using the spring of the cushion to launch myself to the very top of the curtain. I then enjoy a relaxing fifteen to twenty second hang time.
The artistry in my method lies in the interesting patterns the sun shining through the holes makes on the carpet. I find them relaxing.
Why do we climb curtains? Because they are there.
Curtains.
Two leggers are driven by instinct to hang vertical panels of cloth over every window they encounter. We feline types are driven to destroy these vertical panels of cloth whenever, and wherever we encounter them. It is the natural order of things.
In every society, on every continent, in every age, there is a two legger hanging curtains and its' feline companion waiting patiently to shred them to bits. This is fact.
There is even a depiction of this painted on the walls of a cave in France. It shows a stone age female two legger hanging a bear skin over a hole in the rock only to find in the morning that a saber toothed tiger had torn it up in the night.
What two leggers fail to understand, is the fact that curtains are like visual catnip. When we enter a room and see all that material stretching from floor to ceiling, we are compelled to act. The feel of our claws piercing the fabric as we propel ourselves ever upward. The sound, like the popping of tiny firecracker thingies, is music to our ears.
We take great pride in our curtain climbing abilities. We even hold competitions.
Ivan has his own peculiar style adapted to his speed to bulk ratio. Though seldom able to climb more than three tailspans vertically, he makes up for this deficiency by often pulling the curtain down to him, rod and all. The chaos and damage this causes more than compensates for the lack of height of climb. His motto: "Attitude Trumps Altitude".
Tiger Lily is de-clawed and therefore disqualified from the competition. Although Ivan and I once convinced her to try anyway. The results were amusing. She ran at the window, leapt with all her might and succeeded in slamming herself bodily into the window screen almost dislodging it in the process. Oh how we laughed.
I prefer technique and artistry in my approach to curtain destruction. My favorite method is to get a running start from the hallway, rounding the corner by ricocheting off the end of the couch, leaping from the floor to the top of the lazyboy, and using the spring of the cushion to launch myself to the very top of the curtain. I then enjoy a relaxing fifteen to twenty second hang time.
The artistry in my method lies in the interesting patterns the sun shining through the holes makes on the carpet. I find them relaxing.
Why do we climb curtains? Because they are there.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Baby Stalk
I recently received a message from one of my four legged followers begging me to advise her on dealing with an interloper recently introduced to her household. This fresh irritant is referred to by the two leggers as a "baby". Having once seen one, I feel imminently qualified to advise her. The message reads:
"Dear Great, Wise, Wonderful, Fantastic, Handsome, Brilliant, Ingenious, and Famous Cujo Cat,
I have a problem that requires your sage counsel. My female two legger recently underwent an inexplicable nine month long weight gain. During this time she became quite unpredictable in both her general disposition as well as her appetite. This also affected the male two legger causing him to take a sudden interest in building stuff. He even went as far as to evict me from my favorite dayroom and re-paint it a nasty shade of pink. He replaced my kitty condo with a miniature two legger bed that has bars on the side."
" Then one day there was chaos, and not the good, feline induced type. The two leggers left in the middle of the night and did not return for two days. The only two legger I saw during this time was the male's sibling that came briefly to fill my food and water."
"On the third day, the two leggers returned carrying a bundle of screaming rags. Since then, there has been little peace and less affection shown to Yours Truly. The screaming rags turned out to be a "baby". I don't understand what could possess my two leggers to bring this into my domicile, let alone why they continue to feed it. I await your wisdom."
"Thank you,
Minnie Mousemunch"
Dear Minnie,
First of all, your salutation (Dear Great, Wise, Wonderful, Fantastic, Handsome, Brilliant, Ingenious, and Famous Cujo Cat,) is flattering, but overdone. (I'm not that famous)
I understand your dilemma. These "baby" thingies are truly a bane to all cats everywhere. After doing some research and observation, I have reached the conclusion that they are embryonic two leggers. I believe that the nine month period of weight gain that you witnessed was actually the female's pregnancy. When they disappeared for two days, they probably went to the Vet for the delivery. I do find it curious however that they only brought one of the litter home with them. Perhaps they were offered their pick and this was the one they chose.
Be that as it may, I feel that the best course of action is to observe, plot and whenever possible, wreak havoc. I suggest you act as though you enjoy the company of the embryo. Purr when it is called for, but don't lay it on too thick. If you are too nice, the two leggers will suspect your motives.
Be wary of their defense mechanisms. They have the ability to emit a stench that even Ivan cannot abide. Their vocalizations can actually cause glass to break and milk to sour. So tread carefully. As for the bars around the miniature bed, I think they are there in order to keep the "baby" from sneaking out and murdering them in their sleep. (I actually saw that happen on the talking box thingy once)
There is one benefit to having one of these in your household however. Whenever you are left alone with the "baby", you have carte blanche to break stuff. The mature two leggers will just smile at the "baby" and call it a 'little rascal" or some such drivel. I know it's not fair (they should spray it with the squirty water thingy) but when it's their offspring, it suddenly seems cute to them. So enjoy the freedom to break anything you want without consequence. Just make sure it lands near the "baby".
Finally, if it gets to be too much for you to handle, c'mon over to my place. We'll do some nip and slap Tiger Lily. It's very therapeutic.
"Dear Great, Wise, Wonderful, Fantastic, Handsome, Brilliant, Ingenious, and Famous Cujo Cat,
I have a problem that requires your sage counsel. My female two legger recently underwent an inexplicable nine month long weight gain. During this time she became quite unpredictable in both her general disposition as well as her appetite. This also affected the male two legger causing him to take a sudden interest in building stuff. He even went as far as to evict me from my favorite dayroom and re-paint it a nasty shade of pink. He replaced my kitty condo with a miniature two legger bed that has bars on the side."
" Then one day there was chaos, and not the good, feline induced type. The two leggers left in the middle of the night and did not return for two days. The only two legger I saw during this time was the male's sibling that came briefly to fill my food and water."
"On the third day, the two leggers returned carrying a bundle of screaming rags. Since then, there has been little peace and less affection shown to Yours Truly. The screaming rags turned out to be a "baby". I don't understand what could possess my two leggers to bring this into my domicile, let alone why they continue to feed it. I await your wisdom."
"Thank you,
Minnie Mousemunch"
Dear Minnie,
First of all, your salutation (Dear Great, Wise, Wonderful, Fantastic, Handsome, Brilliant, Ingenious, and Famous Cujo Cat,) is flattering, but overdone. (I'm not that famous)
I understand your dilemma. These "baby" thingies are truly a bane to all cats everywhere. After doing some research and observation, I have reached the conclusion that they are embryonic two leggers. I believe that the nine month period of weight gain that you witnessed was actually the female's pregnancy. When they disappeared for two days, they probably went to the Vet for the delivery. I do find it curious however that they only brought one of the litter home with them. Perhaps they were offered their pick and this was the one they chose.
Be that as it may, I feel that the best course of action is to observe, plot and whenever possible, wreak havoc. I suggest you act as though you enjoy the company of the embryo. Purr when it is called for, but don't lay it on too thick. If you are too nice, the two leggers will suspect your motives.
Be wary of their defense mechanisms. They have the ability to emit a stench that even Ivan cannot abide. Their vocalizations can actually cause glass to break and milk to sour. So tread carefully. As for the bars around the miniature bed, I think they are there in order to keep the "baby" from sneaking out and murdering them in their sleep. (I actually saw that happen on the talking box thingy once)
There is one benefit to having one of these in your household however. Whenever you are left alone with the "baby", you have carte blanche to break stuff. The mature two leggers will just smile at the "baby" and call it a 'little rascal" or some such drivel. I know it's not fair (they should spray it with the squirty water thingy) but when it's their offspring, it suddenly seems cute to them. So enjoy the freedom to break anything you want without consequence. Just make sure it lands near the "baby".
Finally, if it gets to be too much for you to handle, c'mon over to my place. We'll do some nip and slap Tiger Lily. It's very therapeutic.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Utter Coon-fusion
I have discovered a new type of four legger. I am amused.
Last night while on dust bunny patrol, I was startled by a loud skittering noise emanating from the back deck of my house. Assuming it was my nemesis the squirrel, I decided to aggressively ignore him. But the noise continued and eventually grew until it could be ignored no more. I stalked to the sliding door prepared to give the tree rat a glaring he wouldn't soon forget and to my dismay discovered that the squirrel was absent. Instead, I beheld a large furry mound of mischief, and its' five mini-mounds.
Having spent much time watching Animal Planet on the talking box thingy, I quickly identified these trespassers as "raccoons". For those of you that have never actually seen a raccoon, they are about three tailspans long and weigh approximately two Ivans. They have grayish unkempt fur and black and white rings on their tails. They wear a mask on their face. I believe they are basically well dressed possums. I decided to observe.
The large raccoon used its' incredibly dexterous paws to open the container of bird seed and sate itself on the contents therein. Meanwhile, the mini-coons were busy. Two of them were swimming in the koi pond, while the other three were dissecting the cushions of the lawn furniture. Occasionally two or more would suddenly begin to wrestle, hissing and biting at each other until they found other objects to explore and ultimately destroy. I have never witnessed such concentrated chaos. My heart pounded as I considered the possibilities.
Imagine these maestro's of mayhem released upon the interior of my home. If they can cause such damage to furnishings designed to stand up to Mother Nature, what could they do to the all the delicate little thingies that my female two legger takes such pride in? Ivan would have new friends that smell almost as bad as him. The garbage can would never be upright again. Never again would I have to struggle with trying to bite through the lid of the catnip container. I bet that houseplants would never be seen in my house again. Just the thought of those guys lining up to smack Tiger Lily with their marvelous little paws makes me shiver in anticipation. MWAHAHAHA!!!
I have made a decision. I am now their leader, and they are my minions.
Last night while on dust bunny patrol, I was startled by a loud skittering noise emanating from the back deck of my house. Assuming it was my nemesis the squirrel, I decided to aggressively ignore him. But the noise continued and eventually grew until it could be ignored no more. I stalked to the sliding door prepared to give the tree rat a glaring he wouldn't soon forget and to my dismay discovered that the squirrel was absent. Instead, I beheld a large furry mound of mischief, and its' five mini-mounds.
Having spent much time watching Animal Planet on the talking box thingy, I quickly identified these trespassers as "raccoons". For those of you that have never actually seen a raccoon, they are about three tailspans long and weigh approximately two Ivans. They have grayish unkempt fur and black and white rings on their tails. They wear a mask on their face. I believe they are basically well dressed possums. I decided to observe.
The large raccoon used its' incredibly dexterous paws to open the container of bird seed and sate itself on the contents therein. Meanwhile, the mini-coons were busy. Two of them were swimming in the koi pond, while the other three were dissecting the cushions of the lawn furniture. Occasionally two or more would suddenly begin to wrestle, hissing and biting at each other until they found other objects to explore and ultimately destroy. I have never witnessed such concentrated chaos. My heart pounded as I considered the possibilities.
Imagine these maestro's of mayhem released upon the interior of my home. If they can cause such damage to furnishings designed to stand up to Mother Nature, what could they do to the all the delicate little thingies that my female two legger takes such pride in? Ivan would have new friends that smell almost as bad as him. The garbage can would never be upright again. Never again would I have to struggle with trying to bite through the lid of the catnip container. I bet that houseplants would never be seen in my house again. Just the thought of those guys lining up to smack Tiger Lily with their marvelous little paws makes me shiver in anticipation. MWAHAHAHA!!!
I have made a decision. I am now their leader, and they are my minions.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Field of Snores (Revisited)
I thought that Baseball Season in my house would have ended by now. I was mistaken. It has not only continued, it has gained in intensity. Non-amusing in the extreme.
It would appear that my male two leggers favorite team refuses to stop playing. In all previous years, they have quit playing by mid September and the male two legger has restricted his yelling at the talking box thingy to Sundays when he watches football. But this baseball playoff madness seems to have no end.
Apparently his team, the Rangers, are competing with the Giants in The World Series. I have heard that the winners of this competition get to wear special jewelry and then go visit a six foot tall talking mouse thingy named "Mickey". Big deal.
However, something puzzles me. Where do the two leggers come up with the names of their teams? I have pondered this at length and have reached no satisfactory conclusions. Please allow me to explain my confusion:
The Giants: They do not appear monstrously large.
The Rangers: They do not seem to wander any more than the other teams.
The Mariner: They wear neither floppy hats nor eyepatches, however it seems that their ship has indeed sailed.
The Indians: They appear be to neither Native American nor Hindu.
And finally, The Yankees. This moniker is possibly the most confusing of all. It is my understanding that in order to have a "Yankee", there must first be a "Yanker" I do not understand how there can be the one without there being the other. So I took a poll. I inquired of of all the people that I know that follow baseball. Here are the results:
.
2% said that I misunderstood the term "Yankee" (Highly doubtful, and their shoes will pay later)
3% said they didn't know.
95 % said "Yankees" and "Yankers" are synonymous.
This greatly amused my two legger
It would appear that my male two leggers favorite team refuses to stop playing. In all previous years, they have quit playing by mid September and the male two legger has restricted his yelling at the talking box thingy to Sundays when he watches football. But this baseball playoff madness seems to have no end.
Apparently his team, the Rangers, are competing with the Giants in The World Series. I have heard that the winners of this competition get to wear special jewelry and then go visit a six foot tall talking mouse thingy named "Mickey". Big deal.
However, something puzzles me. Where do the two leggers come up with the names of their teams? I have pondered this at length and have reached no satisfactory conclusions. Please allow me to explain my confusion:
The Giants: They do not appear monstrously large.
The Rangers: They do not seem to wander any more than the other teams.
The Mariner: They wear neither floppy hats nor eyepatches, however it seems that their ship has indeed sailed.
The Indians: They appear be to neither Native American nor Hindu.
And finally, The Yankees. This moniker is possibly the most confusing of all. It is my understanding that in order to have a "Yankee", there must first be a "Yanker" I do not understand how there can be the one without there being the other. So I took a poll. I inquired of of all the people that I know that follow baseball. Here are the results:
.
2% said that I misunderstood the term "Yankee" (Highly doubtful, and their shoes will pay later)
3% said they didn't know.
95 % said "Yankees" and "Yankers" are synonymous.
This greatly amused my two legger
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Cats Your Fate To The Wind
You may have noticed that I have been somewhat lax in updating my Chronicles. It is not my fault. It is the weather's fault. The weather is the one thing that I have no control over whatsoever. Even if I could control it, I doubt I would. It causes enough chaos on its own without my aid.
As many of you know, I live in the Puget Sound region. The weather here during October is, shall we say, predictably unpredictable. Sometimes it is rainy. Sometimes it is windy. Sometimes it is windy and rainy. At other times, it is rainy and windy. It is often rainy and windy and rainy with wind. It has been known to be wet and blustery. Moist and blowing. Gusty and pouring. Sprinkly and gusty. You get the idea. It just so happens that this weekend, we had wind and rain.
I spent the entire weekend watching a tree in the front yard. This may sound like a boring way to spend a weekend, but I have my reasons. Okay, really just one reason. I know the squirrel lives in that tree. I was awaiting his demise.
As soon as the windstorm struck, I began imagining the squirrel being blown out the tree, falling from the upper branches to a final meeting with Mother Earth. Perhaps he would scream or at least squeal all the way down. Perhaps he would realize in his final moments how incredibly irritating his constant, irrational optimism was to all other creatures in his vicinity and repent. I entertained a mental image of him falling and not dying right away, but instead suffering, while Ivan and I watched from our warm abode giggling, as his limbs slowly went numb.
Alas, my wish was not granted. Apparently the same claw thingies that enable him to scurry up and down the tree in the most annoyingly nimble manner also allow him to cling securely to said tree even in the highest winds. I am annoyed.
At the same time however, I am amused. I am amused because I can imagine how he spent the last seventy-two hours. Hanging on for dear life while the wind whips around his arboreal abode, the rain penetrating every millimeter of his flea bitten fur. My dearest wish is that he can see me from his precarious perch, sitting in my window, comfy, dry and totally unaffected by the wind.
It was not to be. The storm subsided this morning. The squirrel scurried out of his tree looking none the worse for wear. The storm also succeeded in knocking the rest of the pine cones out of the tree making the squirrels labor that much easier.
Sometimes I honestly believe that Mother Nature truly hates me.
As many of you know, I live in the Puget Sound region. The weather here during October is, shall we say, predictably unpredictable. Sometimes it is rainy. Sometimes it is windy. Sometimes it is windy and rainy. At other times, it is rainy and windy. It is often rainy and windy and rainy with wind. It has been known to be wet and blustery. Moist and blowing. Gusty and pouring. Sprinkly and gusty. You get the idea. It just so happens that this weekend, we had wind and rain.
I spent the entire weekend watching a tree in the front yard. This may sound like a boring way to spend a weekend, but I have my reasons. Okay, really just one reason. I know the squirrel lives in that tree. I was awaiting his demise.
As soon as the windstorm struck, I began imagining the squirrel being blown out the tree, falling from the upper branches to a final meeting with Mother Earth. Perhaps he would scream or at least squeal all the way down. Perhaps he would realize in his final moments how incredibly irritating his constant, irrational optimism was to all other creatures in his vicinity and repent. I entertained a mental image of him falling and not dying right away, but instead suffering, while Ivan and I watched from our warm abode giggling, as his limbs slowly went numb.
Alas, my wish was not granted. Apparently the same claw thingies that enable him to scurry up and down the tree in the most annoyingly nimble manner also allow him to cling securely to said tree even in the highest winds. I am annoyed.
At the same time however, I am amused. I am amused because I can imagine how he spent the last seventy-two hours. Hanging on for dear life while the wind whips around his arboreal abode, the rain penetrating every millimeter of his flea bitten fur. My dearest wish is that he can see me from his precarious perch, sitting in my window, comfy, dry and totally unaffected by the wind.
It was not to be. The storm subsided this morning. The squirrel scurried out of his tree looking none the worse for wear. The storm also succeeded in knocking the rest of the pine cones out of the tree making the squirrels labor that much easier.
Sometimes I honestly believe that Mother Nature truly hates me.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Field of Snores
The male two legger is excited. This annoys me. What has him so excited? Baseball. Apparently "his" team is doing well. The success of his team causes him to jump and shout at unexpected intervals. Since I don't understand two legger sports, I decided to first observe, and then if I deem it worthy, suggest improvements.
When I first heard the two leggers discussing baseball, I actually found myself becoming interested. They spoke of bats, flies, balls, running home, and most intriguing of all: "fowl balls". I thought it might be some sort of culinary competition. However, I was mistaken.
After careful observation of a game on the talking box thingy, I can safely say that two leggers who watch sports develop a completely different lexicon. For instance:
Bat- A large wooden club, not a flying mousie thingie.
Balls- Ok, they are pretty much round objects, made to be thrown and chased. However, it also means a poorly thrown,.....well.....ball.
Running home- No, they don't leave the park and go to their house, they run between four white things, returning to the white thing they started at. Very confusing.
Fowl balls- Well, I totally misunderstood both the meaning and spelling of this term. Apparently avian anatomy has nothing to do with this sport. (See also "Fly balls")
Now to say that the logic of this sport escapes me would be a massive understatement. At first glance it appeared that the man holding the ball (or pitcher) was trying to hit the guy holding the bat. (batter) The batter then attempts to fend off the ball with the big wooden club while simultaneously trying to drive the ball back at one of the two leggers standing behind the pitcher. After hitting the ball, the batter then drops the bat and runs to one of the white things as the other two leggers try to tag him with the ball. ( If he just kept the bat with him, I bet the other two leggers would stop trying to tag him.)
However, upon further observation, I realized that the pitcher was actually trying to miss the batter, but only by a little bit. And the batter was actually trying to hit the ball AWAY from the other players. After watching for about a half hour, I realized that there would be little or no bloodshed involved and decided that somewhere there was paint drying that was in need of watching.
Other than allowing all the players to carry bats at all times, I have no suggestions for making this sport more interesting.
In short, I've come to this realization about two leggers: Two legger sports are nothing but excuses to shirk their duties and drink beer. I guarantee that if they televised me stalking and slapping Tiger Lily, some two legged male would grab a six pack, forget his lawn, and spend four hours a day on a couch yelling about how in his day he coulda slapped her better.
Perhaps they'll give me my own channel.
When I first heard the two leggers discussing baseball, I actually found myself becoming interested. They spoke of bats, flies, balls, running home, and most intriguing of all: "fowl balls". I thought it might be some sort of culinary competition. However, I was mistaken.
After careful observation of a game on the talking box thingy, I can safely say that two leggers who watch sports develop a completely different lexicon. For instance:
Bat- A large wooden club, not a flying mousie thingie.
Balls- Ok, they are pretty much round objects, made to be thrown and chased. However, it also means a poorly thrown,.....well.....ball.
Running home- No, they don't leave the park and go to their house, they run between four white things, returning to the white thing they started at. Very confusing.
Fowl balls- Well, I totally misunderstood both the meaning and spelling of this term. Apparently avian anatomy has nothing to do with this sport. (See also "Fly balls")
Now to say that the logic of this sport escapes me would be a massive understatement. At first glance it appeared that the man holding the ball (or pitcher) was trying to hit the guy holding the bat. (batter) The batter then attempts to fend off the ball with the big wooden club while simultaneously trying to drive the ball back at one of the two leggers standing behind the pitcher. After hitting the ball, the batter then drops the bat and runs to one of the white things as the other two leggers try to tag him with the ball. ( If he just kept the bat with him, I bet the other two leggers would stop trying to tag him.)
However, upon further observation, I realized that the pitcher was actually trying to miss the batter, but only by a little bit. And the batter was actually trying to hit the ball AWAY from the other players. After watching for about a half hour, I realized that there would be little or no bloodshed involved and decided that somewhere there was paint drying that was in need of watching.
Other than allowing all the players to carry bats at all times, I have no suggestions for making this sport more interesting.
In short, I've come to this realization about two leggers: Two legger sports are nothing but excuses to shirk their duties and drink beer. I guarantee that if they televised me stalking and slapping Tiger Lily, some two legged male would grab a six pack, forget his lawn, and spend four hours a day on a couch yelling about how in his day he coulda slapped her better.
Perhaps they'll give me my own channel.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
G.O.A.Ts. (Goofy Outside Amusement Thingies)
I have living outside my house two incredibly amusing four leggers. They are of the variety that the two leggers call "goats". In fact, they may even be my favorite non feline four legged type critters. I spend hours watching them from various windows in my house. What is it about them that fascinates me so?
I'm not sure.
The two goats (named Bobbie and Gracie) seem cheerful all the time. Normally this annoys me, but in their case, it works. They spend all day in various totally unproductive activities. I respect this. They hate dogs, also worthy of my respect.
Gracie appears to be the leader of the two. This is curious because she also seems to be less intelligent than Bobbie. Granted, her horn thingies are much larger than Bobbie's, and she is somewhat larger, but these things should not automatically bestow authority. If size and lack of intelligence were the standard for leadership, Ivan would be crowned Supreme Ruler for life. Perhaps goat society is based on a different philosophy.
Be that as it may, goats are highly entertaining. Lacking claws and teeth, their only method of defense appears to be their unnaturally hard heads. When threatened, or sometimes for no apparent reason, they will stand on their hind legs, hold the pose for a moment, and then bring their heads crashing down onto the noggin of whoever has roused their displeasure. This produces a sound not unlike the sound that is made by dropping a ten pound lamp on a five pound teacup poodledog. Very amusing. It was once my great honor to witness Bobbie smash a large pitbull so hard that caused the offending beast to wander in circles for five minutes muttering like Bob Dylan's speech therapist.
Occasionally, while they are peacefully munching their grass, one of them will, for no apparent reason, jump straight into the air and take off running, kicking and pitching. I've no idea what triggers this conniption, but I admit it reminds me of Ivan when I tell him a brainwave is headed right for him.
Of all the things I enjoy most about them though, is the chaos they cause when they manage to escape from their enclosure. They always plan their escapes for the middle of the night. This is no bid for long sought freedom, (they never go far) it is simply a way for them to prove to the two leggers that two legger dominance is but an illusion.
As if I haven't proven that more than once. I guess the goats aren't the only species with hard heads.
I'm not sure.
The two goats (named Bobbie and Gracie) seem cheerful all the time. Normally this annoys me, but in their case, it works. They spend all day in various totally unproductive activities. I respect this. They hate dogs, also worthy of my respect.
Gracie appears to be the leader of the two. This is curious because she also seems to be less intelligent than Bobbie. Granted, her horn thingies are much larger than Bobbie's, and she is somewhat larger, but these things should not automatically bestow authority. If size and lack of intelligence were the standard for leadership, Ivan would be crowned Supreme Ruler for life. Perhaps goat society is based on a different philosophy.
Be that as it may, goats are highly entertaining. Lacking claws and teeth, their only method of defense appears to be their unnaturally hard heads. When threatened, or sometimes for no apparent reason, they will stand on their hind legs, hold the pose for a moment, and then bring their heads crashing down onto the noggin of whoever has roused their displeasure. This produces a sound not unlike the sound that is made by dropping a ten pound lamp on a five pound teacup poodledog. Very amusing. It was once my great honor to witness Bobbie smash a large pitbull so hard that caused the offending beast to wander in circles for five minutes muttering like Bob Dylan's speech therapist.
Occasionally, while they are peacefully munching their grass, one of them will, for no apparent reason, jump straight into the air and take off running, kicking and pitching. I've no idea what triggers this conniption, but I admit it reminds me of Ivan when I tell him a brainwave is headed right for him.
Of all the things I enjoy most about them though, is the chaos they cause when they manage to escape from their enclosure. They always plan their escapes for the middle of the night. This is no bid for long sought freedom, (they never go far) it is simply a way for them to prove to the two leggers that two legger dominance is but an illusion.
As if I haven't proven that more than once. I guess the goats aren't the only species with hard heads.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Prestidigitation, and Other Naughty Sounding Words
I have spent quite a bit of time explaining WHY we felines do the things we do, but I've yet to explain HOW we do the things we do. Allow me to correct that oversight now.
Two leggers have always marveled at our many abilities. We can hear the sound of a tuna can being opened in a sound proof room, encased in lead, during a rap concert, in a hailstorm. We have the ability to defy gravity when it pleases us. We know to within .0001 millimeters, the spot on your body that hurts the most and the best way to step on said spot in order to cause the most discomfort. We are even able to become completely invisible if you decide that you need to remove us to a different room.
There is a perfectly reasonable and scientific explanation for how we do all this. It has been studied at numerous universities and other places where alcohol is consumed. The answer?
MAGIC
Yes, you read correctly. Magic.
I'll elaborate, but first I must explain for those unfamiliar with feline history how we came to receive these powers.
Very early in our history, long before the two leggers climbed down from their trees and started building cul de sacs, I believe it was during the Mittens Dynasty; the reigning patriarch, Tucker Ironclaw, discovered a magic catnip mousie thingy. (Back then catnip mousie thingies were made from real mousie thingies that had been caught and force fed catnip until they expired) While he was stalking his new toy, the spirit of the mouse appeared and offered Tucker three wishes if he'd spare him the indignity of being slapped and slobbered upon for countless hours. Tucker, being the wise ruler he was, demanded six wishes. They finally compromised and settled on 24 wishes.
His first wish was to make all dogs idiots. the next 22 wishes he spent on scratching posts, feathers and a Chia Pet. His last wish was to grant all future felines magical abilities. Not to use for the furtherance of peace on Earth or any such silly cause, but rather simply to amuse us.
The magical catnip mousie thingy was spared and the rest is history.
Now I can tell that many two leggers will be somewhat doubtful of my explanation. But trust me, the only parts of this story that are untrue, are the parts I made up.
Two leggers have always marveled at our many abilities. We can hear the sound of a tuna can being opened in a sound proof room, encased in lead, during a rap concert, in a hailstorm. We have the ability to defy gravity when it pleases us. We know to within .0001 millimeters, the spot on your body that hurts the most and the best way to step on said spot in order to cause the most discomfort. We are even able to become completely invisible if you decide that you need to remove us to a different room.
There is a perfectly reasonable and scientific explanation for how we do all this. It has been studied at numerous universities and other places where alcohol is consumed. The answer?
MAGIC
Yes, you read correctly. Magic.
I'll elaborate, but first I must explain for those unfamiliar with feline history how we came to receive these powers.
Very early in our history, long before the two leggers climbed down from their trees and started building cul de sacs, I believe it was during the Mittens Dynasty; the reigning patriarch, Tucker Ironclaw, discovered a magic catnip mousie thingy. (Back then catnip mousie thingies were made from real mousie thingies that had been caught and force fed catnip until they expired) While he was stalking his new toy, the spirit of the mouse appeared and offered Tucker three wishes if he'd spare him the indignity of being slapped and slobbered upon for countless hours. Tucker, being the wise ruler he was, demanded six wishes. They finally compromised and settled on 24 wishes.
His first wish was to make all dogs idiots. the next 22 wishes he spent on scratching posts, feathers and a Chia Pet. His last wish was to grant all future felines magical abilities. Not to use for the furtherance of peace on Earth or any such silly cause, but rather simply to amuse us.
The magical catnip mousie thingy was spared and the rest is history.
Now I can tell that many two leggers will be somewhat doubtful of my explanation. But trust me, the only parts of this story that are untrue, are the parts I made up.
Monday, October 11, 2010
The Name Game
I have had several followers ask me "Why doesn't my cat come to me when I call its name?" There are several possible explanations for this behavior.
First and foremost, unless you have food or a catnip mousie thingy, we see no need to answer your summons. Trotting up to you whenever we hear our name like some, I don't know, umm...DOG! This does not amuse us. We are not dogs, we have too much dignity and self respect. If a cat should happen to come to you after hearing its name being called, trust me, it is nothing but an ugly coincidence. Do not flatter yourself.
Another reason we don't answer when you call, and my personal pet peeve (no pun intended) are the names you call us by. We simply disagree with your choice of moniker. I have yet to meet a cat that considers "Fluffy" to be a good name. It is a description and shows a basic lack of imagination. Have you ever seen a two legger infant named "Short, Stubby and Hairless"? This theory also applies to "Blackie", "Ginger" and "Demon Beast From Hell". Simple descriptions, not names.
On the other hand, some two leggers use entirely too much imagination when naming us. Names like "Harry Squatter" and "Mr. McWhiskers" come to mind. We are not amused.
And of course, there are the names that are so inane that no explanation is needed. Why do you insist on naming us "Kitty" or Kitty Kat" or "Puss"? It baffles me.
If you must give us names and expect us to reply, you need to name us as we see ourselves. "Fang", "Goliath" and "Mouse Munchin Thingy" are all names I'd be proud to wear. Ivan is very pleased with his name. (though he'd actually prefer "Guido") Tiger Lily likes her first name, but whines about her last name. (I'll smack her later)
So, if you really expect us to come when called, call us something that doesn't embarrass us. I doubt we'll answer, but at least your shoes will survive.
First and foremost, unless you have food or a catnip mousie thingy, we see no need to answer your summons. Trotting up to you whenever we hear our name like some, I don't know, umm...DOG! This does not amuse us. We are not dogs, we have too much dignity and self respect. If a cat should happen to come to you after hearing its name being called, trust me, it is nothing but an ugly coincidence. Do not flatter yourself.
Another reason we don't answer when you call, and my personal pet peeve (no pun intended) are the names you call us by. We simply disagree with your choice of moniker. I have yet to meet a cat that considers "Fluffy" to be a good name. It is a description and shows a basic lack of imagination. Have you ever seen a two legger infant named "Short, Stubby and Hairless"? This theory also applies to "Blackie", "Ginger" and "Demon Beast From Hell". Simple descriptions, not names.
On the other hand, some two leggers use entirely too much imagination when naming us. Names like "Harry Squatter" and "Mr. McWhiskers" come to mind. We are not amused.
And of course, there are the names that are so inane that no explanation is needed. Why do you insist on naming us "Kitty" or Kitty Kat" or "Puss"? It baffles me.
If you must give us names and expect us to reply, you need to name us as we see ourselves. "Fang", "Goliath" and "Mouse Munchin Thingy" are all names I'd be proud to wear. Ivan is very pleased with his name. (though he'd actually prefer "Guido") Tiger Lily likes her first name, but whines about her last name. (I'll smack her later)
So, if you really expect us to come when called, call us something that doesn't embarrass us. I doubt we'll answer, but at least your shoes will survive.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Ode To The Squirrel Thingy
This bit of prose
I write by special request.
Not for a special friend,
It's for my special pest.
The pest that I speak of
Is the front yard squirrel
He acts happy all day long.
It makes me want to hurl.
Scampering across the yard,
Doing squirrely things.
Leaping from branch to branch,
Flying without wings.
I sit in the bay window,
Chittering my displeasure,
Someday I'll get hold of him
And consume him at my leisure.
Even at nighttime,
There's no escape it seems.
I wake up in the wee hours,
After having squirrely dreams.
I hope you do not doubt me,
I know of which I speak.
There's none so maddening
As this pine cone munching freak.
I am not his only detractor,
Ivan, he shares my disdain.
He'd love to get ahold of him
And cause him lots of pain.
The day it is approaching,
The rodent he will pay.
I'll bust out the window screen.
The rodent I will slay.
And so I'll say in closing,
Before I take my nap.
Only Tiger Lily
Would be more fun to slap.
I write by special request.
Not for a special friend,
It's for my special pest.
The pest that I speak of
Is the front yard squirrel
He acts happy all day long.
It makes me want to hurl.
Scampering across the yard,
Doing squirrely things.
Leaping from branch to branch,
Flying without wings.
I sit in the bay window,
Chittering my displeasure,
Someday I'll get hold of him
And consume him at my leisure.
Even at nighttime,
There's no escape it seems.
I wake up in the wee hours,
After having squirrely dreams.
I hope you do not doubt me,
I know of which I speak.
There's none so maddening
As this pine cone munching freak.
I am not his only detractor,
Ivan, he shares my disdain.
He'd love to get ahold of him
And cause him lots of pain.
The day it is approaching,
The rodent he will pay.
I'll bust out the window screen.
The rodent I will slay.
And so I'll say in closing,
Before I take my nap.
Only Tiger Lily
Would be more fun to slap.
Monday, October 4, 2010
I Crack Myself Up
Several of my followers have written me and asked whether we feline types tell "jokes". I assure you we do. In fact, I would like to share a few of my favorites with you now. Please bear in mind, my jokes are targeted towards a higher intellect (feline) and therefore some two leggers may require their four legged companions to explain. They may or may not be happy to offer explanation, it is their choice. I, myself have often tried to explain my jokes to my two leggers only to be met with vacant or even baffled stares. So here goes:
How many squirrels does it take to carpet a floor?
Twenty, if you slice them thin.
How many squirrels does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
Why are they in a lightbulb? hehehehe that one always kills me.
Why shouldn't you eat mothballs?
Too hard to get their little legs apart.
Did you hear about the dog with wooden legs?
He caught fire and burned to the ground.
Why don't squirrels eat M&Ms?
Too hard to peel.
Why do dogs pant?
They haven't learned to skirt.
And finally: Why do cats sleep all day?
Because we can.
How many squirrels does it take to carpet a floor?
Twenty, if you slice them thin.
How many squirrels does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
Why are they in a lightbulb? hehehehe that one always kills me.
Why shouldn't you eat mothballs?
Too hard to get their little legs apart.
Did you hear about the dog with wooden legs?
He caught fire and burned to the ground.
Why don't squirrels eat M&Ms?
Too hard to peel.
Why do dogs pant?
They haven't learned to skirt.
And finally: Why do cats sleep all day?
Because we can.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Oktoberpest
Well, the two leggers are at it again.
Every October, two leggers have a tradition of making or purchasing Halloween costumes for us four legged types. This sits squarely in the "non-amusing" side of the ledger. Even if you allow for the scarcity of employed brain cells within the two leggers noggins, there is no possible way for them not to realize that this behavior does not amuse us. How can they honestly believe that we sit around all day, wishing that they would suddenly grab one of us and begin wrapping us in costumes that when finished, make us look like a clowns that are about to mutilate anything that comes within reach? Then they pull out their camera thingy and take as many pictures as possible before someone loses an eye.
I can't even give them credit for originality. Take Ivan's costume for example: Let's think..... he's round, slightly striped, hollow headed and goofy looking. Ohhh! I know, let's dress him as a jack-o-lantern! Duh.
Tiger Lily does require a little imagination, but not much. She's gray, irritating, totally unamusing and whines a lot, they put a necktie on her and call her David Letterman.
As for myself, I already wear a tuxedo 24/7 so they simply place me next to a martini glass and a pistol and call me "James Bond". Unfortunately the pistol thingy is not real, otherwise the only pictures being taken would be by those two leggers that wear the jackets that say "CSI".
Someday, when we finally put the two leggers on trial for crimes against feline dignity, these pictures will be exhibit A. The only sentence that could possibly rectify this vile injustice will be dressing them as four leggers and making them go out and spend hours among other two leggers.
Dang, they already do that.
Every October, two leggers have a tradition of making or purchasing Halloween costumes for us four legged types. This sits squarely in the "non-amusing" side of the ledger. Even if you allow for the scarcity of employed brain cells within the two leggers noggins, there is no possible way for them not to realize that this behavior does not amuse us. How can they honestly believe that we sit around all day, wishing that they would suddenly grab one of us and begin wrapping us in costumes that when finished, make us look like a clowns that are about to mutilate anything that comes within reach? Then they pull out their camera thingy and take as many pictures as possible before someone loses an eye.
I can't even give them credit for originality. Take Ivan's costume for example: Let's think..... he's round, slightly striped, hollow headed and goofy looking. Ohhh! I know, let's dress him as a jack-o-lantern! Duh.
Tiger Lily does require a little imagination, but not much. She's gray, irritating, totally unamusing and whines a lot, they put a necktie on her and call her David Letterman.
As for myself, I already wear a tuxedo 24/7 so they simply place me next to a martini glass and a pistol and call me "James Bond". Unfortunately the pistol thingy is not real, otherwise the only pictures being taken would be by those two leggers that wear the jackets that say "CSI".
Someday, when we finally put the two leggers on trial for crimes against feline dignity, these pictures will be exhibit A. The only sentence that could possibly rectify this vile injustice will be dressing them as four leggers and making them go out and spend hours among other two leggers.
Dang, they already do that.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Rub a Dub Dub, Chaos In The Tub.
OK, I had every intention of not posting today. In fact I had every intention of not doing a darn thing today. I was even planning on not smacking Tiger Lily today. Well, that last one went right out the window when I detected her scent on one of my favorite napping spots. Her scent is unmistakable. It smells like a cross between something that needs smacking and something that REALLY needs smacking.
Anyway, my male two legger has just finished pleading with me to post tonight. It seems that a friend of his is going through a tough time and has asked that I spread some joy and enlightenment.
Joy and enlightenment annoy me, but the two legger promised me a new catnip mousie thingy and so I acquiesced.
Not much happened today. Ivan and I played some bathtub soccer. This was amusing until the female decided to take a shower and turned on the water while the bathtub was still occupied. Fortunately, I had realized what was about to happen and vacated the tub about a millisecond before the water arrived. Ivan being slower of both mind and body was not so lucky. This is when the game crossed the threshold from amusing to VERY amusing.
Ivan's stubby little legs became a stubby little blur as his claws could find no purchase on the floor of the tub. Scrabbling around in blind panic, Ivan managed to bring three bottles of shampoo, two bars of soap, and a rubber ducky thingy crashing down upon his unnaturally small head. In a final flurry of claws and teeth, Ivan hooked the shower curtain causing it to fall down in a downpour of grotesquely colored vinyl. This caused much chaos.
Sometimes what begins as a completely innocent activity turns without warning into something beautiful and amusing.
This is for you LisaMarie.
Anyway, my male two legger has just finished pleading with me to post tonight. It seems that a friend of his is going through a tough time and has asked that I spread some joy and enlightenment.
Joy and enlightenment annoy me, but the two legger promised me a new catnip mousie thingy and so I acquiesced.
Not much happened today. Ivan and I played some bathtub soccer. This was amusing until the female decided to take a shower and turned on the water while the bathtub was still occupied. Fortunately, I had realized what was about to happen and vacated the tub about a millisecond before the water arrived. Ivan being slower of both mind and body was not so lucky. This is when the game crossed the threshold from amusing to VERY amusing.
Ivan's stubby little legs became a stubby little blur as his claws could find no purchase on the floor of the tub. Scrabbling around in blind panic, Ivan managed to bring three bottles of shampoo, two bars of soap, and a rubber ducky thingy crashing down upon his unnaturally small head. In a final flurry of claws and teeth, Ivan hooked the shower curtain causing it to fall down in a downpour of grotesquely colored vinyl. This caused much chaos.
Sometimes what begins as a completely innocent activity turns without warning into something beautiful and amusing.
This is for you LisaMarie.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
A Mouse Divided
There is a mouse thingy in my house thingy. Too Dr. Suess?
Last night I detected a mouse thingy. Not a catnip mousie thingy, but a real, living, scratchy sound making, nose twitching, squeaky mouse thingy.
It must die.
It must die slowly in a most amusing way.
It must die, be revived and then die again, and then repeat.
Alas, I have erred. I tipped my hand too early. I should have waited to begin my mouse slaying ritual until the two leggers had retired for the evening. But instead, in a fit of expectant blood letting anticipation, I began stalking the mouse and attracted the attention of the male two legger. So, in his usual pacifistic manner, he decided that though the mouse should be terminated, it should be terminated in the most humane manner possible. Major buzz kill. He went to the outdoor shed and retrieved his pride and joy: The Rat Zapper 3000. The Rat Zapper 3000 claims to kill rodents instantly and painlessly by administering a 50 kajillion volt shock. How they can get 50 kajillion volts from two AA batteries is truly a mystery, but unfortunately it seems to work. They bait it with peanut butter, turn it on, and within an hour or two, there is a faintly glowing mouse corpse awaiting safe and clean disposal. Snore.
This is no way for a mouse to die. Mice are on this earth for two reasons. They annoy humans and amuse felines. A quick painless mouse whacking goes against the laws of nature.
A mouse needs to be stalked. They actually enjoy being stalked. They even squeak so that they are easier to track. That's where we get the phrase "The squeaky mouse gets greased".
Following a proper amount of stalking, the mouse conveniently runs into a corner, or bathtub where the batting commences. Mice should be batted around until they decide to play dead. This can take anywhere from few minutes to upwards of an hour depending on the endurance of the the mouse and the amount of batting force applied.
Once the mouse appears dead, the mouse should be carefully watched. They never truly die after the first round of batting, they are only mostly dead and require a moment to regain some of their aliveness. At the first whisker twitch, the batting begins anew.
After this process is repeated several times, the mouse will stir no more. At this point the mouse is considered to be an ex-rodent. At this point, the mouse has fulfilled it's destiny and should be given a proper burial.
Preferably somewhere in the two leggers bed.
Last night I detected a mouse thingy. Not a catnip mousie thingy, but a real, living, scratchy sound making, nose twitching, squeaky mouse thingy.
It must die.
It must die slowly in a most amusing way.
It must die, be revived and then die again, and then repeat.
Alas, I have erred. I tipped my hand too early. I should have waited to begin my mouse slaying ritual until the two leggers had retired for the evening. But instead, in a fit of expectant blood letting anticipation, I began stalking the mouse and attracted the attention of the male two legger. So, in his usual pacifistic manner, he decided that though the mouse should be terminated, it should be terminated in the most humane manner possible. Major buzz kill. He went to the outdoor shed and retrieved his pride and joy: The Rat Zapper 3000. The Rat Zapper 3000 claims to kill rodents instantly and painlessly by administering a 50 kajillion volt shock. How they can get 50 kajillion volts from two AA batteries is truly a mystery, but unfortunately it seems to work. They bait it with peanut butter, turn it on, and within an hour or two, there is a faintly glowing mouse corpse awaiting safe and clean disposal. Snore.
This is no way for a mouse to die. Mice are on this earth for two reasons. They annoy humans and amuse felines. A quick painless mouse whacking goes against the laws of nature.
A mouse needs to be stalked. They actually enjoy being stalked. They even squeak so that they are easier to track. That's where we get the phrase "The squeaky mouse gets greased".
Following a proper amount of stalking, the mouse conveniently runs into a corner, or bathtub where the batting commences. Mice should be batted around until they decide to play dead. This can take anywhere from few minutes to upwards of an hour depending on the endurance of the the mouse and the amount of batting force applied.
Once the mouse appears dead, the mouse should be carefully watched. They never truly die after the first round of batting, they are only mostly dead and require a moment to regain some of their aliveness. At the first whisker twitch, the batting begins anew.
After this process is repeated several times, the mouse will stir no more. At this point the mouse is considered to be an ex-rodent. At this point, the mouse has fulfilled it's destiny and should be given a proper burial.
Preferably somewhere in the two leggers bed.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Fireside Cat
This is my favorite time of year. Fire season. I love fire season. Here in my house it lasts about nine months. Not near long enough, but I have plans to lengthen it.
No, I'm not referring to the time of year when a whole bunch of wild tree thingies go up in flames, the season to which I refer occurs when the temperature gets low enough that the two leggers decide to turn on my firebox.
About the only thing the two leggers have that is worthy of my respect is their ability to instantly create fire. About three years ago, while I was still an adorable kitten (about six months before I became an adorable adult), the two leggers paid three hygiene challenged two leggers (they smelled of dog) to come into my house and build the great and wonderful firebox thingy. At first I was less than amused. They removed my favorite "sit and glare at the two leggers" table. Then over the course of seven hours, they banged, talked and annoyed me in general, causing me to miss at least three naps. Just when I thought I could take no more and was just about to send Ivan to mess them up, they packed up their things and left. They had replaced my favorite table with the firebox thingy. At first I didn't like it at all. I still decided it was mine, but I didn't like it. It spans the entire distance between floor and ceiling and therefore I am unable sit atop it. This annoyed me. It is made of a very hard wood, therefore I am unable to scratch or damage it. Also very annoying.
I sat glaring at it until the two leggers returned home. They seemed inordinately happy about this new addition to my home. The male then picked up a tiny button box and "WHOOF", fire appeared. I saw that it was good.
I immediately made the two leggers place my throne in front of it and informed everyone that this belonged to me.
Ivan is of course confused by fire. I've tried to explain that fire makes heat, but complex theories like that are simply beyond his microbrain. I allow Tiger Lily to lay in front of it on occasion but only if it is off and I am napping elsewhere and thus unaware of her trespass.
Earlier, I spoke of extending the fire season. I have been carefully observing the way the two leggers light the firebox. I am positive that the little button box is the key in making fire. However I've yet to crack that nut. Whenever the two leggers leave, I experiment with the tiny button box. But so far all I have been able to do is activate the talking box thingy. But I do not despair.
It is only a matter of time and observation.
Someday I will discover their secret and all will sweat because of it.
No, I'm not referring to the time of year when a whole bunch of wild tree thingies go up in flames, the season to which I refer occurs when the temperature gets low enough that the two leggers decide to turn on my firebox.
About the only thing the two leggers have that is worthy of my respect is their ability to instantly create fire. About three years ago, while I was still an adorable kitten (about six months before I became an adorable adult), the two leggers paid three hygiene challenged two leggers (they smelled of dog) to come into my house and build the great and wonderful firebox thingy. At first I was less than amused. They removed my favorite "sit and glare at the two leggers" table. Then over the course of seven hours, they banged, talked and annoyed me in general, causing me to miss at least three naps. Just when I thought I could take no more and was just about to send Ivan to mess them up, they packed up their things and left. They had replaced my favorite table with the firebox thingy. At first I didn't like it at all. I still decided it was mine, but I didn't like it. It spans the entire distance between floor and ceiling and therefore I am unable sit atop it. This annoyed me. It is made of a very hard wood, therefore I am unable to scratch or damage it. Also very annoying.
I sat glaring at it until the two leggers returned home. They seemed inordinately happy about this new addition to my home. The male then picked up a tiny button box and "WHOOF", fire appeared. I saw that it was good.
I immediately made the two leggers place my throne in front of it and informed everyone that this belonged to me.
Ivan is of course confused by fire. I've tried to explain that fire makes heat, but complex theories like that are simply beyond his microbrain. I allow Tiger Lily to lay in front of it on occasion but only if it is off and I am napping elsewhere and thus unaware of her trespass.
Earlier, I spoke of extending the fire season. I have been carefully observing the way the two leggers light the firebox. I am positive that the little button box is the key in making fire. However I've yet to crack that nut. Whenever the two leggers leave, I experiment with the tiny button box. But so far all I have been able to do is activate the talking box thingy. But I do not despair.
It is only a matter of time and observation.
Someday I will discover their secret and all will sweat because of it.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
In Your Facebook
Once again I have been observing the two leggers. Once again, I am confused. While two legger behavior is often confusing, it is seldom blog worthy. In this case, I feel I must reach out to my readers and ask them to explain this particular oddness.
The oddness I refer to is called "Facebook". At first glance, Facebook, or "FB" as the oddest two leggers call it, seemed to be a way for two leggers who live in different areas to communicate with each other. I can see the reasoning behind this. I myself wouldn't mind contacting my old littermates and bragging about how I conquered and developed my kingdom. This would be amusing. I would share my wisdom and catnip procurement strategies. Perhaps I would even "franchise" my kingdom. Imagine a world where there was a Cujoish cat in every home that had internet access. Truly a utopian society.
Back to the two leggers. Do they use this technology in the noble pursuit of spreading Cujoness everywhere? No. They use it to tell each other what they had for dinner. They tell each other every single thing that they "like". They show each other silly picture thingies. But most of all, they play games in which they do things that in real life they consider chores.
Take "Farmville". I have observed my male two legger spending hours planting and harvesting crops, feeding and combing animals, building fences and barns. Meanwhile, my lawn needs mowing, I am hungry, my fur is matted, and my roof leaks. Maybe if I awarded useless imaginary money for taking care of us, I'd never again have to witness Ivan sulking because he can see the bottom of his food bowl.
One other thing that annoys me about Facebook is that they have a "like" button thingy. Why only "like"? If I was in charge there would be several more button thingies:
Annoy
Amuse
Smack
Snub
Smack Again
They do have an "ignore" button, but by pressing it aren't you actually "paying attention"?
So please, if you can enlighten me, do so.
Oh, just a side note to the people from PETA who wrote me regarding my treatment of Tiger Lily: As a matter of fact, I DO wear fur.
The oddness I refer to is called "Facebook". At first glance, Facebook, or "FB" as the oddest two leggers call it, seemed to be a way for two leggers who live in different areas to communicate with each other. I can see the reasoning behind this. I myself wouldn't mind contacting my old littermates and bragging about how I conquered and developed my kingdom. This would be amusing. I would share my wisdom and catnip procurement strategies. Perhaps I would even "franchise" my kingdom. Imagine a world where there was a Cujoish cat in every home that had internet access. Truly a utopian society.
Back to the two leggers. Do they use this technology in the noble pursuit of spreading Cujoness everywhere? No. They use it to tell each other what they had for dinner. They tell each other every single thing that they "like". They show each other silly picture thingies. But most of all, they play games in which they do things that in real life they consider chores.
Take "Farmville". I have observed my male two legger spending hours planting and harvesting crops, feeding and combing animals, building fences and barns. Meanwhile, my lawn needs mowing, I am hungry, my fur is matted, and my roof leaks. Maybe if I awarded useless imaginary money for taking care of us, I'd never again have to witness Ivan sulking because he can see the bottom of his food bowl.
One other thing that annoys me about Facebook is that they have a "like" button thingy. Why only "like"? If I was in charge there would be several more button thingies:
Annoy
Amuse
Smack
Snub
Smack Again
They do have an "ignore" button, but by pressing it aren't you actually "paying attention"?
So please, if you can enlighten me, do so.
Oh, just a side note to the people from PETA who wrote me regarding my treatment of Tiger Lily: As a matter of fact, I DO wear fur.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Wad A Wonderful World
I must confess. I have a weakness. Call it a vice, an obsession or even an addiction. I'm not proud of it, I think it weakens me. But I have promised myself to always be completely truthful in this blog thingy and therefore would be remiss if I were to hide this basket of dirty laundry. So here goes. I can only hope that you can overlook this shortcoming.
I love wads. There I said it.
Not just any wads. I am as selective in my choice of wads as I am in my hairball thingy placement. The proper wad should be 2-3 inches in diameter. It must be made of either note pad paper or that slightly foily stuff that candy bar wrappers are made of. It must not be so tightly mooshed that it fails to make the proper crackly sound. It can NEVER be made of newspaper as that smacks of recycling and therefore annoys me.
Unfortunately, the manufacture and deployment of wads requires the assistance of a two legger. I have spent much time in the training of my two leggers, teaching them the proper assemblage and launch techniques. The irony being that they honestly believe that they have "trained" me to "fetch". It was a long, incredibly tedious process (two leggers can be dim) but they seem to have finally gained at least a rudimentary understanding of what is expected of them.
The hardest thing to teach them was the proper trajectory of wad flight. The wad should should always be thrown so that it forms a perfect parabola of 45 degrees. This allows me time to get under the wad as it begins its' freefall and then bat it out of midair if I so choose. If I choose to allow it to land, the angle enables the wad to skitter across the floor so that I can show off my incredible hockey skills.
After smacking the wad around for several minutes to prove my dominance over all things paper, I then pick it up and return it to the two legged wad launcher and wait for the next round. This can continue for hours.
I have tried several times to introduce my feline minions to the pleasure of the wad, but have thus far failed to stimulate their interest. Tiger Lily just whines about all the smacking involved, and Ivan has a fear of all things round.
There, now you know my dirty little secret. It's out there. Deal with it.
I love wads. There I said it.
Not just any wads. I am as selective in my choice of wads as I am in my hairball thingy placement. The proper wad should be 2-3 inches in diameter. It must be made of either note pad paper or that slightly foily stuff that candy bar wrappers are made of. It must not be so tightly mooshed that it fails to make the proper crackly sound. It can NEVER be made of newspaper as that smacks of recycling and therefore annoys me.
Unfortunately, the manufacture and deployment of wads requires the assistance of a two legger. I have spent much time in the training of my two leggers, teaching them the proper assemblage and launch techniques. The irony being that they honestly believe that they have "trained" me to "fetch". It was a long, incredibly tedious process (two leggers can be dim) but they seem to have finally gained at least a rudimentary understanding of what is expected of them.
The hardest thing to teach them was the proper trajectory of wad flight. The wad should should always be thrown so that it forms a perfect parabola of 45 degrees. This allows me time to get under the wad as it begins its' freefall and then bat it out of midair if I so choose. If I choose to allow it to land, the angle enables the wad to skitter across the floor so that I can show off my incredible hockey skills.
After smacking the wad around for several minutes to prove my dominance over all things paper, I then pick it up and return it to the two legged wad launcher and wait for the next round. This can continue for hours.
I have tried several times to introduce my feline minions to the pleasure of the wad, but have thus far failed to stimulate their interest. Tiger Lily just whines about all the smacking involved, and Ivan has a fear of all things round.
There, now you know my dirty little secret. It's out there. Deal with it.
Monday, September 20, 2010
"Family Time"
Ugh.
My two leggers have now mandated a new type of Hell. They call it "family time". Ever since their offspring escaped, the two leggers have now unleashed their unpasteurized affection upon myself and my four legged minions. Adoration, admiration and worshipful awe are welcomed and of course, expected, but affection is unacceptable.
Affection is an emotion that implies the expectation of the return of the same emotion. Silly two leggers. When will they learn?
Anyway, I digress. Family time occurs every evening at ten o'clock sharp. The two leggers retire to their bed in order to watch the talking box thingy and expect us feline types to join them. They even go so far as to pick us up and lock us in the bedroom. As if we don't have better things to do. There are dust bunnies to harvest and "knock-knacks" (not a typo) to "rearrange". These are things that are difficult to accomplish while the two leggers are up and about.
We have learned to accept this daily purgatory, though we refuse to like it.
Tiger Lily curls up on the pillow behind the female's head, usually with her tail tickling her ear. This amuses her. Ivan sprawls with his ample weight equally distributed across both the two leggers raising their body temperature by an average of 115 degrees Farenheit. I meanwhile, am not so predictable. Sometimes I curl up and pretend to nap on the end of the bed, but not often. I prefer activities that cause more mayhem.
For instance, I have found that by sitting on top of the talking box thingy and giving the two leggers my patented "owl-face" glare, I can irritate them to the point that they end up letting me out. It also amuses to me walk along the bedstands enforcing the law of gravity on anything that may be pushed off.
But what amuses me the most is sneaking along the side of the bed, waiting until I am precisely even with Tiger Lily's position, and then leaping upon her with out warning. This invariably causes a chain reaction of chaos. Startling Tiger Lily causes her to poof, jump and declare her displeasure in an incredibly loud whine (not always in that order). This startles both two leggers which in turn causes Ivan to poof and fly off the bed and run into the nearest wall. Pictures have been known to be knocked down by Ivan's impact with the wall. This never fails to make the two leggers so frustrated that me and my cohorts are declared unfit for family time and banished from the bedroom.
Mission accomplished.
My two leggers have now mandated a new type of Hell. They call it "family time". Ever since their offspring escaped, the two leggers have now unleashed their unpasteurized affection upon myself and my four legged minions. Adoration, admiration and worshipful awe are welcomed and of course, expected, but affection is unacceptable.
Affection is an emotion that implies the expectation of the return of the same emotion. Silly two leggers. When will they learn?
Anyway, I digress. Family time occurs every evening at ten o'clock sharp. The two leggers retire to their bed in order to watch the talking box thingy and expect us feline types to join them. They even go so far as to pick us up and lock us in the bedroom. As if we don't have better things to do. There are dust bunnies to harvest and "knock-knacks" (not a typo) to "rearrange". These are things that are difficult to accomplish while the two leggers are up and about.
We have learned to accept this daily purgatory, though we refuse to like it.
Tiger Lily curls up on the pillow behind the female's head, usually with her tail tickling her ear. This amuses her. Ivan sprawls with his ample weight equally distributed across both the two leggers raising their body temperature by an average of 115 degrees Farenheit. I meanwhile, am not so predictable. Sometimes I curl up and pretend to nap on the end of the bed, but not often. I prefer activities that cause more mayhem.
For instance, I have found that by sitting on top of the talking box thingy and giving the two leggers my patented "owl-face" glare, I can irritate them to the point that they end up letting me out. It also amuses to me walk along the bedstands enforcing the law of gravity on anything that may be pushed off.
But what amuses me the most is sneaking along the side of the bed, waiting until I am precisely even with Tiger Lily's position, and then leaping upon her with out warning. This invariably causes a chain reaction of chaos. Startling Tiger Lily causes her to poof, jump and declare her displeasure in an incredibly loud whine (not always in that order). This startles both two leggers which in turn causes Ivan to poof and fly off the bed and run into the nearest wall. Pictures have been known to be knocked down by Ivan's impact with the wall. This never fails to make the two leggers so frustrated that me and my cohorts are declared unfit for family time and banished from the bedroom.
Mission accomplished.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Rain Blows
It rained today. Why is this blog worthy? Because it irritated me. Why did it irritate me? Read on, McDuff.
As a rule, rain seldom irritates me. It occasionally even amuses me. When it rains it will sometimes irritate the two leggers. They often plan outdoor activities only to have them ruined by rain. Given our geographic location, one would think that they would never plan anything that takes place outdoors. But being the incurable optimists that they are, (which I find unbearably irritating) they go ahead and plan away. Therefore when Mother Nature reaches out and smacks their plans into soggy oblivion, it amuses me.
It also amuses me when it rains because I am fully aware that the neighbor's yappy little shiver hound is stuck outside until his two leggers return from work. I enjoy sitting in the bay window, observing him sitting on his front porch shaking like, well, one of those really shaky thingies. I have even been known to chortle at this.
The reason the rain annoyed me today was the fact that the two leggers were home all day with nothing in particular planned. This compelled them to declare a "lazy day". In essence, they sat around all day with nothing to do but impede my activities. Every time I decided to torture Tiger Lily, the male would grab the water squirty thingy and chase me into the spare room until the urge had passed. I was unable to cause any damage because they were ALWAYS watching. Ivan spent the whole day on the female's lap so I was unable to mess with him. I couldn't even bird watch because apparently the bird thingies took a "lazy day" as well.
Finally I have reached a decision. I will nap. It won't amuse me, however it will have the benefit of allowing me to stay up ALL night sowing hate and discontent. They may have had a "lazy day", but their night should be somewhat more interesting.
As a rule, rain seldom irritates me. It occasionally even amuses me. When it rains it will sometimes irritate the two leggers. They often plan outdoor activities only to have them ruined by rain. Given our geographic location, one would think that they would never plan anything that takes place outdoors. But being the incurable optimists that they are, (which I find unbearably irritating) they go ahead and plan away. Therefore when Mother Nature reaches out and smacks their plans into soggy oblivion, it amuses me.
It also amuses me when it rains because I am fully aware that the neighbor's yappy little shiver hound is stuck outside until his two leggers return from work. I enjoy sitting in the bay window, observing him sitting on his front porch shaking like, well, one of those really shaky thingies. I have even been known to chortle at this.
The reason the rain annoyed me today was the fact that the two leggers were home all day with nothing in particular planned. This compelled them to declare a "lazy day". In essence, they sat around all day with nothing to do but impede my activities. Every time I decided to torture Tiger Lily, the male would grab the water squirty thingy and chase me into the spare room until the urge had passed. I was unable to cause any damage because they were ALWAYS watching. Ivan spent the whole day on the female's lap so I was unable to mess with him. I couldn't even bird watch because apparently the bird thingies took a "lazy day" as well.
Finally I have reached a decision. I will nap. It won't amuse me, however it will have the benefit of allowing me to stay up ALL night sowing hate and discontent. They may have had a "lazy day", but their night should be somewhat more interesting.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
The Fork Fairy
Yes, I'm evil. I admit it. I revel in it. It's what I am. It's what I do.
Now many of you may gasp in disbelief, mouths agape with incredulity. But it's true. Allow me to elaborate.
I have noticed over the years that the two leggers will often leave a few dirty dishes on the counter with the intention of washing them the next morning. Invariably, this also includes a few items of silverware. One night while visiting the midnight buffet, I decided that all the silverware should be introduced to the floor. The introductions thus being made, I took special notice of the fork thingies. What drew my attention to them was that through some quirk of engineering, they slid incredibly well, and silently, on any smooth surface. Now normally I don't do silence. Silence is usually the arch enemy of chaos, but in this case it actually serves as a useful ally.
First I required a handy hidey hole in which to stash what was to become the first of many liberated fork thingies. There is a place in every house that no two legger dares to look. It is dark, eternally dirty and difficult to reach. It is my belief that two leggers are raised from childhood never to explore this space. Though it be small, it is capable of holding a remarkable amount of unsavory evidence. It is of course, "THE SPACE BENEATH THE STOVE".
Now if I were to liberate all the fork thingies at once, the two leggers would surely grow suspicious. This bit of amusement requires more patience and tact. Every third night, I would liberate a single fork thingy. After several weeks, the female two legger noticed a scarcity of eating utensils. Assuming this was the male's fault, she chastised him and then bought a new set of fork thingies. These new fork thingies however, were of a slightly different design and therefore didn't match the others. I continued my late night larceny until the lack of utensils was once again noticed. Now with the male instructed to only eat with his fingers, it was time to up the ante.
The following night, I removed one of the new fork thingies from the pit of darkness and placed it strategically on the floor below the sink. This drew no notice from the two leggers, so the next night I placed two of the original fork thingies next to the refrigerator. These were noticed and subsequently washed and placed in their drawer. Their confusion is amusing. My plan is to continue in this manner until the two leggers discover that all their fork thingies have returned to their roost. Once this is accomplished, the migration of the fork thingies will begin anew.
Now just a request to my loyal readers: If any of you are in contact with my two leggers, please do not blow the whistle on me. This has provided me with much amusement and I'd hate to have to send Ivan after your shoes.
Now many of you may gasp in disbelief, mouths agape with incredulity. But it's true. Allow me to elaborate.
I have noticed over the years that the two leggers will often leave a few dirty dishes on the counter with the intention of washing them the next morning. Invariably, this also includes a few items of silverware. One night while visiting the midnight buffet, I decided that all the silverware should be introduced to the floor. The introductions thus being made, I took special notice of the fork thingies. What drew my attention to them was that through some quirk of engineering, they slid incredibly well, and silently, on any smooth surface. Now normally I don't do silence. Silence is usually the arch enemy of chaos, but in this case it actually serves as a useful ally.
First I required a handy hidey hole in which to stash what was to become the first of many liberated fork thingies. There is a place in every house that no two legger dares to look. It is dark, eternally dirty and difficult to reach. It is my belief that two leggers are raised from childhood never to explore this space. Though it be small, it is capable of holding a remarkable amount of unsavory evidence. It is of course, "THE SPACE BENEATH THE STOVE".
Now if I were to liberate all the fork thingies at once, the two leggers would surely grow suspicious. This bit of amusement requires more patience and tact. Every third night, I would liberate a single fork thingy. After several weeks, the female two legger noticed a scarcity of eating utensils. Assuming this was the male's fault, she chastised him and then bought a new set of fork thingies. These new fork thingies however, were of a slightly different design and therefore didn't match the others. I continued my late night larceny until the lack of utensils was once again noticed. Now with the male instructed to only eat with his fingers, it was time to up the ante.
The following night, I removed one of the new fork thingies from the pit of darkness and placed it strategically on the floor below the sink. This drew no notice from the two leggers, so the next night I placed two of the original fork thingies next to the refrigerator. These were noticed and subsequently washed and placed in their drawer. Their confusion is amusing. My plan is to continue in this manner until the two leggers discover that all their fork thingies have returned to their roost. Once this is accomplished, the migration of the fork thingies will begin anew.
Now just a request to my loyal readers: If any of you are in contact with my two leggers, please do not blow the whistle on me. This has provided me with much amusement and I'd hate to have to send Ivan after your shoes.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Feline Football League (FFL)
The male two legger is excited. He is happy. He is beside himself with glee. This annoys me. Why is he in such a great mood? Football season begins today. Rah.
Every year the male two legger goes through a mental metamorphosis. Normally he is a mild mannered "live and let live" type, but during football season he suddenly begins to yell at the talking box thingy. He slathers at the mouth and has even been known to kick furniture. While I applaud his new found aggressiveness, after a while it gets tiresome. Therefore, last year I decided to observe this two legged pastime.
I am perplexed. This game seems anathema to all things feline. While the sight of two leggers bashing into each other is somewhat amusing, they are entirely too polite about it. So after much consideration, I have decided to form a feline football league. This will be exactly like the two legger game, but entirely different.
First of all half the two leggers spend their time trying to take the ball thingy away from the other half, only to politely hand it back to them several minutes later. This is not right. In my league, you will get to keep the ball thingy (actually a hamster) until you are either tired of it, or beaten into submission.
Each team will consist of one cat per side and there will be no limit to how many teams can play each game.
Many things that the two leggers consider foul play will actually be encouraged in my league. Smacking, scratching, kicking and biting are to be considered good form.
Points will be awarded on the following basis:
6 points for body slamming the team possessing the ball thingy.
3 points per poofing
3 points per lamp knocked over.
10 points if lamp should break.
3 points for causing the other team to drop the ball thingy.
6 points for killing the ball thingy.
Various points may also be awarded according to the amount of collateral damage inflicted.
No pause between plays. However, if a sunbeam should happen to fall upon the field of play, a mandatory ten minute nap will be taken. Otherwise, play will only be halted for litter box visits or replacement of the old hamster with a fresh, conscious one. The game will end only when one side gives up, the two legger brings out the water squirty thingy, or we run out of hamsters.
Every year the male two legger goes through a mental metamorphosis. Normally he is a mild mannered "live and let live" type, but during football season he suddenly begins to yell at the talking box thingy. He slathers at the mouth and has even been known to kick furniture. While I applaud his new found aggressiveness, after a while it gets tiresome. Therefore, last year I decided to observe this two legged pastime.
I am perplexed. This game seems anathema to all things feline. While the sight of two leggers bashing into each other is somewhat amusing, they are entirely too polite about it. So after much consideration, I have decided to form a feline football league. This will be exactly like the two legger game, but entirely different.
First of all half the two leggers spend their time trying to take the ball thingy away from the other half, only to politely hand it back to them several minutes later. This is not right. In my league, you will get to keep the ball thingy (actually a hamster) until you are either tired of it, or beaten into submission.
Each team will consist of one cat per side and there will be no limit to how many teams can play each game.
Many things that the two leggers consider foul play will actually be encouraged in my league. Smacking, scratching, kicking and biting are to be considered good form.
Points will be awarded on the following basis:
6 points for body slamming the team possessing the ball thingy.
3 points per poofing
3 points per lamp knocked over.
10 points if lamp should break.
3 points for causing the other team to drop the ball thingy.
6 points for killing the ball thingy.
Various points may also be awarded according to the amount of collateral damage inflicted.
No pause between plays. However, if a sunbeam should happen to fall upon the field of play, a mandatory ten minute nap will be taken. Otherwise, play will only be halted for litter box visits or replacement of the old hamster with a fresh, conscious one. The game will end only when one side gives up, the two legger brings out the water squirty thingy, or we run out of hamsters.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Disabled Vet
There was a disturbance in the force. I knew it when I awoke to the sound of the male two legger unzipping the door of the kitty carrier thingy. This could mean a really bad thing was about to happen, or a really good thing.
A really bad thing would be the two leggers taking me to the Vet. A really good thing would be the two leggers taking Ivan or Tiger Lily to the Vet.
The last time the kitty carrier thingy was brought out, it was Tiger Lily who was abducted. This amused me. But what really amused me was what happened when she was returned. The female two legger carried her in and much to my joy, she was wearing one of those plastic cone thingies. O' happy day! Ivan and I could barely contain ourselves. For the next several days, we were truly entertained. We made up a whole new genre of amusing games. Games such as:
Ring The Whiny Bell.
Poof The Conehead.
Hide The Food Behind The Conehead.
And my personal favorite: Hairball Hoops.
Alas, this time it was my turn. I was NOT amused. The male two legger spent the next half hour trying to force me into the carrier. He was quite proud of his accomplishment until he realized that he just spent 30 minutes trying to overpower something 1/16th his body mass. Bravo, well done.
We then spent the next 20 minutes on the road with me voicing my displeasure incessantly. Though I knew it would make no difference, I derived some satisfaction from making him say "shhush" over fifty times.
We arrived at the vet's office. When the vet entered the room and saw me, the look of horror on her face made me suspect that we had met before. Her stammering confirmed my suspicion. She immediately exited only to return moments later wearing heavy gloves and a fencing helmet. She then proceeded to stick something somewhere that I am sure things should not be stuck. She seemed to draw pleasure from my discomfort. After looking in my mouth (where bits of her are soon to be found) She stuck me with a needle while giggling maniacally and pronounced me "healthy".
This time I was only too happy to get in the carrier. I silently plotted my revenge all the way home. I could tell this made the two leggers nervous. As I was carried into my house, I could see both Ivan and Tiger Lily eagerly watching in the bay window for my return. Upon my release, Ivan of course gave me a thorough sniffing while Tiger Lily sulked away, disappointed that I was not wearing the plastic cone thingy.
Tonight, I dine on Italian leather.
A really bad thing would be the two leggers taking me to the Vet. A really good thing would be the two leggers taking Ivan or Tiger Lily to the Vet.
The last time the kitty carrier thingy was brought out, it was Tiger Lily who was abducted. This amused me. But what really amused me was what happened when she was returned. The female two legger carried her in and much to my joy, she was wearing one of those plastic cone thingies. O' happy day! Ivan and I could barely contain ourselves. For the next several days, we were truly entertained. We made up a whole new genre of amusing games. Games such as:
Ring The Whiny Bell.
Poof The Conehead.
Hide The Food Behind The Conehead.
And my personal favorite: Hairball Hoops.
Alas, this time it was my turn. I was NOT amused. The male two legger spent the next half hour trying to force me into the carrier. He was quite proud of his accomplishment until he realized that he just spent 30 minutes trying to overpower something 1/16th his body mass. Bravo, well done.
We then spent the next 20 minutes on the road with me voicing my displeasure incessantly. Though I knew it would make no difference, I derived some satisfaction from making him say "shhush" over fifty times.
We arrived at the vet's office. When the vet entered the room and saw me, the look of horror on her face made me suspect that we had met before. Her stammering confirmed my suspicion. She immediately exited only to return moments later wearing heavy gloves and a fencing helmet. She then proceeded to stick something somewhere that I am sure things should not be stuck. She seemed to draw pleasure from my discomfort. After looking in my mouth (where bits of her are soon to be found) She stuck me with a needle while giggling maniacally and pronounced me "healthy".
This time I was only too happy to get in the carrier. I silently plotted my revenge all the way home. I could tell this made the two leggers nervous. As I was carried into my house, I could see both Ivan and Tiger Lily eagerly watching in the bay window for my return. Upon my release, Ivan of course gave me a thorough sniffing while Tiger Lily sulked away, disappointed that I was not wearing the plastic cone thingy.
Tonight, I dine on Italian leather.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
The Felonious Paw
One of my favorite activities is theft. I know you may ask, why, when I own everything in my kingdom, should I feel the need to resort to stealing? The answer has nothing to do with need, it is simply the act that amuses me. It has more to do with the "getting" rather than the "having".
My favorite loot: Drinking straws. The female two legger prefers to obtain her hydration from glasses with straws rather than dirty bowls with floaty thingies like us civilized types. This provides many opportunities for theft and havoc.
I have several methods that I employ in the perpetration of my crimes:
1) The Cat Burglar Method- This uses my powers of stealth. I pretend to be asleep in another
room lulling the two legger into a false sense of security. I then silently stalk the victim, moving through the house using chairs and tables to provide concealment. Once I am close enough, I wait until the two legger is not looking and then make my grab using stealth and silence to make good my escape. I then lie back in my original spot and wait for the two legger to notice that they've been victimized once again.
2) The Strong Arm Method- For this I utilize Ivan. While I am curled up on the two legger's lap,
Ivan jumps up as though he is about to release his wrath upon the two legger. As the two legger reaches for the water bottle thingy, I shoot off her lap snagging the straw in the process. By the time the theft is uncovered, I have already stashed the booty in the bathtub to be played with later.
3) The Fur's a Flyin Method- This is the most complex method requiring the coordination of both Ivan and Tiger Lily, (albeit her cooperation is not necessarily voluntary). We wait until Tiger Lily is in another room, then Ivan goes in and begins pounding on her mercilessly. This
causes her to wail like an American Idol contestant. While the two legger is distracted, I de-straw her beverage leaving no witnesses.
Occasionally, the two legger won't notice that she has been had. When this happens, I like to retrieve the straw from its' hidey hole and then drop it on the floor in front of her. This allows her the opportunity to appreciate my prowess and skill.
My favorite loot: Drinking straws. The female two legger prefers to obtain her hydration from glasses with straws rather than dirty bowls with floaty thingies like us civilized types. This provides many opportunities for theft and havoc.
I have several methods that I employ in the perpetration of my crimes:
1) The Cat Burglar Method- This uses my powers of stealth. I pretend to be asleep in another
room lulling the two legger into a false sense of security. I then silently stalk the victim, moving through the house using chairs and tables to provide concealment. Once I am close enough, I wait until the two legger is not looking and then make my grab using stealth and silence to make good my escape. I then lie back in my original spot and wait for the two legger to notice that they've been victimized once again.
2) The Strong Arm Method- For this I utilize Ivan. While I am curled up on the two legger's lap,
Ivan jumps up as though he is about to release his wrath upon the two legger. As the two legger reaches for the water bottle thingy, I shoot off her lap snagging the straw in the process. By the time the theft is uncovered, I have already stashed the booty in the bathtub to be played with later.
3) The Fur's a Flyin Method- This is the most complex method requiring the coordination of both Ivan and Tiger Lily, (albeit her cooperation is not necessarily voluntary). We wait until Tiger Lily is in another room, then Ivan goes in and begins pounding on her mercilessly. This
causes her to wail like an American Idol contestant. While the two legger is distracted, I de-straw her beverage leaving no witnesses.
Occasionally, the two legger won't notice that she has been had. When this happens, I like to retrieve the straw from its' hidey hole and then drop it on the floor in front of her. This allows her the opportunity to appreciate my prowess and skill.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Litter Box Etiquette
I am often asked: "What is proper etiquette when it comes to usage of the royal litter?" OK, no one has actually ever asked me that, but it would be cool if they did, because I have many thoughts on this subject.
First of all, the litter box is the one place in my house that is both useful and fun at the same time. You can use it to mess with the two leggers as well as the other four leggers in your household.
My litter boxes (I have two) are of the type that have both covers and little door thingies. They provide privacy and room when I need a little "me" time. That being said, they also provide great opportunity for ambush. I truly enjoy waiting until Tiger Lily has just about finished her business and is considering the best method of fecal concealment, then while she is most distracted, I smack the little door thingy causing her to produce more fecal matter that will need concealing. This is truly amusing
Ivan is a master of the "Poop, Poof and Bolt". He waits by the litter box that is situated next to the computer thingy until the female two legger is engrossed in her Farmville stuff, then he enters the litter box, lays down something that is so unholy that it causes him to "poof", and then bolts from the room leaving the excrement uncovered for the enjoyment of the two legger. Sometimes the two legger appreciates this so much that it brings tears to her eyes.
My personal favorite though is the "Clean Box Fake Out". We do this whenever the two leggers are expecting guests. I know when they are expecting other two leggers because the female uses the hoover sucky thingy while the male does an incredibly thorough cleaning of both boxes. Ivan and I will wait patiently until the cleaning is done and then take turns entering the boxes where we wait for a few moments and then scratch until we have the two leggers attention. This causes him to grab the scoop and search fruitlessly. Even Tiger Lily is amused.
First of all, the litter box is the one place in my house that is both useful and fun at the same time. You can use it to mess with the two leggers as well as the other four leggers in your household.
My litter boxes (I have two) are of the type that have both covers and little door thingies. They provide privacy and room when I need a little "me" time. That being said, they also provide great opportunity for ambush. I truly enjoy waiting until Tiger Lily has just about finished her business and is considering the best method of fecal concealment, then while she is most distracted, I smack the little door thingy causing her to produce more fecal matter that will need concealing. This is truly amusing
Ivan is a master of the "Poop, Poof and Bolt". He waits by the litter box that is situated next to the computer thingy until the female two legger is engrossed in her Farmville stuff, then he enters the litter box, lays down something that is so unholy that it causes him to "poof", and then bolts from the room leaving the excrement uncovered for the enjoyment of the two legger. Sometimes the two legger appreciates this so much that it brings tears to her eyes.
My personal favorite though is the "Clean Box Fake Out". We do this whenever the two leggers are expecting guests. I know when they are expecting other two leggers because the female uses the hoover sucky thingy while the male does an incredibly thorough cleaning of both boxes. Ivan and I will wait patiently until the cleaning is done and then take turns entering the boxes where we wait for a few moments and then scratch until we have the two leggers attention. This causes him to grab the scoop and search fruitlessly. Even Tiger Lily is amused.
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