It is the "wee hours" of the night.
I know this because the female two legger just got up and went "wee".
Normally this time of night is very quiet. It is usually the time of darkness during which Ivan and I plot our activities and chaos for the coming day. Tiger Lily is locked in the computer room and unavailable for therapeutic smacking. The two leggers are sleeping soundly in their bed completely unaware of our plotting.
Ivan and I continue to plot. It is becoming increasingly difficult to come up with new forms of mischief. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. We cause chaos, they attempt to restore order into their little world. However, I am confident that chaos will always triumph.
As we sit in the living room plotting, our ears are beset by a most eerie sound. Mere words fail to describe it. If I heard this sound emanating from the talking box thingy while it was tuned to the Sci-fy channel, college students would be running for their lives while an alcoholic priest suddenly finds his true calling again and rushes into the house to exercise the spirit. Why spirits need exercise is beyond me, must be a Richard Simmons thingy, but I digress.
This sound reverberates throughout my house like all the demons of the netherworld thingy trying to once again take over New York. (I am not convinced they have ever been vanquished from New York, but once again, I digress)
If you have ever watched "Ax-Men" on the talking box thingy, and if you have ever heard "Rap" music, take the sounds from those two things, add the sound of a lawn mower thingy, throw in a tuba and a poorly tuned violin, add a teaspoon of Celine Dion and a pinch of "American Idol" tryouts, and you have a small example of the noise.
What can this horrid sound possibly be?
I turn to Ivan seeking his counsel. This to no avail, given that Ivan has been reduced to a quivering puddle of orange dumbdom. He is in the process of imitating a striped peach and apricot Jello mold gone horribly wrong.
As usual, it falls to me to seek out and vanquish the foe. I am not saying that I am the John Wayne of feline society, Ok, maybe I am saying that, but when I confront a mystery, my feline instincts shift to high gear until the mystery is both solved and turned to my advantage.
The sound seems to be emanating from the back of my house. This is where I allow the two leggers to sleep. They call it the "bedroom", I call it the...well, bedroom. It is where the bed is, so though unoriginal, bedroom it is.
I approach the bedroom on full alert. Smack first, and second, and smack a third time before I ask questions is my philosophy. In short order, I realize that this Hell begotten sound is not emanating from a curio that the two leggers brought home from another flea market featuring Gypsies and other sordid folk, that they enjoy visiting on off weekends because it makes them feel "artsy", it is coming from the male two legger's face.
At first glance, I am unable to comprehend what I am seeing. Surely my mild mannered two legger could not be capable of producing such a cacophony of audio torture.
I must test my hypothesis.
Using my entire weekly ration of stealth, I climb upon the bed. Careful not to wake the two leggers, I walk to the to top of the bed covers and observe. The male is sleeping with his mouth wide open and emitting the offending sounds. Very carefully, I place both paws into his mouth effectively cutting off his respiratory passages.
The noise ceases.
I remove my paws.
The noise returns.
I once again place my paws in his mouth.
The noise again ceases.
I go back and inform Ivan that I have forced the evil spirit from our house. I also mention that the only way to keep the vanquished from returning, is by giving the vanquisher half of his food from now on.
This will serve the greater good. I will be even more well fed and Ivan will lose some of that gut.
As for the two legger, he is still wondering why he wakes every morning with cat hair on his tongue.
Some mysteries are better left unexplained.