The B.A.R. (Big A** Rat)

Last night, while laying on my throne in front of the firebox thingy, I heard from the hall a great commotion. Given the fact that all of my fellow feline types, who are generally the cause of such ruckuses, were napping in the living room, my curiosity was aroused.

The two leggers and I went into the hallway to investigate. Opening the closet door, my male two legger jumped back and immediately shut the door. Curious behavior, even for one as odd as he. He then proceeded to turn and lecture me.

It would seem that a mouse thingy had taken up residence in the aforementioned closet. The male two legger is under the mistaken impression that it is my "job" to rid this household of all such pests.

While I will admit to enjoying the torture and humiliation of all small creatures that enter my domain, (mouse thingies, bugs, infant two leggers and "tea cup" poodles to name a few) I have never considered it to be my "job". It is more of a hobby or pleasant pastime. To call my love of causing pain and terror a "job" somehow tarnishes it and makes it seem lowly and somewhat seedy.

However, I endured his rant while giving him my best "Do you honestly believe I give a clump?" look. After he vented his ire, he and the female retired to my bedroom for the evening. I decided a nap was in order and returned to my throne.

But alas, the seed was planted and I felt that I would at least take a peek at the offending vermin. The closet door was slightly ajar and I could hear the mousie thingy poking around within. Stealthily I crept to the door and peered into the closet. What I beheld defies description.

This was no tiny little squeaky, nose twitching, flea bitten plaything.

This was a gigantic, monstrous, mutant RAT. The type one sees on the talking box thingy attacking Tokyo. The type that one finds in the desert after nuclear testing. It had red eyes, a long hairless tail and if it were to speak, I have no doubts that it would have a Romanian accent.

I promptly decided that since I had claimed the last mousie thingy for myself, perhaps I would allow Ivan the honor and fun of killing this one.

I called him over and told him that behind this door was a mousie thingy that I was giving to him in reward for his years of faithful minionship. Ivan graciously accepted and entered the closet.

Ivan does not know the meaning of the word "fear". Well, Ivan does not know the meaning of most words. However, Ivan exited the closet rather quickly and apparently decided that a visit to the litterbox was in order.

Reluctantly, I offered Tiger Lily the honor of dispatching the closet critter. She sensed something wrong and commenced to whining, attracting the attention of the two leggers.

Finally, in an act of exasperation, the male two legger got out his handy dandy Ratzapper 2000 and after baiting it with peanut butter, placed it in the closet.

An hour later I heard a zzzzzzzzt sound followed by the smell of singed fur. The rodent was no more. The male came and retrieved the corpse all the while muttering about "useless cats".

I know not to which cats he refers, but if I meet them, I'll let them know his opinion of them.

Return of The BWFTs

Once again, my yard has gone AWOL.

For the last two days BWFTs have been falling.

For an explanation of BWFTs, please refer to an earlier post: Snow Wonder

This time the BWFTs are much larger and numerous than before. They completely cover my yard and all the various thingies therein.

I am unsure whether to be amused or annoyed.

I am somewhat amused because I imagine that the squirrel thingy is suffering terribly. Freezing his little acorns off, his mangy tail caked with ice and slush. I know that at the very least, he is very uncomfortable and irritated with Mother Nature. I keep hoping that the two leggers will pity him and allow him to come inside. This will allow me to "educate" him on his place in the local food chain. I have tried to convince them that I would not harm the little pest......uhm, I mean cutie, but I'm afraid they have serious misgivings about my intentions. Their mistrust annoys me.

The BWFTs also annoy because they have revealed another type of pestilence infecting my yard. Last night, I noticed several lights emanating from beneath the snow.





My female two legger informed me that these were "gnome houses". I have heard of these gnome thingies, but had never imagined that they lived in houses or that they would have the temerity to build a development in my yard.

From what I have gathered, gnomes are miniature two leggers with pointed heads and annoying voices with British accents. This is unacceptable. I do not wish to see them in my yard. They require immediate eviction.

I am unsure what they feed on, but they if they are expecting to freeload on my property, they are sadly mistaken. The two leggers seem unfazed by them, but Ivan and I are most annoyed. As soon as I spot one, I intend to give him a tongue lashing he won't soon forget.

And so I turn to my loyal followers. If anyone out there has any experience in dealing with or eradicating gnome thingies, please let me know.

Unless they eat squirrels.

New Zealand Quake

Tonight I'd like to be serious.

As my two legger was watching the talking box thingy, a special news report came on and announced that there was a major quake in New Zealand.

Though I have never been there, I have many friends and minions who reside there.

Judging from the people, both four and two legged, that I have met from there, it must be a wonderful place.

Tonight I'd like to ask all my followers to pray to whomever they believe in, for the safety and well being of all those affected by this tragedy.

If you are able, please donate to whatever charities you see fit. If you are unable to donate, I ask that you at least remember them in your thoughts.

Here too is a link to a friend of mine that thankfully came through the quake safely. His blog thingy provides a link to the NZ ASPCA.

http://rumble-bum.blogspot.com/2011/02/just-so-everyone-knows.html

To all my friends in Christchurch, please let me know you are okay, and know that our thought and prayers are with you.

Ivan's Dirty Little Secret

Oftentimes, I can be counted upon to keep secrets.

I can be the soul of discretion.

I have often been called the epitome of confidentiality.

This is not one of those times.

Of late, Ivan has been behaving strangely. This is not breaking news, given the fact that Ivan ALWAYS behaves strangely, but his recent behavior has been beyond the pale.

He disappears for long periods of time. When he returns, he is grinning. This annoys me. I have neither heard nor witnessed anything that should cause Ivan to be amused. As a matter of fact, I do not recall giving Ivan permission to be amused. Mind you, it does not take much to amuse such a simple mind, but it is irritating nonetheless.

Now before I go on to explain what I have discovered in regards to Ivan's newly found happiness, allow me to issue a warning:

What follows , while amusing, is also disturbing in the extreme. So if you have a sensitive stomach, ears, eyes or any other part of your anatomy, you may wish to close your eyes until I tell you this is over.

Consider yourself warned.

I decided to watch Ivan. I observed him entering the guest bedroom. This is not unusual because this is where the litterbox is kept. However, Ivan did not return for almost an hour. Even Ivan cannot squat for that long. Oh sure, he is capable of some truly epic clump creation, but I heard neither grunting nor scratching and soon realized that he was not in the litterbox at all.

I thought to myself : "Perhaps he has found a previously undiscovered sunbeam and is hogging it for himself." But I could hear sounds emanating from the bedroom and those sounds were distinctly NOT snoring.

Soon the noises subsided and Ivan returned to the living room with the silly grin plastered on his abnormally small face.

The next day, I stealthily followed Ivan. Watching from the door, hidden in shadows, I watched as Ivan jumped onto the bed thingy. Once there, he approached a large stuffed bunny that one of the offspring of the two leggers left on a previous visit. What followed next is all too obvious.

Apparently Ivan is trying to reproduce.

I don't think Ivan realizes that he lacks the equipment. Due to his incredible girth, Ivan has been unable to see between his rear legs since he was a kitten. This is compounded by the fact that he occasionally sits on his tail and understandably mistakes it for his missing plumbing. (This usually results in him strutting around for several days with an insufferably smug smile on his face) I haven't the heart to tell him of this case of mistaken identity.

I do try to keep an open mind when it comes to "unorthodox pairings", but this borders on the unholy. A cat and a food group (no matter that it is stuffed) just seems wrong.

But, Ivan seems content and the bunny doesn't seem to mind that much. So I'll allow it for now.

Plus, it's just so darned amusing.

Okay, all those who heeded my warning and closed their eyes may open them now.

One Hundred Posts! And the Winner Is............

Welcome to my 100th post!

Wow, I have now posted my senseless drivel one hundred times, and yet you still keep coming back. I am not sure whether I should be flattered, or concerned for your mental health. Be that as it may, it is now time to announce the winner of my Hundreth Post Topic Contest.......... And the winner is:

Lori Siverling of WA. (Cue firework thingies)

Though I received many excellent topic suggestions, after much deliberation (with myself) I decided to use her suggestion of translating the chittering and other sounds of annoyance I make when observing the squirrel thingy that resides in my front yard.

As you all know by now, squirrel thingies really clump my litter. To say they annoy me, and by "they" I refer to the nasty little tree rat that spends his day mocking me by dancing on my front porch whilst I watch impotently from my bay window, would be understatement in the extreme. He is terminally happy and never shows any surliness at all. Not only is this irritating, it's unnatural. He has no place in my kingdom, except perhaps as an alternate food group.

That being said, as yet, I am unable administer proper justice upon this tree bound vermin. So for now I must be satisfied with expressing my displeasure at his existence verbally. (and also occasionally employing body language)

What follows is a translation of a typical squirrel scolding:

CHIT-SNICK-CHICHICHIKISNIT- "You are ugly and I question your parentage."

HISSCHIKIT-NAK-SNAHISSIT- "Your fur is unkempt and needs a conditioner"

SNIKITTIT-HISKANIKKET- "My Grandma had a better tail than yours, and she was a Manx!"

STIPAKITTACHIT-TANITTSS - "Check out THESE nuts Bozo! Oops,...... nevermind"

HISSS-SPIKANIKASPIP-"TREE HUGGER!!"

SPIKA-CHITATAPITAT (with tail swish)- "If we ever meet in person, the two leggers are gonna be scooping pieces of you outta the royal litter for weeks"

MROWR-MROWR-SPUTA-STITIP(totally poofed)-"Sleep with one eye open, seed-muncher"

This is just a small sample of the daily tongue lashing I deliver to the foul beast. Sometimes I even get rude.

Shelf Improvement

There was much chaos last night.

I am amused.

Things had become entirely too harmonious in my house. Everyone quietly going about their business. No loud noises (aside from Ivan's snoring). No crashes. No bangs. Not even the whine-smack-whine-smack-whine of Tiger Lily going about her business.

"Peace on Earth" is simply not my cup of tea. I cannot abide it. It's not how I roll.

So as I lay in a sunbeam, pondering how I can possibly disrupt this cancer of tranquility that has somehow invaded my kingdom, I decided to get back to basics.

What are the fundamentals of causing disruption in my household?

1. Break stuff.
2. Break more stuff.
3. Make noise while breaking stuff.
4. Make the two leggers break stuff while they are trying to keep you from breaking stuff.

Breaking stuff is not necessarily about how MUCH stuff you break, it's more about WHAT stuff you break. It's kind of a quality versus quantity thingy. The best stuff to break is invariably the hardest to reach. The two leggers have an annoying tendency to put their most valued and fragile possessions in very high and difficult places to reach.

What the two leggers fail to realize though, is the fact that by placing these objects in such inaccessible locations, they draw attention to the value of the item. If they simply placed the item in question on the floor or near the edge of the counter, I probably would never bother it. However, they in their infinite wisdom, (extreme sarcasm for those not paying attention) place them in an area they consider "Kitty proof".

They believe they are thwarting me. They are in fact, throwing down a gauntlet thingy. In effect, they are saying "I dare you to destroy this".

My female two legger collects "knick-knocks". The most valuable of these, she makes the male place high up on a shelf in the hallway. This worries me not. Why? Because I happen to know that the male two legger built this shelf himself.

You see, everything that the male two legger builds succumbs to gravity sooner rather than later. If he'd been an engineer in Egypt, the pyramid thingies would have fallen in the first stiff wind.

Therefore, rather than attempting to reach the knock knacks, I simply had to wait for them to come to me. I am very patient. However, given that very little wind blows in my house, (Ivan in the litterbox being the exception) I quickly realized that gravity required some assistance in this case. I explained to Ivan that there was food on the shelf and that he had only to rattle the wall beneath the shelf to make it drop. Food, being Ivan's prime motivation in life, was all the impetus he needed to begin launching himself headfirst in to the wall repeatedly. As predicted, on the third impact the laws of gravity went into effect and the entire shelf came crashing down in a resounding CRASH!

The two leggers were out of their bedroom in a flash, water from the water squirty thingy flying around like drool from a bassett hound. Stepping on and further destroying their knocked knacks in the process.

As soon as I witnessed the shelf beginning to fail, I fled to another room. I waited until the majority of the screaming and squirting subsided before entering the room wearing my best "what did I miss?" look. The male bought my innocence completely. The female however, seems to suspect my participation.

She bears watching.

Love and Other Nasty Habits

Well, they're at it again.

The two leggers are making faces at each other. Blowing kiss thingies, winking at each other, whispering gooey stuff in hushed voices, and doing various sundry things when they think I am not watching.

Yuck.

Now, of all the two legged behaviors I do not pretend to understand, this tops the list. I have spent many hours watching the talking box thingy and from what I have gathered, these are not the normal actions of a mated pair of two leggers that have been paired as long as mine have.

According to the talking box thingy, two legger relationships follow a very common chronological order:

1. They meet, and after establishing common interest, they begin sharing meals.
2. They share more meals and then decide to share their meals exclusively with one another.
3. They decide to share a house together. (generally without consulting the reigning four legger in residence)
4. After sharing their home for a few years, they begin to tire of each other's presence and insult each other incessantly.
5. At some point during their relationship, they breed and produce offspring that are smart mouthed and irritating. These offspring are usually arrested later and go into something called "rehab".
6. Some kid named "Timmy" falls into a well thingy and a dog tricks the two leggers into saving him.
7. The two leggers eventually grow old and disenchanted with one another until the show is canceled.

My two leggers seem to ignore these rules.

They can't seem to get past stage 3.

I keep trying to tell them to move on. They are interrupting the natural order of things. By now, they should be yelling at each other on a daily basis. Yet in the four years I have been observing them, I have never witnessed a moment of non feline induced anger between them. They have never raised their voices, insulted or spouted venom at each other. Not once has the male slept in the living room. Never have I witnessed a single instance of discord.

In fact, truth be known, they have only grown closer with time.

Now, if things weren't bad enough, we are rapidly approaching the two legger holiday that celebrates love and affection. They call it "Valentines Day".

I cannot over stress my annoyance.

It gets worse.

Exactly one month after this holiday, my two leggers celebrate the day that annually marks the day that they were mated.

Please, if you are capable, send help. I may not survive all this mooshiness. Somewhere there must be an animal cruelty law that prohibits two leggers from exposing their resident four leggers to such sickening behavior.

I can tell that the next few weeks are gonna put extreme stress on my catnip reservoir. I may have to dip into Ivan's.

Think I'll go wish Tiger Lily a slappy Valentine's Day.

Everything the Two Leggers Need to Know They Learned at a Superbowl Party

As many of you already know, I hosted my first annual Superbowl Party.

I am not a fan of two legger sports.

Ergo, as many of you may already suspect, I had ulterior motives.

I have come to the recent realization that my two leggers are somewhat lacking in the "Proper manners and courtesies regarding ones four legged betters" department.

I am not just another devilishly handsome face. Behind these irrisistable eyes lurks a keen and observant brain thingy.

And I HAVE observed.

I have observed that not every two legger walks around their house, wielding a water squirty thingy like Arnold Schwarzenegger on another cyborg thingy hunt.

Not every two legger screams and stamps their feet at every broken vase, shredded curtain or small act of arson. (That brings up a great memory, but I'll save it for another post)

Not every two legger would lock me in solitary confinement simply because Tiger Lily donated a little hair and blood to my favorite charity.

In short, my two leggers are in need of some behavioral modification. According to the talking box thingy, (specifically that Ivan shaped psychiatrist thingy, Dr. Phil) the best way to change undesirable behavior is to show the offending two legger proper examples of the desired behavior.

I was aware that every year, football season culminates in a single game called the Superbowl. On the day of this Superbowl, all two leggers are required to gather in groups, drink beer, eat fried food and yell maniacally at the nearest talking box thingy. I do not claim to understand the logic behind this compulsion, but I did see an opportunity.

I first researched all the two leggers that communicate with my two leggers via Facebook and e-mail. I made note of all his "friends" that posted cute pictures of four leggers and joined causes that help less fortunate four leggers.

I then ruled out all those that lived more than four hours away.

This left two prospective "instructors". I convinced my two legger that given my new found popularity, I should host a Superbowl party and submitted my "guest list". My two leggers agreed considering that they have a very large talking box thingy that deserves more than just two-two leggers screaming at it during the Superbowl.

At the appointed hour, Kelly and Shelly arrived at my house and my plan seemed to work perfectly. They immediately commenced to petting and praising me, showering with all the adoration I so richly deserve. They brought me gifts and these unbelievably tasty little treat thingys that were flavored with organic squirrel meat.

They did not yell at me when I sniffed their beer or helped myself to some of their food. The water squirty thingy never even seemed to enter their minds.

I of course rewarded them with much purring and the playful antics that two leggers seem to derive so much joy from.

However, it was to no avail. Every time I hazarded a glance at my male two legger to make sure he was taking notes, he was watching the talking box thingy and yelling. How can he see how good I can be unless he watches?

I finally had to go bite him in order to show him how nice I am.

I am thankful to Kelly and Shelly for their efforts, perhaps we'll try again in the Spring. Until then I may have to simply face the fact:

Some beasts are untrainable.

Weapons Of Mouse Destruction

Once again, I have detected the presence of a mouse thingy.

Not a catnip mousie thingie.

An actual living, breathing, squeaking, scritching, scurrying, cheese munching, two legger scaring, nose twitching, wall gnawing, pellet depositing, mangy little mouse thingy.

It, like all of its' predecessors, must die.

Eventually.

After it has provided me with the proper amount of amusement.

Now before any of you "Save the Mice" types get all up in arms about rodent cruelty and other such nonsense, please allow me to explain something first.

The mouse thingy in question has it coming. He has made an informed decision to enter my abode. He was aware of the risks when he decided to trespass upon my territory. Now, I am not saying that there are actual signs in my yard that read: "Give up all hope, all ye mousie thingies that enter here" or anything, but everyone that has access to the internet must be aware by now that uninvited rodentia do not fare well in my presence.

I do not pretend to have insight into the mind of a mouse, (although given comparative cranial capacity, Ivan may be more in tune with them) but I do have my theories.

Perhaps the scurrier in question is suicidal. Perhaps it wishes to end its' worthless little life in a way that is neither clean nor painless, but instead incredibly painful and messy. This may have compelled it to enter the chamber of mousie horrors that I call home.

Maybe it is being driven by some adrenalin seeking compulsion not unlike the two leggers that I see on the talking box thingy that jump from airplanes or attempt to take chocolate from Rosie O'Donnell.

I have no clue. But the mouse thingy has made its' decision and must pay the consequences.

However, I am nothing if not benevolent.

Just as Ivan and I were stalking the future mousie corpse, the female two legger entered the room and upon spotting the tiny, quivering little lump of catbait, let out a high pitched scream that reportedly sent a herd of buffalo in Montana stampeding into Idaho. (Unfortunately there is nothing in Idaho to damage, so very little chaos ensued, and frankly no one noticed)

This caused me to stop and ponder.

If this mouse thingy can cause such a reaction in two leggers, what else can it be used for?

I have decided to make it my probationary minion.

I will call it George.