The Deer Stalker

I am annoyed.

This morning, I was awakened by the unwanted sound of two leggers oooohing and aaaahing to beat the band.

This annoyed me on two counts. First of all, I was awakened by the two leggers. This goes against the natural order of things. I am the awaker. They are the awakees. The temerity of the two leggers reversing our roles was enough to puff my hairballs, but the ooohing and aaahing brought me to the realization that before the sun thingy reached its' zenith, I would be using bleach in an attempt to destroy blood splatter evidence.

However, being the curious creature that I am, I decided to investigate the cause of the two leggers' obvious descent into suicidal behavior.

I found the future victims of homicidal violence standing at my backdoor slidey thingy looking out into the back yard. Peering through the glass, I beheld a curious sight. Standing about ten feet away, was a large female deer thingy. This is nothing new. Deer thingies pass through my kingdom almost daily. I allow this because they often chase the squirrel off of the bird feeders and plus they seem to amuse the goat thingies.

The two leggers enjoy watching the deer thingies, but they seemed especially interested today. Moving closer, I realized the source of their amazement. Today, the deer thingy was accompanied by two miniature replicas of itself. While not completely identical to the deer thingy, they had spots, they appeared to be of the same ilk.


They stood approximately one and a half tailspans tall. Their bodies seem to consist of 98% legs and 2% spots. While the larger of the three raided the bird feeders, the two micro-deer frolicked around her legs seemingly without a care in the world. Obviously unaware that they were being watched by an apex predator and protected by a scant half inch of window pane, they capered about while the large one fed.

I suppose they could be called "cute". But this does not excuse the interminable "Oooohs" and "Aaaaahs".

It goes without saying that Ivan was confused. Ivan is confused by doorknobs. So I, of course, decided to confuse him further.

It's just how I am.

I told Ivan that the wee deer thingies were actually normal deer thingies that had been left in the dryer too long.

Now we can add the laundry room to Ivan's ever growing list of fears.

Anyway, while I was messing with Ivan's wee noggin, the two leggers snuck off to work completely unmaimed.

I considered taking out my frustration on Tiger Lily, but she was hiding beneath the entertainment center.

Oh well, the two leggers have to come home eventually.........

World Chompian

Tonight I'd like to tell you more about Ivan The Tolerable.

Many of my followers have written to me asking for more information regarding Ivan.

Never let it be said that I do not listen.

Okay, it is OFTEN said that I do not listen, but only because it is true.

Remember me? I'm a cat.

Anyway, I thought I'd acquiesce and describe him in greater detail.

You asked for it. You've no one to blame but yourself.

I first met Ivan when the the two leggers brought me to my new kingdom. His unnaturally small head was the first thing I saw as I exited the kitty carrier thingy. As I came out, I beheld the most perplexing sight. A large orange tabby. Not just a run of the mill orange tabby, but one that had a huge abdomen, tiny little pinhead, short little stubby legs and the shortest tail I had ever seen. It was like he was standing in front of one of those carnival mirrors that make you look all distorted. The only difference was that Ivan needed no mirror to appear distorted. His oddness is 100% natural.

His first reaction to me was to say "Ummmm hiss?"

I smacked the hiss outta him and proceeded to lay claim to the rest of my kingdom.

However, I continued to keep an eye on him. I quickly realized that Ivan does have some endearing qualities:

1. Being extraordinarily dim, he is easily manipulated.
2. Being extraordinarily dim, he is also incredibly loyal.
3. Being extraordinarily dim, he doesn't know when you are making fun of him.
4. Being extraordinarily dim, he fears nothing.
5. Being extraordinarily dim, he forgets to hold grudges.

Did I mention he's dim?

Ivan also has a very short fuse. Once, I observed him get so angry with his own paw that he refused to use it for ten minutes. It was amusing to watch him limp around on three legs.

For the most part, the two leggers are the recipients of Ivan's wrath. When Ivan is in a "mood", no ankle is safe. One can spot when he becomes perturbed. His sad excuse for a tail suddenly starts twitching like a conductors baton, his micro-mouth becomes locked in the open position and he stalks the room looking for something to place in his jaws.

He can chomp like no one I have ever seen. His chomp has been known to make rocks cry. His chomp is spoken of with reverence among shark thingies. There are pit bulls that are lobbying to have his chomp regulated.

On the other hand, when Ivan is happy, he is also quite amusing. When he feels frisky, he suddenly crooks his tail and with a trill, stampedes up and down the hallway making a sound not unlike an elephant thingy in heat. He bounces around like a fuzzy orange bowling ball leaving fear and destruction in his wake. Several earthquakes have been attributed to his shennanigans. Chaos follows him wherever he goes.

I love that about him.

Reign of The Rain

I am not amused.

Honestly, how much water can there possibly be in the sky?

I am fully aware that I reside in the Great Northwest. I know that the Great Northwest is known for its' prodigious annual rainfall.

But, who do I have to smack to get a sunbeam?

It has been raining everyday for the last bajillion days.

Everything is wet. I don't do wet. Wet is what happens when the two leggers get annoyed and chase me with the water squirty thingy. Wet is what happens when Ivan forgets that two leggers just put water in the tub thingy. Wet is what happens when I knock over a glass that the two leggers neglected to take to the kitchen. (Ok, that last one is somewhat amusing, but you get my point.)

If there was a bright side, I may try to gaze upon it. But, there is no bright side!

IT'S RAINING!

Everything is dark and dismal.

However, this eternal deluge does have a few amusing aspects.

For instance: It confuses Ivan. Whenever I notice that Ivan has found a comfy spot and settled down for a power nap, I jump onto a windowsill and yell "Sweet! Sunbeam!" Ivan knocks over furniture in his misguided attempt to enjoy a solar nap. Of course, as soon as he reaches the window, I tell him in a sympathetic voice "Sorry old buddy, you just missed it."

The truly sad thing is that he even falls for this ruse at night.

Tiger Lily is naturally whining about the rain. I'd smack her, but I think she would welcome the pain as a relief from the monotony.

There is one silver lining to the cloud upon cloud outside my window.

That silver lining naturally involves the indigenous squirrel population. As miserable as it is to sit and watch the rain from my window day after day, I know in my little feline heart that the squirrels have it worse. Sitting in their soaked, dirty little nests, not a single mangy, hair unmatted. Given the fact that raincoats do not come in nasty little vermin sizes, they must be beyond miserable.

Wow, I feel much better now. Think I'll go make Tiger Lily's day.

Chaos Theory

There is a science to causing chaos.

Actually, there are several sciences involved in causing chaos. Psychology, Physics and Chemistry just to name a few.

All felines are considered scientists in the study of Chaos Theory.

It is in our genes.

However, once in a while, a cat rises above the realms of science and exceeds all expectations. They stretch and finally rupture the boundaries of all known chaos production. In short, they transform chaos into Art.

I am one such artist.

This is not a matter of conceit, it is simply fact.

Like any devout artist, I have dedicated my life to my chosen medium. I eat, sleep and breathe for the creation of chaos. When I sleep, I dream of chaos. Fortunately my pursuit of chaos meshes well with my occupation. (Universal Dictator and Recreational Tyrant)

Allow me to illustrate the difference between Science and Art:

Scientific cats know that the easiest way to cause chaos is to wait until the two leggers go to bed, and then (using gravity and physics) cause enough noise and damage that the two leggers are compelled to exit their bedroom, water squirty thingy in hand, and attempt to restore order. This form of chaos is short lived and frequently unmemorable.

The ART of Chaos is much more subtle, but the effects are longer lasting.

An artistic cat knows that the ultimate goal is to keep the two leggers awake. Sleep deprivation has long lasting and often unexpected benefits.

Instead of causing a sudden, massive cacaphony of sound that angers the two leggers, I enjoy the employment of soft, intermittent thumps and scritches.

A true artist will wait patiently until they hear the two leggers begin to breathe slightly deeper. This indicates that the two legger is entering the first stages of sleep. At this point, a single quick scratch at the door will generally pop them into immediate wakefulness.

Since they were half asleep, they lay in bed questioning whether they truly heard a noise, or if it was part of a dream. Soon they will favor the latter and begin to drift off once again. The sound of a toothbrush obeying the law of gravity, once again dispels their sleep.

Now, timing becomes critical. A truly gifted artist will intuit the best time to make another noise. The silence is as important as the sound. The two legger must be given time to lay awake, wondering what we are up to and contemplating when the next sound will occur. If the noises become too regular, the two legger may be tempted to rise up and soak everything in sight. If the noises occur too far apart, you risk the two legger falling too deeply asleep and becoming beyond waking. A true artist is able to keep the two legger in a state of perpetual drowsiness.

It is essential to give them hope that the sound they just heard would be the last sound of the night. You must allow them time to relax, and then dash those hopes like the last donut at a police station.

Now I must go. The two leggers have gone to bed and my muse awaits.

Thank You My Minions.

Today was my birthday.

As my reign of terror and enlightenment enters its' fourth year, I would like to thank all the minions who sent me birthday greetings and gifts. They were greatly appreciated and immensely amusing.

For those who did not send me offerings and presents, I assure you that I understand you have lives of your own and may have been too busy to take the time required to honor me. You may have job thingies, or you may have been ill or infirm, you may have even suffered from a bout of temporary insanity.

Perhaps your internet computer thingy was acting stoopid and you were unable to connect.

Maybe a squirrel thingy climbed the power pole outside your home and in a desperate bid to thwart me, cut the electricity to your house and died a crispy, sizzling death in the process.

It is quite possible that your computer caught one of those virus thingies that auto-erase all good tidings that are sent to feline blog thingies.

Or could it simply be that Homeland Security has confiscated your hard drive........again?

Worry not.

I am nothing if not benevolent.

I understand.

I don't forgive you, but I understand.

Mother's Day Ponderings

As you are all aware, today is the one day of the year that all two legged offspring honor their female parent. They call it "Mother's Day".

Now, in my house, all the spawn of my two leggers have either been taken to the shelter, or adopted by other felines. Other than for occasional visits, they are seldom seen in my kingdom. Therefore, I have little experience in what may or may not constitute a good "mother".

And so I find myself pondering this question.

Since I adopted the Dunn's when I was only twelve weeks old, I have few memories of my own mother, but those few are quite vivid.

Basically, she was a lunatic.






Not the "cute and funny, sitting in the corner talking to shadows, listening to the voices tell her that the key to world peace relies on her bread tie collection" sort of lunatic.

I'm talking the "scary, makes you sleep with one eye open, hide the sharp utensils, never make eye contact, psycho-nut" variety of lunatic.

I recall one instance when, after my siblings and I had just finished nursing, she suddenly jumped up and announced that she had replaced her milk with goat milk and that we would all have horns by morning. She then proceeded to rub her butt on the carpet while laughing maniacally.

Another time, she informed us that we had been harvested too young and attempted to "re-plant" us in the litterbox thingy.

Every time she saw her own reflection in a mirror, she would spontaneously start quoting lines from "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang".

It is my firm belief that she did a LOT of catnip in her younger days.

Back to the present day.

After pondering "mothers", I have reached the conclusion that my female two legger must be a pretty good one.

She has raised her young in a loving environment. (not really my thing, but to each their own) While giving sound advice and guidance, she has always let them choose their own paths and make their own mistakes. She has always celebrated their successes, while never belaboring their failures.

I consider these actions to be the hallmark of good "mothering". This also explains why her offspring hold her in such high regard.

Just a final note. My male two legger is afraid that some of my followers may infer that when I spoke of my own mother, I may have also been casting aspersions upon his mother.

I assure you that this may or may not be true.

Semantics

Last night, I was in a generous mood, so I graced my two legger's lap with my presence while he sat watching the talking box thingy. He happened to be watching that show that comes on at the same time every night and features a couple of two leggers talking about what other two leggers around the world did to each other during the previous twenty-four hours.

As a rule, I pay very little attention to this show. It is generally the same stuff over and over again. The only things that change are the names and places.

It's like watching hairballs dry.

However last night, one story in particular caught my attention. One could even say that it amused me.

It seems that a group of two leggers have decided that all other two leggers should stop referring to four leggers as "pets". They say the term "pets" offends and degrades domestic four leggers. They go on to recommend the term "companion".

Ok, where do I start?

First of all, speaking for felines, I have always assumed that when my two legger calls me his "pet", he was being ironic. Kind of a running joke. Like when he tells me to "be good" when he and his mate leave for work every morning. It is laughable to think that they actually believe that I'll "be good" simply because he told me to. Calling me his "pet" is just another expression of his droll humor. My sense of self worth is entirely unaffected I assure you.

Dog thingies are unaffected as well. They do not have the intelligence to be offended. As for self confidence, they fetch sticks, bring their slippers to their two leggers, lick their own butts, clean the royal litter and do tricks for food, how can their pride possibly be wounded?

Now to address the new term "companion".

Two leggers crack me up.

My understanding of the term "companion" is as follows:

A word used to describe one that accompanies you. Sharing both hardships and boons. One that is an equal in all endeavors. Generally there is a mutual respect and admiration between "companions".

Now I ask you, does this sound like ANY feline/two legger relationship in history?

Allow me to put it in two legger terms. Did King Henry VIII consider the peasant who cleaned his chamberpot his "companion"? When Donald Trump dines in a fine eating establishment, does he say to his waiter "Come, sit and dine with me, for you are my companion."?

If two leggers are so concerned about labels, they should just speak truth and call us what we are:

Master
Boss
Domestic Supervisor
Little Furry God Thingy
Supreme Ruler of The Universe (in my case)

Call dog thingies whatever you want.

They won't understand it anyway.

The Devil in The De-Tails

Once again, my house has been invaded.

This time it has been invaded by another two legger.

She is one of the offspring of the resident two leggers.

She is the youngest female of the brood.

She showers me with gifts and adoration.

She is called The Stephanie.

I find The Stephanie interesting. Though she is a two legger, she is also a four wheeler. It would seem that she has decided that walking is too "pedestrian" for her. So she sits upon her wheely thingy and moves through my house at twice the speed of Ivan. (approximately .75 mph)

The wheely thingy runs over or plows through every obstacle it encounters. This is worthy of my respect. That being said, it also happens to be the arch enemy of long tailed felines everywhere. The wheely thingy lies in wait until it spots an unattended tail, and then it strikes. Rolling out of nowhere, it attempts to run over said tail causing the owner of the aforementioned tail to howl in pain and bewilderment. Generally, this triggers a mass feline exodus from the room and much chaos ensues.

You would think that such a potential for damage and havoc would please and amuse me.

In this case, you would be wrong.

If you recall, I mentioned that the wheely thingy feeds on LONG cat tails. Given the fact that I have the longest tail in my kingdom, I am its' favorite prey. Ivan has nothing to worry about. His tail is even shorter than his longest train of thought. Tiger Lily is safe because I smacked her tail clean off several weeks ago.

So that leaves me. I refuse to be defeated. I have a plan.

Every night, The Stephanie leaves the wheely thingy in the living room. It appears to go dormant whenever she leaves it alone. So tonight while it sleeps, Ivan and I plan to give it a smacking it will never forget.

When it wakes in the morning, bruised, battered and covered in semi digested hairballs, it will know........

You don't mess with The Paw.