Today the two leggers brought me an offering.
While I appreciate, more or less, (mostly less) their attempts at ingratiating themselves to me, I was not impressed.
They brought me yet another toy.
Sure, I am a firm believer that one can never have enough toys, but in some instances, it becomes somewhat monotonous.
Feather thingies are cool. They simulate the bird thingies that I dream of slaying and de-winging. They stimulate the frontal pre-cortex thingy in my head. They even make me positively "giddy" at times. But how many feather thingies does a self proclaimed Tyrant and Supreme Ruler of The Universe, Both Seen and Unseen need?
37
I have 38.
This, however was not a feather thingy. It was a something entirely different. While feather thingies are intended to simulate birds, This new plaything was intended to simulate a mouse thingy. It was not a simple ovoid piece of felt, stuffed with catnip, with poorly sown ears and black thread to impersonate whiskers, it was a true attempt to emulate everything mousy-like.
Yes, this was the cumulative effort of the most brilliant two legged scientists to design a cat toy that would be a true doppleganger of all things mousy.
ROBO-MOUSE.
I immediately filed this under the letter "T", for Toys That Amuse Two Leggers Much More Than They Amuse Their Feline Betters.
Oh sure, it was a valid attempt. Other than the facts that it smelled of plastic, had wheels as opposed to legs, was controlled by a box in the two legger's hands and made constant loud "whirrring" sounds when it moved, it was totally believable. It also had a very faint scent of genuine artificial catnip.This was, I realized, the culmination of 5,000 years of two legged development.
Given that the two leggers had spent so much time, money and effort in the design and manufacture of this cyber-rodent, I decided to ignore it.
At first, the robotic rodent fascinated Ivan. He stalked (kinda) the mecha-mouse. He attempted to sneak up on it. He slipped ever so closely to the artificial vermin. Though it is difficult to tell the difference between Ivan "stalking" and Ivan simply lurking, awaiting his next meal, I knew that he was on the prowl. It may have been the fact that he was constantly whispering to himself: "I'm gonna get the mousie this time".
Once Ivan figured he had successfully stalked and cornered the vinyl vermin, he pounced. Well, not a "pounce" per say, more of a shifting from one place in space to another place in space approximately three inches forward from his starting point. The problem was of course, that the toy was SIX inches away from his current place in space.
The cybernetic pest shot across the room and ended up next to the coffee table.
Where it became lodged.
Realizing my opportunity, I jumped in and like a might avenging angel, chewed it into submission, leaving nothing left but a jumble of gears, wheels and piece of material that smelled vaguely cat nip like.
The male two legger was so thrilled by my prowess that he began jumping up and down yelling in joy. It would seem that he paid over thirty dollars for my newest toy.
Money well spent if you ask me.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
About Time
Ahhh, Autumn.
My favorite time of year. The wind picks up. The leaves begin to fall. The firebox thingy gets turned on. And a young, dashingly handsome, tuxedo mancat's thoughts turn to.........
Time travel.
Yes, time travel.
My male two legger has been watching a variety of programs on the talking box thingy lately, and they all seem to have the same common theme.
Time travel.
Apparently, two leggers seem to have an obsession with traveling to and fro throughout time. Some believe that if they can travel "back" in time, they can correct the mistakes of their predecessors or themselves, thereby solving all the problems that affect their current lives. Others believe that if they can travel "forward" in time, they can bring back gizmo thingies that will improve their current lives. Still others believe that if they attempt either of these actions, the universe will suddenly turn into either a gigantic black hole thingy or a small jelly doughnut in the giant police station of the cosmos.
A bunch of hooey if you ask me.
Although........it does beg some pondering.
From what I have gathered, time travel in America is effected by climbing into a silver sports car and going exactly 88 miles per hour. ( or 92,500 kilometers per hour for my Canadian and New Zealander readers) In England, time travel is achieved by entering a blue phone booth thingy and talking to a doctor.
Either way, a lot of two leggers running in circles, waving their hands and yelling madly about paradox thingies is generally the result.
That being said, I have decided that perhaps time travel could be useful to me. Perhaps, even amusing.
For instance, I could travel "back" and smack Tiger Lily's mother.
I could travel "forward" and smack her progeny.
I could travel "back" and smack the primordial ooze that eventually formed squirrel thingies.
I could travel "forward" and bring "back" a computer enhanced thingy that would target the DNA stuffs that all squirrels have in common and incinerate it.
I could travel back and forth causing much chaos and mayhem. The time space continuum would be my astral catnip mousie thingy.
But, if the doomsayers are correct and the universe turns into a gigantic jelly doughnut.....
I'll blame Ivan.
My favorite time of year. The wind picks up. The leaves begin to fall. The firebox thingy gets turned on. And a young, dashingly handsome, tuxedo mancat's thoughts turn to.........
Time travel.
Yes, time travel.
My male two legger has been watching a variety of programs on the talking box thingy lately, and they all seem to have the same common theme.
Time travel.
Apparently, two leggers seem to have an obsession with traveling to and fro throughout time. Some believe that if they can travel "back" in time, they can correct the mistakes of their predecessors or themselves, thereby solving all the problems that affect their current lives. Others believe that if they can travel "forward" in time, they can bring back gizmo thingies that will improve their current lives. Still others believe that if they attempt either of these actions, the universe will suddenly turn into either a gigantic black hole thingy or a small jelly doughnut in the giant police station of the cosmos.
A bunch of hooey if you ask me.
Although........it does beg some pondering.
From what I have gathered, time travel in America is effected by climbing into a silver sports car and going exactly 88 miles per hour. ( or 92,500 kilometers per hour for my Canadian and New Zealander readers) In England, time travel is achieved by entering a blue phone booth thingy and talking to a doctor.
Either way, a lot of two leggers running in circles, waving their hands and yelling madly about paradox thingies is generally the result.
That being said, I have decided that perhaps time travel could be useful to me. Perhaps, even amusing.
For instance, I could travel "back" and smack Tiger Lily's mother.
I could travel "forward" and smack her progeny.
I could travel "back" and smack the primordial ooze that eventually formed squirrel thingies.
I could travel "forward" and bring "back" a computer enhanced thingy that would target the DNA stuffs that all squirrels have in common and incinerate it.
I could travel back and forth causing much chaos and mayhem. The time space continuum would be my astral catnip mousie thingy.
But, if the doomsayers are correct and the universe turns into a gigantic jelly doughnut.....
I'll blame Ivan.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
The Death of Ivan
Ivan died last night.
Temporarily.
Yesterday afternoon, I was trying to find some amusement in which was otherwise a fairly monotonous day. I noticed Ivan standing in the hallway glaring at his empty food bowl. Ivan has yet to grasp the reality that he is on a diet. He is allowed two meals a day and a late night snack before the two leggers retire to their bedroom.
The only other food he is allowed is that which he can acquire through thought and cunning. Therefore, his diet consists of two meals a day and a late night snack before the two leggers retire to their bedroom.
Taking pity on the poor soul, I asked Ivan what he would do if he was suddenly presented with all the food he could possibly eat. His response (after much attempt at thought) was that he would proceed to eat all the food that he could possibly eat.
I have often wondered how much food Ivan could possibly eat.
Well, perhaps "often" is inaccurate.
I "once" wondered how much food Ivan could possibly eat.
Adhering to my philosophy that "Curiosity kills the other cat", I decided to put Ivan to the test. Climbing to the shelf where the two leggers keep our food, I pushed the container thingy to the edge. With Ivan salivating below, I pushed the container thingy off and was rewarded with a satisfying "THUNK-PLOOSH" as the container thingy struck Ivan on his micro-noggin and the lid separated from the previously mentioned container thingy.
I sat back and watched as Ivan transformed into a carbon based Hoover Sucky Thingy. In a fit of unwarranted charity, I decided to include Tiger Lily in this amusement and left the room to fetch her. By the time I found her cowering behind the entertainment center, and convinced her that I was not going to smack her (yet), the incessant slurping and crunching had indeed ceased.
We discovered Ivan laying paws up in the middle of the hallway. He had eaten himself to death. By the grin on his pudgy little face, I knew he had died happy.
Being a sentimental sort, I instantly decided that he would have wanted me, his dearest friend, to have most of his toys, including his catnip cigar thingy. I also declared that in honor of his memory, Tiger Lily would not be allowed to lay in his spot on the heated bathroom floor. That space would be reserved for myself if ever I decided to honor his memory.
Tiger Lily, being somewhat more calloused than I, realized that she had moved up a place in the smacking order and began to strut. I then informed her that the bathroom spider was actually named Ivan's heir and her place would remain the same.
It was at this point that Ivan began snoring.
Ivan was not deceased. He had simply slipped into a state known as Happy Tummy Induced Hibernation. H.T.I.H. occurs when one has consumed so much food that the body literally shuts down in order to prevent the consumption of more food.
This was not a new occurrence to me. I have witnessed it twice a year, every year in the two leggers. It always happens shortly after Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner. The male gorges himself, and recognizing the onset of symptoms, places himself in front of the talking box thingy (which is invariably tuned to football) and enters H.T.I.H.
After several hours, Ivan awoke somewhat dazed. He immediately asked why all of his toys had been moved. I informed him of Tiger Lily's mistaken premise that he had died and her assumption of all his assets.
I'm fairly certain that as soon as he is able to walk again, Tiger Lily is gonna pay.
Temporarily.
Yesterday afternoon, I was trying to find some amusement in which was otherwise a fairly monotonous day. I noticed Ivan standing in the hallway glaring at his empty food bowl. Ivan has yet to grasp the reality that he is on a diet. He is allowed two meals a day and a late night snack before the two leggers retire to their bedroom.
The only other food he is allowed is that which he can acquire through thought and cunning. Therefore, his diet consists of two meals a day and a late night snack before the two leggers retire to their bedroom.
Taking pity on the poor soul, I asked Ivan what he would do if he was suddenly presented with all the food he could possibly eat. His response (after much attempt at thought) was that he would proceed to eat all the food that he could possibly eat.
I have often wondered how much food Ivan could possibly eat.
Well, perhaps "often" is inaccurate.
I "once" wondered how much food Ivan could possibly eat.
Adhering to my philosophy that "Curiosity kills the other cat", I decided to put Ivan to the test. Climbing to the shelf where the two leggers keep our food, I pushed the container thingy to the edge. With Ivan salivating below, I pushed the container thingy off and was rewarded with a satisfying "THUNK-PLOOSH" as the container thingy struck Ivan on his micro-noggin and the lid separated from the previously mentioned container thingy.
I sat back and watched as Ivan transformed into a carbon based Hoover Sucky Thingy. In a fit of unwarranted charity, I decided to include Tiger Lily in this amusement and left the room to fetch her. By the time I found her cowering behind the entertainment center, and convinced her that I was not going to smack her (yet), the incessant slurping and crunching had indeed ceased.
We discovered Ivan laying paws up in the middle of the hallway. He had eaten himself to death. By the grin on his pudgy little face, I knew he had died happy.
Being a sentimental sort, I instantly decided that he would have wanted me, his dearest friend, to have most of his toys, including his catnip cigar thingy. I also declared that in honor of his memory, Tiger Lily would not be allowed to lay in his spot on the heated bathroom floor. That space would be reserved for myself if ever I decided to honor his memory.
Tiger Lily, being somewhat more calloused than I, realized that she had moved up a place in the smacking order and began to strut. I then informed her that the bathroom spider was actually named Ivan's heir and her place would remain the same.
It was at this point that Ivan began snoring.
Ivan was not deceased. He had simply slipped into a state known as Happy Tummy Induced Hibernation. H.T.I.H. occurs when one has consumed so much food that the body literally shuts down in order to prevent the consumption of more food.
This was not a new occurrence to me. I have witnessed it twice a year, every year in the two leggers. It always happens shortly after Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner. The male gorges himself, and recognizing the onset of symptoms, places himself in front of the talking box thingy (which is invariably tuned to football) and enters H.T.I.H.
After several hours, Ivan awoke somewhat dazed. He immediately asked why all of his toys had been moved. I informed him of Tiger Lily's mistaken premise that he had died and her assumption of all his assets.
I'm fairly certain that as soon as he is able to walk again, Tiger Lily is gonna pay.
Monday, September 12, 2011
You Poker, I'll Smack Her
I am annoyed with two leggers.
Not two leggers in general. Well, actually two leggers in general do indeed annoy me, but right now I am annoyed with a specific group of two leggers.
Namely male two leggers. Especially the group of males that totally ruined my Saturday night.
Last Saturday evening, there was a gathering of male two leggers at my house. I was aware that something was afoot when my resident two leggers got home Saturday and began cleaning. However, I was also aware that they were not intending to hold a normal two legger gathering. They did not harvest the dust bunnies. They were cooking frozen pizza thingies and the furniture only received a cursory dusting. They didn't even bother to lock Ivan, me and the Whine-a-nator in a separate room.
The delivery of an enormous amount of beer signified that this would be a gathering of strictly male two leggers.
The female decided to sequester herself in the bedroom while the male began setting up hundreds of little discs around my dining room table. He also attempted to lay out a deck of card thingies. After looking through about six packages of these card thingies, he finally found a set that had the required fifty-two different examples.
Curious, Ivan and I watched the preparations. I assumed that this was the preamble to some type of odd two legger past-time, but was unable to discern the purpose.
While the male checked the status of the pizza, I decided that the discs (apparently called "chips") would be better utilized on the floor and proceeded to rearrange them accordingly. Obviously the male disagreed with my recommendation and I was chased from the room.
Ivan meanwhile, made a play on the cards and was similarly evicted. We decided to wait and ponder.
Soon, other males bearing beer began to arrive.
Like any gracious host, I greeted them at my front door, but much to my consternation, I was largely ignored. They brought me no catnip. They did not attempt to scratch my ear or pat my head. They did not bow in obedience to me. They did not even utter such inane comments as "Awww, lookit the cute little kitty".
They ignored me.
As you all know, I have great patience when it comes to two legger ignorance. However, this was so far beyond insubordination as to be laughable. I understand their juvenile attempts at ingratiating themselves to the Supreme Ruler of this domicile, but total disregard?
Unpardonable.
We planned. We plotted. We schemed. We napped. (Well, they were here for like five hours)
Soon, our patience was rewarded. The two leggers were soon so absorbed in their "poker" and had consumed so much beer, they grew lacking in vigilance. Ivan, Tiger Lily and I were able to move through the room completely unnoticed.
On my signal, Tiger Lily suddenly leaped at the sliding door thingy while letting out a whine that could pierce....well, something really difficult to pierce. Ivan poofed, jumped atop the table and proceeded to send chip thingies and cards scattering in thirty-nine different directions.
In the commotion, I was able to knock over three bottles of beer and steal five cards.
The sounds of mayhem brought the female out of the bedroom and she chased the males from my house with the water squirty thingy.
I was amused.
Not two leggers in general. Well, actually two leggers in general do indeed annoy me, but right now I am annoyed with a specific group of two leggers.
Namely male two leggers. Especially the group of males that totally ruined my Saturday night.
Last Saturday evening, there was a gathering of male two leggers at my house. I was aware that something was afoot when my resident two leggers got home Saturday and began cleaning. However, I was also aware that they were not intending to hold a normal two legger gathering. They did not harvest the dust bunnies. They were cooking frozen pizza thingies and the furniture only received a cursory dusting. They didn't even bother to lock Ivan, me and the Whine-a-nator in a separate room.
The delivery of an enormous amount of beer signified that this would be a gathering of strictly male two leggers.
The female decided to sequester herself in the bedroom while the male began setting up hundreds of little discs around my dining room table. He also attempted to lay out a deck of card thingies. After looking through about six packages of these card thingies, he finally found a set that had the required fifty-two different examples.
Curious, Ivan and I watched the preparations. I assumed that this was the preamble to some type of odd two legger past-time, but was unable to discern the purpose.
While the male checked the status of the pizza, I decided that the discs (apparently called "chips") would be better utilized on the floor and proceeded to rearrange them accordingly. Obviously the male disagreed with my recommendation and I was chased from the room.
Ivan meanwhile, made a play on the cards and was similarly evicted. We decided to wait and ponder.
Soon, other males bearing beer began to arrive.
Like any gracious host, I greeted them at my front door, but much to my consternation, I was largely ignored. They brought me no catnip. They did not attempt to scratch my ear or pat my head. They did not bow in obedience to me. They did not even utter such inane comments as "Awww, lookit the cute little kitty".
They ignored me.
As you all know, I have great patience when it comes to two legger ignorance. However, this was so far beyond insubordination as to be laughable. I understand their juvenile attempts at ingratiating themselves to the Supreme Ruler of this domicile, but total disregard?
Unpardonable.
We planned. We plotted. We schemed. We napped. (Well, they were here for like five hours)
Soon, our patience was rewarded. The two leggers were soon so absorbed in their "poker" and had consumed so much beer, they grew lacking in vigilance. Ivan, Tiger Lily and I were able to move through the room completely unnoticed.
On my signal, Tiger Lily suddenly leaped at the sliding door thingy while letting out a whine that could pierce....well, something really difficult to pierce. Ivan poofed, jumped atop the table and proceeded to send chip thingies and cards scattering in thirty-nine different directions.
In the commotion, I was able to knock over three bottles of beer and steal five cards.
The sounds of mayhem brought the female out of the bedroom and she chased the males from my house with the water squirty thingy.
I was amused.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
A Message From My Two Legger
Today is not a day for humor. Today is a day for reflection.
Today I have asked my two legger to write my post:
Where were you?
No, strike that. Where were you then? And where are you now?
Exactly ten years ago today, I was driving to work when I heard the news that an aircraft had hit the World Trade Center.
I had a 90 mile commute and so, as per my morning ritual, was listening to The Today Show on NBC Radio in my car. As I was pulling out of my driveway, Katie Couric told me that reports were coming in of an airplane striking one of the Twin Towers. This struck me as odd, but not especially alarming. I, like so many other people, assumed that a sight-seeing or small commuter aircraft had lost its way and ended up somehow not avoiding one of the two largest structures in the United States. It was not until the second airplane hit that I realized that we were instead, under attack.
I will never forget the moment when our National Consciousness was forever altered. In an instant borne of fire and rubble, we went from "America The Invincible" to "America The Vulnerable".
By the time I reached my workplace, the first tower had fallen, reports were starting to surface that the Pentagon had been hit and the second tower was in peril.
At this point in time, frozen in my mind as indelibly as any experience I have ever witnessed, New York firefighters were continuing to rush into the second tower in an effort to save what citizens they could.
Let's pause for a moment and think about this.
Having just watched the first tower fall, knowing that many of their comrades had already perished, realizing that the second tower had suffered a similar attack and was bound to suffer a similar fate, New York firefighters and policemen continued to attempt to rescue people from a doomed building. I have no doubts whatsoever that they were fully aware of their impending doom. Yet they chose to stay and try to save one more innocent. Just one more person that started the day simply trying to earn a living for themselves and their families
I am deeply ashamed to say that I cannot recall exactly how many people died in the towers that day.
I am deeply ashamed to say that I do not know how many of them were rescuers.
I am deeply ashamed to say that I am unable to recall even one name of the victims of this heinous act.
I am a history buff. I pride myself on the fact that I can tell you the names of all the generals that fought at Gettysburg. But can I even tell you the flight number of the airplane that struck the Pentagon just ten short years ago?
No.
We live in a different world today. Strip searches at airports are common. We are not allowed to walk through security posts at airports without removing our shoes. Every holiday we celebrate is accompanied by a terrorist alert. The Fourth of July is a time of heightened awareness instead of being a time of heightened patriotism as it should be.
Our world has changed. We have lost our innocence. We are no longer the "happy-go-lucky" society that we were on September tenth, 2001. instead, we are a group of people that hide our nationality whenever we travel abroad for fear of violence. We have become afraid to be what our forefathers worked so hard to leave us.
We have forgotten that we are Americans.
The sacrifice that those incredibly brave rescuers made has gone by the wayside. They rushed into a building that they knew would be their final resting place to rescue citizens that had already been murdered by a handful of cowards. They died knowing full well that this was not war. This was murder
Now we stand in line at the airport and grumble because we must remove our laptop from it's case. We gripe when the TSA asks us to leave a water bottle behind.
Shame on us.
I am not pointing fingers. I am as guilty as anyone, and probably guiltier than most.
However, I realize how lucky I am.
I am alive.
I am free.
Today, I ask that each and every one of my friends, takes a moment to reflect upon one of the darkest days in our history. Please do not simply think about the event. Ponder the extraordinary bravery that occurred ten years ago today. Ponder the sacrifice made since then by the men and women in uniform, and by their families.
But most of all, ponder this:
Would I be willing to make the same sacrifice?
If we answer honestly, most of us (possibly including myself) would probably answer "No".
This is what separates the heroes from the rest of us.
Today I have asked my two legger to write my post:
Where were you?
No, strike that. Where were you then? And where are you now?
Exactly ten years ago today, I was driving to work when I heard the news that an aircraft had hit the World Trade Center.
I had a 90 mile commute and so, as per my morning ritual, was listening to The Today Show on NBC Radio in my car. As I was pulling out of my driveway, Katie Couric told me that reports were coming in of an airplane striking one of the Twin Towers. This struck me as odd, but not especially alarming. I, like so many other people, assumed that a sight-seeing or small commuter aircraft had lost its way and ended up somehow not avoiding one of the two largest structures in the United States. It was not until the second airplane hit that I realized that we were instead, under attack.
I will never forget the moment when our National Consciousness was forever altered. In an instant borne of fire and rubble, we went from "America The Invincible" to "America The Vulnerable".
By the time I reached my workplace, the first tower had fallen, reports were starting to surface that the Pentagon had been hit and the second tower was in peril.
At this point in time, frozen in my mind as indelibly as any experience I have ever witnessed, New York firefighters were continuing to rush into the second tower in an effort to save what citizens they could.
Let's pause for a moment and think about this.
Having just watched the first tower fall, knowing that many of their comrades had already perished, realizing that the second tower had suffered a similar attack and was bound to suffer a similar fate, New York firefighters and policemen continued to attempt to rescue people from a doomed building. I have no doubts whatsoever that they were fully aware of their impending doom. Yet they chose to stay and try to save one more innocent. Just one more person that started the day simply trying to earn a living for themselves and their families
I am deeply ashamed to say that I cannot recall exactly how many people died in the towers that day.
I am deeply ashamed to say that I do not know how many of them were rescuers.
I am deeply ashamed to say that I am unable to recall even one name of the victims of this heinous act.
I am a history buff. I pride myself on the fact that I can tell you the names of all the generals that fought at Gettysburg. But can I even tell you the flight number of the airplane that struck the Pentagon just ten short years ago?
No.
We live in a different world today. Strip searches at airports are common. We are not allowed to walk through security posts at airports without removing our shoes. Every holiday we celebrate is accompanied by a terrorist alert. The Fourth of July is a time of heightened awareness instead of being a time of heightened patriotism as it should be.
Our world has changed. We have lost our innocence. We are no longer the "happy-go-lucky" society that we were on September tenth, 2001. instead, we are a group of people that hide our nationality whenever we travel abroad for fear of violence. We have become afraid to be what our forefathers worked so hard to leave us.
We have forgotten that we are Americans.
The sacrifice that those incredibly brave rescuers made has gone by the wayside. They rushed into a building that they knew would be their final resting place to rescue citizens that had already been murdered by a handful of cowards. They died knowing full well that this was not war. This was murder
Now we stand in line at the airport and grumble because we must remove our laptop from it's case. We gripe when the TSA asks us to leave a water bottle behind.
Shame on us.
I am not pointing fingers. I am as guilty as anyone, and probably guiltier than most.
However, I realize how lucky I am.
I am alive.
I am free.
Today, I ask that each and every one of my friends, takes a moment to reflect upon one of the darkest days in our history. Please do not simply think about the event. Ponder the extraordinary bravery that occurred ten years ago today. Ponder the sacrifice made since then by the men and women in uniform, and by their families.
But most of all, ponder this:
Would I be willing to make the same sacrifice?
If we answer honestly, most of us (possibly including myself) would probably answer "No".
This is what separates the heroes from the rest of us.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
BIG ANNOUNCEMENT THINGY
Shortly after starting this blog thingy, I started receiving requests to turn it into a book thingy.
I pondered this.
Then one day my female two legger told me that it was time to "Poop or get outta the kitchen".
No, that's not right. Maybe she said "If you can't stand the heat, get outta the litterbox".
I don't remember which, but I recall there was a metaphor involved.
Doesn't matter. What does matter is this:
I pondered this.
Then one day my female two legger told me that it was time to "Poop or get outta the kitchen".
No, that's not right. Maybe she said "If you can't stand the heat, get outta the litterbox".
I don't remember which, but I recall there was a metaphor involved.
Doesn't matter. What does matter is this:
THE BOOK THINGY IS ON SALE TODAY!
Yup, it is done and on sale today.
You can buy it in large format paperback, ebook or Kindle. I am providing the link thingies below, and I will also put a link thingy to the right of the blog thingy which I am told is the proper placement for link thingies. It is currently being sold through the publisher's website (Xlibris.com) as well as Amazon.com. It should be on Barnes and Noble's website soon.
Any and all feedback will be tolerated.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Fly Ball
.The day started out calm, tranquil and uneventful.
I don't do calm, tranquil and uneventful. It bothers me.
I was sitting in my bay window, looking out upon my kingdom. The two leggers had yet to rise. Ivan was glaring at the bottom of his food bowl. Tiger Lily was skulking somewhere, desperately attempting to avoid my boredom. It was a typical late Summer morning.
As I sat there considering whether to take a nap or perhaps spend some time in deep meditation, (There is a difference, but scientists have yet to define it) a fly thingy buzzed into the upper regions of my smackmosphere. For those of my followers who are unfamiliar with the term "smackmosphere", it is a region of space surrounding all felines that extends 360 degrees in all directions from the paws to whatever distance the aforementioned feline can swat or smack in one instantaneous motion and kill, maim or stun whatever may have entered this zone.
In the blink of an eye, the fly thingy was pinned to the floor. Killing it outright would have been too quick and would have left me bored once again. I decided to enslave the fly thingy for future amusement. However, while I sat pondering the best method of restraining the victim, Ivan wandered up and gave me his "Whatcha got under your paw?" look. Ivan's "Whatcha got under your paw?" look is very similar to his "What've I got under my paw?" look. The only difference is where it is directed.
I informed Ivan that I had captured an idea thingy. I told him it had been buzzing around in my head all morning and that I had finally decided to let it out. Ivan, having never had an idea thingy of his own, wanted to see it. I told him that if I let it go, and he could catch it, I'd let him have it.
Very carefully, I opened my paws.
The fly thingy seeing its' freedom suddenly restored, shot straight up into the air and flew down the hallway. Ivan gave pursuit. His little legs a blur beneath his pear shaped body. In the heat of the chase, Ivan refused to let small obstacles like furniture, doors and walls impede his progress. This idea thingy would be his!
The commotion flushed out Tiger Lily from her hidey hole and she commenced to letting the entire household know of her displeasure.
The two leggers were not amused.
They emerged from the bedroom, both of them with water squirty thingies in their paws, and proceeded to spray everything in sight.
Meanwhile, Ivan flashed between the male's legs and almost managed to bring down the female when he failed to negotiate a turn. Having impacted with the hallway closet door, Ivan lay in a large smelly pile of orange fur, gasping and trying to figure out what just happened. He checked his paws, but alas discovered that he had once again failed to have an idea.
The fly thingy has now settled on a curtain rod. It seems to be waiting.
I too shall wait.
I don't do calm, tranquil and uneventful. It bothers me.
I was sitting in my bay window, looking out upon my kingdom. The two leggers had yet to rise. Ivan was glaring at the bottom of his food bowl. Tiger Lily was skulking somewhere, desperately attempting to avoid my boredom. It was a typical late Summer morning.
As I sat there considering whether to take a nap or perhaps spend some time in deep meditation, (There is a difference, but scientists have yet to define it) a fly thingy buzzed into the upper regions of my smackmosphere. For those of my followers who are unfamiliar with the term "smackmosphere", it is a region of space surrounding all felines that extends 360 degrees in all directions from the paws to whatever distance the aforementioned feline can swat or smack in one instantaneous motion and kill, maim or stun whatever may have entered this zone.
In the blink of an eye, the fly thingy was pinned to the floor. Killing it outright would have been too quick and would have left me bored once again. I decided to enslave the fly thingy for future amusement. However, while I sat pondering the best method of restraining the victim, Ivan wandered up and gave me his "Whatcha got under your paw?" look. Ivan's "Whatcha got under your paw?" look is very similar to his "What've I got under my paw?" look. The only difference is where it is directed.
I informed Ivan that I had captured an idea thingy. I told him it had been buzzing around in my head all morning and that I had finally decided to let it out. Ivan, having never had an idea thingy of his own, wanted to see it. I told him that if I let it go, and he could catch it, I'd let him have it.
Very carefully, I opened my paws.
The fly thingy seeing its' freedom suddenly restored, shot straight up into the air and flew down the hallway. Ivan gave pursuit. His little legs a blur beneath his pear shaped body. In the heat of the chase, Ivan refused to let small obstacles like furniture, doors and walls impede his progress. This idea thingy would be his!
The commotion flushed out Tiger Lily from her hidey hole and she commenced to letting the entire household know of her displeasure.
The two leggers were not amused.
They emerged from the bedroom, both of them with water squirty thingies in their paws, and proceeded to spray everything in sight.
Meanwhile, Ivan flashed between the male's legs and almost managed to bring down the female when he failed to negotiate a turn. Having impacted with the hallway closet door, Ivan lay in a large smelly pile of orange fur, gasping and trying to figure out what just happened. He checked his paws, but alas discovered that he had once again failed to have an idea.
The fly thingy has now settled on a curtain rod. It seems to be waiting.
I too shall wait.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Ivan's Birthday
Today is Ivan's birthday.
I know what everyone is thinking: "I didn't know that today was Ivan's birthday!"
That's okay, he didn't either.
It's his first birthday.........again.
In fact, it's his fifth first birthday.
Confused?
Allow me to enlighten you. You see, Ivan has always been poor at math. In point of fact, he has never been able to count higher than "one". Therefore, if we were to tell him that he is five years old today, it would throw him into such a state of befuddlement that I would have to smack him repeatedly about his head thingy in order to bring him back to his normal state of mild confusion. So it is simply easier to celebrate his first birthday every year.
Given that it is his birthday, I have decided that today I would not insult or make fun of him.
I won't mention that he is a walking mound of non-intelligence. I won't speak of how oddly formed his body is. I will not tell everyone that he has a phobia of doorknobs or that round objects confuse him. I won't even bring up his unnatural relationship with the big stuffed bunny.
I most certainly will restrain myself from discussing the fact that Ivan has the world's greatest repertoire of odors. He can make stinkies that would trigger the evacuation of shopping malls. His talent for flatulence can make the two leggers rush through the house searching for the litter scoopy thingy.
Today, I will be nice to my big orange, stinky, clumsy, easily fooled, easily manipulated, misshapen, oddly neurotic, dim witted buddy.
Tonight, after the two leggers have retired for the evening, I will even allow Ivan to choose the nightly entertainment/chaos. I have no doubt that he will choose either "Hallway Hockey" or "Trashcan Tackle". I of course will trounce him soundly in whichever game he chooses. (My generosity extends only so far.)
This is your day Ivanhead. Enjoy it.
And if Tiger Lily decides to whine about it, I will smack her into silence.
I know what everyone is thinking: "I didn't know that today was Ivan's birthday!"
That's okay, he didn't either.
It's his first birthday.........again.
In fact, it's his fifth first birthday.
Confused?
Allow me to enlighten you. You see, Ivan has always been poor at math. In point of fact, he has never been able to count higher than "one". Therefore, if we were to tell him that he is five years old today, it would throw him into such a state of befuddlement that I would have to smack him repeatedly about his head thingy in order to bring him back to his normal state of mild confusion. So it is simply easier to celebrate his first birthday every year.
Given that it is his birthday, I have decided that today I would not insult or make fun of him.
I won't mention that he is a walking mound of non-intelligence. I won't speak of how oddly formed his body is. I will not tell everyone that he has a phobia of doorknobs or that round objects confuse him. I won't even bring up his unnatural relationship with the big stuffed bunny.
I most certainly will restrain myself from discussing the fact that Ivan has the world's greatest repertoire of odors. He can make stinkies that would trigger the evacuation of shopping malls. His talent for flatulence can make the two leggers rush through the house searching for the litter scoopy thingy.
Today, I will be nice to my big orange, stinky, clumsy, easily fooled, easily manipulated, misshapen, oddly neurotic, dim witted buddy.
Tonight, after the two leggers have retired for the evening, I will even allow Ivan to choose the nightly entertainment/chaos. I have no doubt that he will choose either "Hallway Hockey" or "Trashcan Tackle". I of course will trounce him soundly in whichever game he chooses. (My generosity extends only so far.)
This is your day Ivanhead. Enjoy it.
And if Tiger Lily decides to whine about it, I will smack her into silence.
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