Fear Factory

A famous two legger once said: "We have nothing to fear, but fear itself".

I suspect that "Fear" was the name of his resident feline.

Fear is a funny thing. Not necessarily funny "haha", but funny "odd". Although truth be told, I do find it funny "haha" as well. I can state this without reservation because I have never felt the emotion. Yes, it is true, your suspicions are confirmed.

I do not feel fear.

It is an emotion that like the Spock thingy, I am incapable of. Bring on the Hoover sucky thingy, I scoff at it. Bring on the sudden loud noise when least expected, it bores me. Bring on the two legger in his futile attempt to sneak up upon me and suddenly yell "PSSSST!" I simply turn and give him a look of utmost disdain.

These meager attempts scare me not.

Occasionally I may feign fright, but I only do this so that the two legger will be chastised by his mate and be forced to offer me treats as an act of penance.

My fearlessness is unique. Ivan fears all things round. (don't ask) Tiger Lily fears the smacking paw. (for obvious reasons) Jaq fears.....well, I'm working on that.

Two leggers on the other paw, fear everything.

No, I misspeak, they fear EVERYTHING. (Note the capital letter thingies to emphasize my point)

They fear the dark. They fear heights. They fear eight leggers. They fear six leggers. They fear four leggers. They even fear other two leggers. I am positive that if there were three leggers, (other than bar stools and dog thingies on Youtube) they would fear them as well. They fear each other. They fear themselves. They fear what may come in the future. They fear what happened in the past. They spend their entire lives in fear of this or that.

They set up elaborate security systems in order to keep their fears at bay.

I have stated all of the above in order to demonstrate their folly.

The one thing they should fear, they instead invite into their lives.

Us.

They bring home nature's perfect killing machine. Fully equipped with fangs for tearing, claws for shredding and brains for outsmarting any two legger ever born.

Irony is so ironic.

They fear the dark, We stalk the night. They fear heights, We find the highest places in the household to observe and set set our ambushes. They fear eight leggers, We feed upon eight leggers. They fear vandalism, We are the ultimate vandals.

Mark Twain, a rare two legger that I have the ultimate respect for, once said: "We as humans, underestimate the intelligence of cats. They can be taught any crime."

With a simple purr, a leg rub, a head butt or an innocent display of friskiness, we ingratiate our way into their homes and then subjugate them before they know what hit them. They are completely ignorant of their impending doom or the fact that they have brought it upon themselves.

They are literally  "feeding their own fears".

Fowl Language

Today was an unusually pleasant day in the Pacific Northwest.

So pleasant in fact that, for the first time all year, the two leggers left several windows open all day.

There was a slight breeze blowing from the West, billowing the curtains ever so softly

It was the type of day that begs a young, virile, strikingly handsome housecat to spend the day lounging in the bay window in tranquil repose. The sunbeam shone warmly upon me as I pondered all the scents, smells and sounds softly delivered on the gentle wind.

I even found myself unable to be disturbed by the annoying antics of the squirrel thingy.

It was truly a wonderful day to be a cat.

I knew it was too good to last.

As I lay there in blissful meditation, I became aware of a sound:

"BOKBOKBOK....BRRRRROKBOKBOK........BOKBOKBOK"

I jumped up and looked around to find the source of this irritant. It appeared to be coming from a large brown bird thingy that was strutting, yes I said strutting, across my yard! I was agog at the temerity of this feathered fiend. One does not enter my yard without my permission, and as far as strutting, well, that is simply unheard of. I am the ONLY strutter in my kingdom.

While I was standing there, trying to figure out first, what the heck this thing was, and second, how to kill it in the most amusing manner possible, Jaq sauntered up asked  "Why is there a chicken in the yard?"

I informed her that she was mistaken, this was no "chicken". Chickens are born and live their lives in the freezer thingy. They have no feathers. They are simply lumps of meat wrapped in plastic that the two leggers like to roll in flour and drown in burning oil. They live to be sliced, diced and souped.  They are known to hang out with other creatures called "dumplings". Though I have never heard one speak,  I am sure that they would never say: "BOKBOKBOK".  I believe that chickens are the "Alpha Meat". No matter what two leggers eat, they always say that it tastes like chicken. Therefore, all meat must have chicken origins.

However, Jaq seems convinced that this trespasser is indeed a chicken. To settle the matter, I began to hiss and squawl in an attempt to attract the attention of the male two legger who happened to be in the kitchen. Thinking that I was chewing on Tiger Lily's head again, he came running out of the kitchen brandishing the water squirty thingy. Realizing that it was something outside that had triggered my wrath, he leaned over and peered out the window. I ordered him to go out and bring me the interloper. Or better yet, the lifeless corpse of the interloper.

The two legger immediately grabbed the broom sweepy thingy, went outside and much to my dismay, chased the creature back across the street while shouting "Get outta here ya stupid chicken!" 

Now my day is ruined. Not only is my peaceful reverie irretrievably broken, but now I have to deal with the realization that the two legger by calling the bird thingy a "chicken" (thereby agreeing with Jaq) has proven something beyond a reasonable doubt:

They both suck at bird thingy identification.

Night Terrors

There is within my kingdom a small, dark, largely uninhabited area.

It is damp, dank, full of foul smells and strange noises.

The two leggers spend as little time as possible within its confines.

It is known by the seemingly innocuous name of: "THE GUEST BATHROOM" (place scary musical fanfare here, something along the lines of: DAH-DA-DOHN!!)

Within this murky region resides a creature of ancient mythology. It is a creature of infamy. It is feared throughout the entire civilized world (and Arkansas). Small children and veterinarians are awakened in the small hours of the night by nightmares of its horrible visage. Hollywood refuses to make movie thingies about it for fear of causing riots of moviegoers, rushing from the theaters in a screaming mob.

There have been discussions of sending very scientific looking two leggers into the GUEST BATHROOM to study this creature, but these expeditions have all been nixed due to lack of interest or government funding.

What could this monster possibly be?

Depending on the culture, this zoological anomaly is known as:
The Basket Beast.
The Horror of The Hamper.
The  Demon of The Dirty Unmentionables.
The Laundry Lurker.

In my kingdom, we simply call it:

Ivan.

Ivan has discovered that he can cause much chaos  with little effort by simply making a small nest within the laundry bin that sits adjacent to the porcelain two legger litter box. The dirty laundry masks his scent well and provides a nice comfy hidey hole in which to await his next victim.

Every night, after his midnight snack, Ivan silently slips into THE GUEST BATHROOM and begins his vigil. After much rearranging and kneading, he settles down to patiently listen for his prey. His patience often goes unrewarded. However, once in a while, a sleepy headed two legger will unwittingly wander near his lair. Ivan, attempting not to giggle, waits until the optimal moment, (usually, this is when the two legger is reaching for the toilet paper roll) and launches himself from the hamper in a mass of  hissing, squawling, odiferous, furry mayhem.

Given the fact that the two legger's britches are still down around his ankles, this can often result in him falling and bonking his head against a wall, the tub thingy or some other conveniently hard object. Occasionally, it wakes the entire household and the water squirty thingy is utilized in order to restore order.

For those of my followers who happen to be acquainted with my male two legger, please rest assured that even though he may strike his head on these various hard objects, none of the objects have been damaged.

The Palace Coup (The Hides of March)

At first, I was annoyed. Then, I was amused. Then I was annoyed again.

Now I am amused.

I may become annoyed again later.

We shall see.

For the past several days, I have been aware of a certain tension among the other four leggers that reside within the confines of my kingdom. I have witnessed furtive looks. I have heard whispering coming from other rooms. Winks, nods and even a snicker or two. When I enter a room where the others are gathered, they abruptly cease talking and disperse.

My Cujo senses began to tingle.

Occasionally, the crown is a heavy burden to bear. Being a benevolent dictator has many benefits, but it also has its drawbacks. The biggest of these drawbacks is the fact that I must always be on the lookout for usurpers. Those who would attempt to remove my crown and place it on their own noggin.

Or worse yet, those who dream of having no leader at all, leaving everyone to govern themselves, make their own decisions and bow down to no one. Just going through life, being nice to one another, no smacking, no biting, no hissing and no bleeding. Sitting in circles, singing Kum Bay Ya. Behaving like four legged hippy thingies.

I found it hard to believe that Ivan could possibly entertain such thoughts. (or any thoughts at all, for that matter) He has been my most loyal minion from day one. However, I must also admit that Ivan is easily misled. His loyalties may be swayed by anyone offering him an extra snack, or someone offering to find the rest of his tail in exchange for his cooperation.

I gave the bathroom spider the task of gathering information about this theoretical plot. He reported back to me several hours later that my suspicions were correct. Ivan, Tiger Lily and Jaq are indeed planning a coup. I graciously thanked the bathroom spider for his covert work and promptly ate him.

Generally, I find spying to be very distasteful, but this time, it proved to be quite tasty.

According to the bathroom spider, the three potential revolutionaries have decided that life under my rule no longer suits them. They are planning to remove me from power by a show of unity. They then plan to install Jaq as a figurehead queen thingy, but all will be allowed to do pretty much as they see fit. Jaq's only governing power will be to settle disputes and assign litterbox schedules.

I realize that quelling this revolt will have to be handled carefully. They are three, I am one.

Finally, I settle on a strategy.

Yesterday morning, after the two leggers left, I called a meeting of the four leggers. I announced that effective immediately, I was stepping down as their beloved leader. I had been pondering my conduct, and after watching a show on the talking box thingy that featured a two legger telling a bunch of other two leggers that they were going to a very hot place with demon thingies unless they recognized the errors of their ways, I had decided to repent and devote the remainder of my life to acts of charity and goodness. From that moment forward, I would stay my smacking paw, even when provoked. I would cease stealing everything I could get my paws on. I would apologize to the squirrel thingy and beg his forgiveness for all the aspersions that I have cast upon his character and those of his mangy... er, adorable family. The sounds of breaking vases and knock knacks would never disturb the peaceful slumber of the two leggers ever again. From this moment hence, Tiger Lily will be able to whine with impunity without fear of a cranium ringing smack coming her way.

We will all join paws and step into a chaos and mayhem free future.

By the end of my speech, Jaq, Tiger Lily, and Ivan were bawling. They begged me to forgive them and withdraw my resignation. They pleaded that I never abdicate the throne. Tiger Lily even offered to whine on demand and to never complain when I smack her.

With a great show of reluctance, I acceded to their wishes.

Once again, my crown is secure. For my first act as restored ruler, I ordered Tiger Lily to gimme a whine. I immediately smacked her and sent her scampering to her room.

It amused me.

Daylight Ranting Time

Once again, the two leggers are exhibiting odd behavior.

Currently they are running amok through my household, madly advancing all the clock thingies by exactly one hour.

Just six months ago, they turned them back exactly one hour.

As I said, odd.

Apparently, they believe that by adjusting the clock thingies in one hour increments, they are able to "save daylight". 

Is it just me, or is this not one of the silliest things that they do? 

They proclaim to study earth, nature, space and the universe thingy, and yet they think that by adjusting their clock thingies, the laws of physics are suddenly altered and they find that they have made the day last longer and the night becomes shorter.

And so I would like to now address any two leggers who may be reading my blog thingy. All you four leggers can take a nap, slay a dust bunny or visit the litter box  (if you are a dog thingy, go chase your tail or drink from the toilet) while I speak to your servants:

Dear Two Leggers,
    Adjusting your clock thingies changes nothing. Every year, the amount of daylight increases for a while, then it begins to decrease for a while. Then it begins the whole cycle once again. Us enlightened types call these cycles "seasons". Remember that word? You may have even noticed that during the "season" of shorter days, the air gets cold, while during the "season" of longer days, the air gets warm. (Unless you live in Wisconsin where it just stays cold) I reiterate, changing your clock thingies does not affect this. It will happen whether you change the clock thingies or not. This is proven by the fact that the clock thingy on the microwave has been flashing 12:00 for the last three years and yet the "seasons" still manage to change.
     Ooooooh, here's an idea! Ignore your timepieces and emulate four leggers. When the sun comes up, wake up! When the sun goes down, watch the talking box thingy for a coupla hours and go to bed! Take at least seven naps in between and stop stressing yourself out over what time it is.

Okay, I have spoken my piece. You may all return to what you were doing.

Ivan has just advised me however that the time adjustment means that he will get fed an hour earlier and has asked that everyone please ignore everything I have just said.

Pain In The Neck

This weekend, my two leggers watched a movie on the talking box thingy called "Twilight". (The movie was called "Twilight", not the talking box thingy)

Though there were an inordinate amount of inaccuracies in this movie, after watching for 20 minutes, I now consider myself an expert on all things vampiric.

Where do I begin?

First of all, they call vampires "THE UNDEAD". I find this exceedingly stupid. By all things grammatical, by calling them "UNDEAD" you are stating that they are "LIVING".

RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!! THE LIVING ARE COMING FOR US!!

Stupid.

The very fact that this story takes place in the Pacific Northwest, where everyone is afraid of negative labels and being politically incorrect, shows that this is a work of fiction. Here, they would probably be called the "pulse challenged", or perhaps "Obsessive Compulsive Bloodaholics". They would be offered counseling and employment by the Internal Revenue Service.

But no, these neck biters (the one attribute I have no problem with) go to school and play baseball at night during thunderstorm thingies. (Another fallacy given that we never get thunderstorm thingies)

Now, allow me to go back a little. The modern vampire myth goes back to a story written by a two legger named Bram Stoker. It is my theory that the Bramster originally penned this story after being awakened by his cat "Dracul" who was upset that his 3:00am snack was 2.7 minutes late. Stoker then proceeded to write a story about a creature that could see in the dark, enter or depart a room undetected, slept all day and caused chaos all night and furthermore craved two legger blood. He even went as far as to name his creature "Dracula". I believe that the only reason he never admitted that he wrote the story about his cat was the fact that he had to sleep sometime and suspected the cat would exact vengeance if he ever saw through the thinly veiled reference.

Back to "Twilight". The other main issue I have with this piece of cinematic drivel is the whole concept of two leggers suddenly turning into large dog thingies. They are portrayed as huge, fearsome, salivating beasts that lunge through the forest attacking all in their path. These overgrown dog thingies run in a pack and strike fear into all those they meet. What it doesn't show is the other, less dignified dog like behavior. Not once during the movie do we see them sniffing each other's butts, whizzing on tree thingies or getting intimate with the legs of their house guests.

I remain undaunted by the prospect of these creatures living around here.

If the bloodsuckers approach my house, I will simply subjugate them, They will recognize that I am their obvious leader.

If a pack of mutant dog thingies attacks, I will throw them a tennis ball and wait for Animal Control.