Wild Turkey

It is late November.

The two leggers are busily preparing for their annual Thanksgiving feast.

Normally this annoy me greatly.

They scrub my Kingdom from top to bottom. They clean out my hidey holes and harvest my latest crop of dust bunnies. They re-organize everything that they deem disorganized. They even go so far as to replace the drapes that I have spent many hours shredding in a most artistic manner.

On the positive side however, they also bring in massive amounts of foodstuffs and leave them in places that any motivated felonious feline can easily access  and abscond with. On the actual day of the feast, a wide variety of food can be found scattered throughout my Kingdom simply waiting for me and my fellow felines to sample and contaminate.

However, I have learned that this year will be different. The two leggers have been invited to spend the day elsewhere. Therefore the manic mopping and desperate dusting has not occurred this year. But thankfully, they will still be providing food and have stocked my larders accordingly.

Now make no mistake, gluttony is not my goal here. Well, not my ONLY goal. It is just a happy by-product of the holiday.

The introduction of so much yummy stuff in my house provides many opportunities for chaos and mayhem. The arrival of twenty grocery bags filled with a veritable cornucopia of munchies immediately warms the heart of every furred denizen. But we must be careful. With so much food laying around, the two leggers have become extremely vigilant. They are constantly alert for the sounds of a cat stealthily stalking a frozen turkey thingy left out overnight to thaw. They conduct hourly security tours in order to avoid a repeat of The Great Pumpkin Pie Pouncing of 2011.

I even heard the female two legger tell the male to put the "yams" in the cupboard so that I would be unable to destroy them.

I don't even know what a "yam" looks like. However, I am fairly certain that I would like to kill one.

And so we wait. I have faith that the two leggers will sleep eventually.

As the night slowly progresses, I notice the two leggers beginning to show signs of fatigue. The female is yawning. The male's eyelids are beginning to droop. It is only a matter of time. (and perhaps the sleep aid I slipped into their wine during dinner)

The excitement is becoming infectious. For Thanksgiving this year, Jaq has written a new song for the occasion. She has replaced the lyrics of Bruce Springsteen's "Born In The USA" using nothing but the word "Turkey". So now instead of singing:

"Born down in a dead man's town
The first kick I took was when I hit the ground
You end up like a dog that's been beat too much
Till you spend half your life just covering up
Born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
Born in the U.S.A."

She sings:

"Turkey turkey turkey turkey turkey turky!
Turkey turkey turkey turkey turkey turkey turkey turkey,
Turkey turkey turkey turkey turkey turkey.
Turkey turkey turkey turkey turkey !
Turkey turkey turkey
Turkey turkey turkey
Turkey turkey turkey!"

Her talent for impression is amazing. I know of no one else that can take a Springsteen song and make it sound so eerily like Barry Manilow's "Weekend in New England".

Now that the two leggers have finally groggily headed to bed, it is time for a little fun.......  

Ivan has already claimed the thawing turkey. Curious about the large opening at one end of the bird, he has just invented the Turkey Hat. It seems that the opening was just large enough for him to get his head in, but not quite large enough to withdraw it afterwards. He is presently flopping around the counter attempting to escape. As his best friend, I know I should help him, but only after I get a few pictures and post them on FaceBook.

Tiger Lily is currently fulfilling her dream of becoming a jungle cat and is hiding behind the large head of lettuce. She already walked across the grapes that were set aside for the fruit salad and once again, I smacked her for "wining".

As for myself, I have placed my mark on all the dinner rolls that were in the process of rising. I find that a paw print on every roll makes for a festive table.

By morning our work should be complete. The salad will be tossed, the rolls will be pawed and the turkey will be de-Ivaned.

This may be the first turkey in history that will need to be de-furred before serving.

To all my minions in America, I wish you a very happy Thanksgiving.

To all those in other countries, I wish you a very happy November 28th.

Except those in New Zealand and Australia where due to the time difference, it is already April 31st. 

The Mystery of The Stynx

This morning I awoke to the sounds of two leggers sniffing.

Not sniffling, as when they have a cold and their brains begin to melt and drip out of their nose thingies.

This was a definite sniffing, as when they catch a whiff of an odor they either don't like or cannot identify.

They were moving through my house, nose thingies quivering like a bunny on recreational pharmaceuticals, heads bobbing up and down, searching for the elusive aroma. They thought that they had solved the problem when they discovered a cache of ancient grapes that had somehow rolled (or possibly been batted) beneath the fridge.

This activity peaked my curiosity so I decided I should observe them on the chance that it may prove amusing. And so I watched.......

As they moved from room to room, practically hyperventilating in their quest to locate their odiferous objective, Jaq was sitting in a shoebox quietly singing "Something in The Air" by Phil Collins. Every time that they thought they had tracked the offending odor to a particular room, they would conduct a thoroughly fruitless search for its source. After completing the search, they would discover that the scent had miraculously migrated to an entirely different room.

In their mission to locate the source of the stink, they failed to notice one thing:

Every time they entered a room from which the odor seemed to be emanating, a large orange ball of badness would silently slink through the door, quietly chuckling as it passed.  This continued for most of the day. The two leggers would search for a while, and then give up and go on about their business until suddenly one of them would catch a hint of the scent and the search would begin anew.

I have to give Ivan credit. He has surpassed my low expectations. His plan for causing chaos while simple, has proven to be gloriously effective. It has also resulted in the added benefit of causing the two leggers to clean beneath both the fridge and the oven, thus returning two foil balls, four feather thingies and a catnip mousy thingy to my toy box.

I decided to congratulate Ivan on his accomplishment. Following my nose, I found him napping on the floor in the bathroom.

But Ivan was not alone......

As I entered the bathroom, I discovered Tiger Lily busily rubbing the slumbering buffoon with a piece of moldy cheese that she had "liberated" from the trash can.

I guess whine and cheese really do go well together.

Fired Up

I have taken the next step in my quest for Universal Domination.....

MWAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!  (evil laugh)

After much studying, observation, pondering, and the consumption of large quantities of catnip, I have discovered the secret of the ancient art of making fire.

Until now, only two leggers possessed the ability to create fire. They have kept this ability a very closely guarded secret since their prehistoric ancestors discovered it back in the 1980's.

Before I disclose the secret to this holiest of holies, I will first give a brief synopsis of the history of fire:

Back in the Pre-Cujolithic Age, between seven and 52,000,000,028.39 years ago, two leggers were incapable of making fire. Fire existed, but was only known as "big glowy hot stuff" and only occurred when natural disasters such as forest fires and volcano thingies happened. Back then, the cave dwelling two leggers would sit around on rocks outside their caves (the beds they had meticulously constructed from animal skins stuffed with hay inside the caves were occupied by prehistoric felines) and would pray for some such cataclysm to occur. Vigilantly scanning the horizon for the tell-tale signs of smoke, lightning or exploding mountains, they patiently waited.  At the first whiff of smoke in the air, they would grab their cats and rush to the site of the impending inferno. Once there, they would construct small wooden structures covered in carpet called "thrones". Only after placing their cats upon their "thrones" next to the edge of the fire, would the two leggers utilize the fire for such trivial matters as cooking and insurance fraud.

This was all well and good for the cats, but terribly inconvenient for the two leggers. So one day a two legger named Harvey Firestein came up with the idea of constructing a large stone box. Once the box was built, and after removing the cats that seemed to instantly appear in the aforementioned box, Harvey filled the box with wood and by striking two rocks together was able ignite the wood within.

In honor of his ingenuity, Harvey's fellow prehistoric cat lovers started calling the big glowy hot stuff "firestein". Later this would be shortened to "fire" by an American rock band who felt that "C'mon Baby Light My Firestein" didn't sound quite right.

Now to return to the present. Two leggers have perfected the art of making fire to the point that firebox thingies can be found in almost every house on Earth. In front of every firebox thingy will be found a throne occupied by at least one cat and in some instances, a dog thingy laying passed out on a rug. However, one problem remained: The occupants of the thrones and rugs were still forced to rely upon the two leggers to light the frebox thingy which they seem loathe to do whenever they are not currently at home.

Most annoying.

So, in the quest for knowledge and the ability to keep the Royal Hiney warm, I have been watching the motions of the two leggers. I feign sleep, and I watch. I hide in the artificial flowers, and I watch. I conceal myself in the comforter, and I watch.  I have observed that whenever the two leggers pick up a small gray box with buttons on the surface, the firebox thingy ignites. When they pick it up again, it extinguishes the flame.

It became obvious to me that the buttons on the small gray box are the key.

So the other day, after the two leggers left for work, I stalked the small gray box with buttons.

I pounced upon it........no result.

I trod upon it........no result.

I bit it........tasted like chicken.

Finally, I smacked it......

FIRE!!!!!  Sweet, bright, flickering, bun-warming fire!!

Suddenly Ivan, Jaq and Tiger Lily were bowing, grovelling and worshiping the Bringer of Fire.

As I was basking in the warmth of the fire and their adoration, one thing slipped my mind.

Now that it was on, how do I turn it off?

Once again, I pounced upon the small gray box with buttons. Once again, I trod upon it. Once again, I bit it. Once again, I smacked it.

No results.

Ivan even tried blowing on the fire, but it only singed his whiskers.

Seven hours later, the two leggers returned home.

As they entered through the front door, I stood proudly in front of my triumph. I assumed they too would bow to my resourcefulness. They would be overwhelmed by the fact that I had warmed the house to a balmy 97 degrees in anticipation of their return from a cold day at work.

I was mistaken.

Instead, the female immediately grabbed the little gray box with buttons, and through some complex series of button pushing, turned the firebox thingy off while the male stood glaring at me and tapping his foot.

Since that fateful day, the two leggers invariably hide the little gray box with buttons whenever they leave my house.

It is only a matter of time before I discover where they hide it.

And then, once again, all will sweat.