Thursday, August 29, 2013

A Walk in The Pork (Part II)

When last we left our dashing young tuxedo-clad hero (me), I was investigating an intruder in my Kingdom.

Ivan was confused. Tiger Lily was newly smacked and Jaq,...... well Jaq was probably off doing something very Jaq-like.

And now the episode thingy continues......

After smacking Tiger Lily, I turned my attention to the beast in my yard. Ivan joined me in the window and we sat there pondering together while the beast continued rummaging through my flowerbeds. Okay, I sat there pondering. Incapable of pondering, or any other thought related activity, Ivan just sat there grunting in an effort to imitate the strange intruder.

Suddenly, Ivan leaped up and bolted from the room. Soon I could hear him rummaging around in the computer room. After a few minutes, Ivan came back and in a very supercilious manner informed me that he had solved the mystery and identified the intruder. His exact words were: "Hey Boss, I figgered it out. Dat ting in da yard is a '6id'." 

"A 6id?" I asked.

"Yup, it's a gid. I even seen a pixure of it. It is defun.....dufina....surely a 6id."

"Show me this picture" I demanded.

I followed Ivan into the computer room. On the floor was a picture book thingy that the two leggers use to entertain the offspring of their offspring whenever they come visit. Sure enough, the book thingy was open and upon the page was a likeness of the beast in my yard. Unlike the animal in my yard, it was on its back with its legs sticking straight up. Beneath the picture was the word "6id". I ordered Ivan to turn the book around so that the 6id was standing up.

"Wow!" Exclaimed Ivan, "Now it says it's a pig! Musta been some kinda code thingy! You one smart one to crack dat code thingy, boss!"

A pig.

I suppose that I owe Tiger Lily an apology. She won't get one, but I suppose I owe her one.

I returned to the bay window to ponder the pig. It was still rooting around making those disgusting noises. As I watched, contemplating the endless methods of serving bacon, I became aware that the goat thingies had become aware of the pig's presence. They were both jammed into the corner of their pen nearest the flowerbeds. Both of them were laughing hysterically and calling the pig all manner of insulting names. 




Each insult was followed by maniacal laughter and the butting of heads, which is the goat thingy equivalent of a two legger's "high-five"

Finally, out of boredom, or perhaps because it's feelings were hurt, the pig thingy turned and slowly ambled out of my driveway and continued down the road and back to it's sty, three houses east of my Kingdom.

Now I know the question that is on all your minds. And I fear that I must disappoint you all.

Through careful and studious observation, I can say with absolute certainty........

It did NOT go wee, wee, wee, all the way home.

Friday, August 16, 2013

A Walk in The Pork

During the the annual week of Summer, a veritable menagerie parades through my yard on a daily basis.

From my windows, I observe deer thingies, bird thingies, goat thingies, stray felines, the occasional muttbeast, bunnies, moles and even a suspected Smurf.

Okay, that last one may have been due to some questionable catnip from New Zealand, but whatever it was, it was blue, about one tailspan tall, annoyingly cheerful and it may or may not have been wearing white overalls.

In retrospect, it may actually have been a squirrel choking on a nut.

I can only hope.

Anyway, today I added yet another critter to the list.

This morning as I sat in the kitchen window, counting the ways that I could slay and devour the big fat robin that was bathing in my pond, I became aware that Ivan was trying to gain my attention. I knew he was trying to gain my attention because he was tapping me on the back, with a pained look on his misshapen little face and saying "Ummmmm Boss? Ummmmmm Boss? Boss? Boss? Hey Boss? Errrrrrr Boss?"

Having given the big fat robin a proper tongue lashing and questioning its parentage, I turned to Ivan and said "WHAT???"

Ivan poofed and scampered into the livingroom in a very "come hither" manner.

Both bored and intrigued, but mostly bored, but slightly intrigued, yet mostly bored, I left the big fat robin to his ablutions and followed. I found Ivan in the bay window, his stubby little tail twitching. His ample haunches quivering like bowls of stinky orange Jello. From my position on the floor, I could not see what had put Ivan in a such a tizzy, however I could hear a strange sound coming through the open window.


Having witnessed the two leggers leaving for work this morning, I knew that though it sounded similar, the male two legger was not sleeping in my front yard.

Jumping up to the bay window, I beheld a sight the likes of which I had never beheld before.

Walking through the flowerbeds that line my front deck was a large, dirty, mostly hairless, pink, snub-nosed creature. What little hair it had was not blonde, so I ruled out the possibility that Britney Spears had come to visit. The creature was roughly the same height as a goat thingy, but was very Ivanesque in build. Short, stubby little legs, large, blubbery body and a short little tail. The tail was not stubby, but thin and twisted as though it had unintentionally slept on it. It moved through the flowerbed, pushing dirt around with ts flat round nose making that odd snoring sound. 

Immediately upon sniffing the air coming in through the window I was assailed by a stench like nothing I had ever experienced. Well, at least nothing since the morning after Ivan consumed a burrito that the two leggers carelessly left on the top of the stove.

At this point, Tiger Lily had joined me in the window and seemed unimpressed. Figuring she may have seen one before, I asked her if she knew what it was.

"Pig." she said.

That was uncalled for, so I called her a "doo-doo head" and smacked her across the room.

Hey, she started it.

To Be Continued.....

Saturday, August 10, 2013

Rhapsody in Orange

Okay, you may all rest easy.

Hurricane Cujo has passed.

I am no longer stalking around my kingdom, looking for trouble, causing hate and discontent, smacking all in my path, inflicting massive amounts of damage simply because I am angry for no apparent reason.

Now, I am stalking around my kingdom, looking for trouble, causing hate and discontent, smacking all in my path, inflicting massive amounts of damage simply because it amuses me.

Yes, I am in a much better mood now.

I do not profess to know what put me in such a foul mood last week, but I do know what cheered me up.

In a word, Ivan.

Even though I often mock Ivan (I can't help myself, he is SO mockworthy), Ivan does have a few admirable qualities. Among his admirable attributes is his ability to cheer me up when I am feeling surly. I do not deceive myself. He does not attempt to amuse me out of any sense of magnanimity, I believe he does it out of a sense of self-preservation. Ivan may not know much, in fact, the things that Ivan does know would make a fortune cookie look like a novel by Victor Hugo, but he does know that as long as I am in a tizzy, none shall sleep easy. Sleeping easy is Ivan's favorite hobby and therefore it is to his benefit to ensure that I stay happily amused.

Yesterday, Ivan took it upon himself to cheer me up.

He began by attempting to engage me in a game of Peek-A-Boop. As I stalked up and down the hallway, Ivan would suddenly appear from some doorway, nook or cranny and lightly "boop" me on my nose thingy. He would then crook his tail and run away giggling maniacally. This did not amuse me, but it did cause me to ponder.

After much thought, I concluded that there is not enough room in the Royal Litter to successfully conceal his body. However, the closet at the end of the hallway may provide a suitable temporary storage space until I can permanently hide his remains.

Ivan then tried to make me smile by making goofy faces. First he scrunched his face like he was trying to soil himself, stuck out his tongue and made a "Thhhhpppppppttttttttttttcccchhh" sound.

I was moistened, but remained unamused.

Perhaps under the bed in the guest bedroom would be a suitable final resting place for a large, stinky orange tabby that made one poor decision too many.

It was at this point that Ivan looked into my eyes and realized that I was plotting his immediate demise. Realizing that he had but moments to enjoy the remainder of his short life, Ivan panicked and bolted to the bathroom.

Once in a great while, the wheels of fate turn, the star thingies align, Karma wakes up and everything goes my way. In the moment of Ivan's mad dash for his life, just such an occurrence .....well,... ...occurred.

At the same instant that Ivan bolted through the bathroom doorway, the male two legger was blindly attempting to exit the shower after having gotten shampoo in his eyes. Groping about for a towel, looking like a zombie foaming at the head, he stepped out and instead of feeling a soft warm bathmat beneath his feet, he was upended by a terrified cannonball of fur and claws. Grabbing for anything that may restore his sight, the male mistakenly grabbed Tiger Lily from where she was perched on the vanity and attempted to wipe his face with a startled, whiny gray tabby. In the confusion, Tiger Lily bit the hand that feeds her resulting in her being accidentally dropped in the bathtub that was in the midst of being drained.

The female two legger who is uncannily drawn to the sound of screaming, sqwalling, hissing and cursing, arrived in record time to find her mate rubbing furiously at his eyes, a soaking wet gray tabby desperately trying to scramble up the shower curtain and a large, orange, quivering ball of fur attempting to hide behind the toilet. With one glance she concluded that the male was obviously at fault and berated him at length.

Once again, Ivan has succeeded in his mission.

I am amused.

Tuesday, August 6, 2013

Anger Mismanagement

I am not amused.

In fact, I am angry, upset, ticked off, peeved, POed, miffed, irritated, surly, growly, grumbly, grumpy, irked, and grouchy. I am owl-faced and ill-tempered. My smackin paw is twitching to beat the band.

What has me in such a foul mood?

I haven't a clue.

All I know is that my dander is up and someone needs to pay.

As I stalk through my domain, it is evident that my minions are aware of my irritability. Ivan feigns sleep, Jaq seeks sanctuary in a box in the computer room, and Tiger Lily is curiously silent. Even the two leggers give me a wide berth.

For the most part I am a usually a happy-go-lucky sort. Among evil, overbearing dictators, I am generally considered the one that makes enslavement and bondage a fun and joyful experience. It has even been said that I put the "purr" in "Purgatory".

But every now and again, I get a case of the Deep Blue Meanies and feel compelled to unleash my pent up animosity. However, I do not do so rashly or without reason. I am nothing if not fair. I will not simply lash out at some innocent bystander without reason. I must be provoked. My wrath must be earned.

It must be deserved.

In all fairness I must admit that when I am in such a snit, my annoyance threshold is somewhat lower than normal, but I do have my standards.

So in the spirit of fair warning, I will now let everyone know what types of behavior may earn a major smackdown during these dangerous periods:

1. Whining (Okay, that'll earn a smack at any given time, but just showing the propensity to whine will earn a preemptive strike from the smackin paw when I am in a tizzy)
2. Being found or suspected of being a gray tabby.
3. Eating from my food bowl. All food bowls are mine, so I suppose simply eating at all could be considered dangerous.
4. Attempting to pet me.
5. Not petting me.
6. Allowing others to whine in my presence.
7. Napping in my spot. All spots are mine (See #3)
8. Asking me if I wanna work on my blog thingy.
9. Not reminding me to work on my blog thingy.
10. Being a squirrel thingy or engaging in any squirrelish, squirrel-like or squirrelesque activities.
11. Ignoring me.
12. Paying attention to me.
13. Justin Beiber
14. Anything  involving any Kardashian, politics, Smurfs or Honey Boo Boo.

And the thing that really flings my litter: When the two leggers attempt to appease me by offering what they believe is the toy that I wish to play with. After all these years, one would think that they would know exactly which one of my 137 cat toys would amuse me. Granted, my favorite toy changes as often as a professional football player is accused of committing a felony, but my fickleness in choice of playthings should not be considered an excuse for their ignorance of which offering will appease me.

Well, I suppose I should go find something/someone to vent my animosity upon. I will return when I am in a better mood.

Even though Tiger Lily has currently stifled her whining, I suspect she is off somewhere being gray.

She must be punished.