Claus for Concern

In my opinion, one of the most disturbing traits that two leggers have is that of glorifying criminals and criminal activity.

Their history is filled with stories of individuals who became famous and celebrated because of their anti-social behavior. Robin Hood, Jesse James, Butch Cassidy, John Dillinger and Justin Bieber, just to name a few.

However, there is one that stands above the rest. His criminal career and list of offenses is longer than that of any other ne'er-do-well in the annals of man. His nefarious empire spans the entire globe and affects every society on Earth. He has thousands upon thousands of willing and unwilling accomplices.

Though his description and crimes are widely known, he has never been arrested, never been indicted, never spent a day in jail.

The location of his evil lair is so well known that millions of children write letters to him every year!

Of course I speak of  the master criminal known as "Santa Claus". According to the FBI, his aliases include: Saint Nicholas, Kris Kringle, Father Christmas, St. Nick, Pere Noel, Nicky Da Nose (in New Jersey) and Sinterklaus among others.

I have researched the crimson criminal and discovered that his offenses include:
31,658,496,637,894,156,627,731,816,614,003 counts of "breaking and entering".
792 counts of "unlawful imprisonment" (the elves he uses as slave labor in his evil lair and sweatshop).
11 counts of "animal cruelty and endangerment" (forcing reindeer to pull his obese carcass around)
Numerous counts of "fraud" and "embezzlement".
97counts of "felonious jollity".

Every year he employs thousands of decoys that go out to department stores to confuse the authorities.

Well if the FBI, CIA, DEA, ATF, DHS or any other tri-lettered government agency won't do anything to put an end to the criminal reign of the felonious fatso, I will......

This year I have set a trap.

It is gloriously simple in its sheer complexity.

The criminal Kringle is always drawn to the large green cat toy that the two leggers insist on calling the "Christmas Tree". On Christmas Eve, Ivan will be hidden among the packages at the base of the tree thingy.  Jaq will be sitting on the back of the couch softly singing various Christmas carols to put Santa at ease. I have already tied up Tiger Lily with several strands of lights and intend to hang her in the bay window to provide a festive atmosphere (hopefully she won't yowl as loud as she did last year when I plug her in). As for myself, I will be concealed deep among the boughs of the tree thingy.

When Santa approaches the tree, Ivan will jump out and commence to chewing on the fat man's ankles. As the festive felon fights to extricate himself from Ivan's merciless maw, with a mighty MROWR!!!!! I shall leap from my place of coniferous concealment directly upon his noggin causing him to drop in a dead faint.

I figure that anyone who subsists on a diet consisting entirely of milk and cookies should be ripe for a massive coronary or at least a minor stroke.

While he is out, we will tie him up with ribbon and gag him with a Christmas stocking.

Thus we will bag the bulbous burglar.

That'll teach him to bring me coal three years in a row.

From the Kingdom of Cujo, I and my minions would like to wish all of you a very merry Christmas and a bountiful New Year. 

Seven Card Cujo

Every now and again, the male two legger enjoys getting together with several other male two leggers. They sit around a large table, drink beer, look at small rectangular pieces of paper and exchange money.

At first, I ignored this activity. There was no chaos and very little bloodshed, therefore it held no interest to me.

However, after a while I came to the realization that they were involved in some sort of game.

Now as a feline, I am a huge fan of games. Games are not only amusing, they also serve as a means of displaying ones superiority over lesser intellects.

As is my way, I decided to research this game that the held such fascination for the male.

The game in question is called "Poker".

This should not be confused with a game I already play called "Poke Her". Poke Her is simply the act of walking by Tiger Lily and giving her a poke in the nose. It is very amusing, but seldom involves any sort of strategy.

 There are many different forms of the game, but for the most part they all involve the portioning out of a predetermined number of small rectangular pieces of paper called "cards". Each card thingy has either a number (1-10),  a picture of a royal personage (Curiously, I am not featured at all), or the letter ''A". In addition, each card thingy has one of four symbols displayed in each corner. The four symbols consist of a red heart, a red diamond, a black clover and a black upside-down heart on a stick.

 After secretly examining their card thingies, the players then decide how much their particular combination of card thingies is worth. Using a complicated series of gestures, words and strategies, they attempt to convince the other players that they are holding the best combination at that moment. Sometimes they also try to convince the other players that they are not holding the best cards and thereby try to dupe the other players into throwing more money into a losing cause.

It is all very complicated and I will not bore you with details.

That being said, I saw great potential in forming my own game of Poker.

While the two leggers were at work, I called my fellow felines together and invited (ordered) them to take part in my new game.

Obviously the game we played would be somewhat different from that of the two leggers. Where the two leggers used a deck of 52 cards, we could find only 14 under the couch and three under the icebox thingy. Other than the credit card I have hidden in the kitty carrier, we had no money, but I told everyone to bring all their valuable possessions to use as stakes.

I dealt out the 17 cards evenly. Four for each of them, five for me (it was my deck after all). Jaq immediately bet an old gym sock. Ivan saw the gym sock and hid in the bathroom for the next five minutes (he's odd that way). After convincing Ivan to rejoin the game, I raised Jaq's bet by a catnip mousie thingy and a dessicated moth I'd been saving for a snack. Tiger Lily was unsure of her cards so I folded her. Ivan was still confused and sat there chewing on one of his cards until losing my patience, I smacked him and he hid in the tub again. In his absence, I exercised my right as the dealer and bet for him. I assumed he thought he had good cards and bet everything he had. This amounted to a Q-Tip, two plastic milk jug rings, a shapeless mass that may or may not have been a dust bunny in a former life and a bottle cap he named "Steve".

Now came the time to reveal our cards and determine a winner.

Jaq had a "Canadian" (four A's).

Ivan had a "Kardashian" (all diamonds, but no heart)

But none of them could beat my "San Francisco Flat Tire" (four queens and a jack).

I declared the game a success and plan to hold another one soon.

On a side note, Ivan was very disappointed that the "Royal Flush" he had in the bathroom didn't count.

The Paw of Fate

While going through my email the other day, I came across one that sparked my interest.

It read:
Dearest Cujo,
    I have been reading lately about animals that seem to have some kind of "sixth sense". Some animals have been able to tell when someone has cancer, or is about to go into diabetic shock. Some act strange just prior to a natural disaster or cataclysm. I even read one story about a cat at a nursing home who could tell when a resident was about to pass on.
   I am sure that as Supreme Dictator, High Poobah and Benevolent Tyrant of All Universes (known and unknown), you would have some insight into this seemingly unexplainable phenomenon.
        Your Devoted Minion,
                            Cuddles McBloodletter

Thank you Cuddles for your question.

Once again I shall spread some fertilizer upon the barren soil of two legger knowledge in the hopes that the seeds of wisdom may begin to sprout.

Throughout history there have been stories of animals having special senses. Dog thingies barking and howling just prior to an earthquake, rats vacating a doomed ship before it sails, birds vanishing before a storm, Charlie Sheen leaving the cast of "Two and A Half Men".......the list goes on and on.

I am here to tell you that there is absolutely nothing "supernatural" about any of this. Supernatural is simply a word that two leggers use because it is anathema for them to ever admit that they can't figure something out.

Take the stories about dog thingies barking and howling just before the advent of an earthquake. Dogs barking and howling? Really? Barking and howling is pretty much all they do when they aren't sleeping, cleaning themselves or sniffing each others' butts.

However, I'd like to focus on the four leggers that are accredited with diagnosing disease or predicting the deaths of two leggers.

I have personally witnessed this phenomenon on several occasions.

Just last week while the male two legger was eating the last muffin, Ivan predicted that he would soon suffer from spontaneous hemorrhaging of his left ankle and subsequent tummy growls. Within thirty seconds his prediction came true after he bit the ankle and ate the muffin while the male searched for bandages.

I have an innate talent for predicting chronic insomnia. I can personally guarantee that every time the two leggers neglect to close the bedroom door when they retire for the evening, sleeplessness on their part will ensue. Sometimes, I can even predict it by simply staring at their picture while Jaq sings a funeral dirge.

 I have also been known to predict high blood pressure and male pattern baldness.

One of the more sensational stories I have heard was a news story about a cat in a Michigan nursing home that could predict the impending deaths of elderly residents. It seems that every time a patient was about to die, the cat, whom the staff had named "Val" (short for "Valkyrie, Bringer of Death and Other Gloomy Stuff), would enter the doomed patient's room, jump up on their bed and yowl loudly for a few minutes before calmly walking out with tail straight in the air.

First of all, any feline with a reputation as a harbinger of mortal doom would by his very presence, probably become a self-fulfilling prophesy.

Plus, consider the target-rich environment.

The odds speak for themselves.

The Impractical Joker

I have observed that there are many different forms of humor.

Different types of humor appeal to different people.

One type is "slapstick". This refers to the classic physical humor of folks falling down, hitting each other with pies or bricks, or any misadventure involving fireworks.

Puns are another form of humor. Puns involve plays on words and are also my two legger's favorite.

British humor is a combination of the two listed above. The British are funny by nature and are the only culture able to combine the two.

Germans and Russians have no discernible sense of humor and have often shot those who suggest they might.

Canadians have a great style of humor called "Funnyeh", but only Canadians get it. In fact every Canadian joke ever written ends with the word "Funnyeh?"

There are many other forms of humor. Too many variations to list. However, there is one that is unquestionably the lowest, most despicable and most despised:

The practical joke.

The practical joke is used to scare, startle or humiliate its victim. Its sole purpose is to cause pain and embarrassment. It often causes physical as well as spiritual pain. Generally, the only person who finds it funny is the one perpetrating it. With the advent of YouTube, FaceBook and other social media with capital letters in the middle of their name, it has taken on a whole new aspect by recording and transmitting the victim's humiliation to a world-wide audience.

The practical jokester is truly an unfeeling, self-serving and narcissistic individual who cares only for their own amusement and entertainment.

Therefore I love practical jokes.

That being said, not all grasp the concept.

I speak of course, of Ivan.

Then again, Ivan has never grasped any concept. I assure you that if a concept coated in Super-Glue and maple syrup, wearing a suit made of velcro, suddenly jumped into Ivan's paw, it would simply slide right through like an eel coated in Vaseline.

However, that does not keep the big lug from trying.

I speak of this because Ivan has decided to become the world's greatest practical joker.

One of two things will come of this:
A. Ivan will succeed in pulling off a truly great practical joke.
B. Ivan will fail miserably offering me an opportunity to mock him mercilessly.

It's a "win/win" if you ask me.   

His first attempt was directed at Tiger Lily. He followed her around the house for several hours awaiting his opportunity. Finally, he saw his chance. As she walked past the open door of the hall closet, he gave her a sudden push and slammed the door. He then scampered down the hall giggling.

Now to the uninitiated this may sound cruel and heinous indeed. But, truth be told, Tiger Lily is a very solitary cat who loves nothing more than to be left in quiet dark space with nothing to distract her from her whiny thoughts.

Jaq was next on his "hit list". Knowing that Jaq often naps on a towel on the bathroom vanity, Ivan snuck very quietly into the bathroom. Spying the edge of the towel overhanging the edge of the countertop, Ivan plotted his pounce. His plan was to land just to the left of her and startle the litter nuggets out of her. Yelling "BOOGA BOOGA!!!" Ivan made a mighty leap!

However, Jaq, who was peacefully sleeping in the bay window (three rooms away) remained unfazed.

Mid-pounce, Ivan realized that his intended victim was absent. As he landed (in front of the mirror), he discovered a large orange tabby was leaping at him while also yelling "BOOGA BOOGA!" Ivan immediately poofed and bolted. He then spent the next three hours under the bed cowering in fear.

Believing in the old adage of "two strikes and you're out", (I know it's supposed to be three strikes, but two is the highest he can count) Ivan gave up his quest.

The two leggers returned a few hours later, let Tiger Lily out of the closet and wiped the skid marks from the bathroom counter.

Later that evening we had our nightly "family time". This is the time of evening when the two leggers curl up on the couch and watch the talking box thingy. I lay upon my throne, Jaq sits on the female's lap, Tiger Lily watches from the half wall behind the couch and Ivan naps upon the coffee table. As the evening wore on, Ivan slowly lapsed into such a relaxed state that his body liquefied and he began to "flow" off of the table. He awoke just as his body gained critical vertical momentum. He panicked and scrambled to arrest his fall. In his frantic scrabbling, he managed to send the large ceramic bowl  that serves as the coffee table centerpiece flying across the room. The resulting crash caused Tiger Lily to fall off the wall, Jaq sunk her claws into the female's lap as she leaped in poofy panic and the male even spilled his beer in the ensuing chaos.

Perhaps I underestimated Ivan's comedic potential.....

Tomorrow I will introduce him to "slapstick".

Tiger Lily will play the "stick".

Scavenger Hunt

Today I found myself suffering from acute boredom.

The two leggers cleaned my house earlier and left no wine or beer glasses out for me to break. All the knock knacks were placed out of reach. Tiger Lily was hiding somewhere, so even the pleasant diversion of smacking her around was denied me.

I considered pulling a toy from the "Box O' Amusements", but in a fit of friskiness last night, I broke one of my toys and only 372 remain. It would be foolhardy to risk breaking another until the two leggers replace the broken one.

I sat in the bay window, thinking to verbally abuse the squirrel thingy, but alas, the Outer Kingdom was quiet and the squirrel was nowhere to be seen.

Even the male two legger foaming at the mouth and screaming at a football game failed to amuse me.

Suddenly it occurred to me. The two leggers often amuse themselves by searching through the house for lost items. These items are most often things like car keys, screwdrivers, wallets, pens, scraps of paper....etc. In fact, they spend so much time looking for these items, I am forced to assume that they enjoy looking for stuff more than they enjoy having stuff.

There is even a holiday that they devote to training their younglings to search for lost items. Every year, on a Sunday in late Spring, adult two leggers rise while their young still sleep and sneak out into the yard. Quietly and stealthily they proceed  to hide garishly colored egg thingies in bushes, tufts of grass and various other hidey-holes. Like large mutant squirrels hiding nuts for the Winter, they take great care in the placement of each egg thingy. They even intentionally hide a few where they won't be found until late Summer when the stench becomes unbearable. Once all the egg thingies have been hidden, they waken the juveniles, hand them woven baskets and inform them that a mythical bunny has stolen all their eggs and hidden them outside.

Thus a desire to search for lost items is instilled from childhood.

Given my generous nature, I decided that I would assist in their amusement.

Since midnight, I have hidden no fewer than 25 objects throughout my house.

Tomorrow promises to be a most exciting day for the two leggers from the outset. Their alarm clock has been silenced and hidden in the hall closet. The knob to the thermostat has been removed and swatted under the stove. Miscellaneous items of jewelry have been relocated. The male's wallet has found a new home in one of the female's boots and the car keys lie in a shallow grave in the Royal Litter Box.

I eagerly anticipate their excitement tomorrow when they realize that their day shall be spent in a series of amusing and challenging searches.

As another example of my generous nature, when the two leggers come to thank me for their day of entertainment (as they will undoubtedly do), I will not take all the credit.

I'll tell them it was Tiger Lily's idea.

The Stalking Dead

As Halloween approaches, I find myself pondering things that seem to frighten two leggers. In the past I have posted about vampires, werewolves (and their young, weewolves) ghost thingies and Miley Cyrus. I even re-wrote Poe's "The Raven" last year.

But this year, I thought I'd cover an even scarier subject....

They are all over the media these days. Movies and TV shows are made about them. Parties are thrown in honor of them. It seems everywhere one turns, there is someone speaking of them and how scary they are.

They are mindless creatures that attack two legger society, causing fear, leaving death and destruction in their wake. They seek to destroy civilization and bring an end to the two legger race with their insatiable hunger.

However, I have always made it a rule when writing my blog thingy to never speak of politics, so instead I'll tell you about ZOMBIES!

First of all let me state for the record that of all the two legger bugaboos, zombies scare me the least. I mean think about it:
1. They are incapable of individual thought.
2. They feed only on two legger brains. (Darn scarce commodity)
3. They shamble.

How can anyone possibly be afraid of anything that shambles? If one starts to chase you, simply walk away. You don't even have to walk briskly. A slow meander should be enough. You could even stop at the corner coffee shop and get a grande' triple caramel, low-fat, half-caff, vente', extra whip, raspberry machiotto  light on the sprinkles, mocha latte' with a cinnamon stick before they even got close enough to make you nervous.

Zombies have evolved over the years. Originally they were the work of Voodoo practitioners in West Africa, the Caribbean Islands and along the American Gulf Coast.They were freshly dead two leggers who had some kind of spell thingy cast upon them to re-animate them. They were then sent forth to do the priest's bidding. They did not seek to eat the brains of their victims, but rather served as large, dumb, thug-like tools.

Not unlike mall security guards.

Somewhere along the way, a group of zombies was captured by a Hollywood producer and forced to "reinvent" themselves. The producer convinced the zombies that they were not scary enough to make a living (un-living?) in movies. They needed a "schtick", a gimmick, something to make them stand out from the rest of the population of California.

"Eureka! I've got it!" the producer exclaimed. "Babe, you gotta eat brains! You know, lurch around and crack peoples skulls, chew on their heads!"

The zombies replied, "URRRRRRGGGHHHH.........."

"That's the spirit, babe! Do more of that stuff! I smell a franchise!", the producer schmoozed. "Now get this, you will be virtually unstoppable! You will have superhuman strength (except when it comes to boarded-up windows and those pesky doorknobs)! You will be totally impervious to fire, ice and electricity!"

"URRRRRRRRRGGGGHHH!!!!!!" Enthused the zombies.

"You will be completely unstoppable!", raved the producer. "Oh yeah, unless the hero shoots you in the head, then you're toast".

"URGG??"

Thus was the modern zombie created. A Hollywood producer and a germ thingy created a new race of terrifying monsters

But I still cannot get past the whole shambling bit. 

So I have decided to create my own zombie. I already have the basic components. Ivan will serve as the brainless, thuggish, unstoppable creature. Tiger Lily will provide the haunting and irritating sounds that send chills through the souls of two two leggers. Jaq will hide in the closet and sing Michael Jackson's "Thriller" and possibly Blue Oyster Cult's "Don't Fear The Reaper".

We are all prepared for our annual Halloween shennaigans.

I have even corrected the shambling issue. Every night, Ivan gets several small food morsels as a "midnight treat". Tonight, I replaced his snack with espresso beans.

And thus I have created the most terrifying beast known to man and dog thingies.......

The ZOOMBIE! 

Assault and Cattery

Since starting my blog thingy back in 2010, I have received many emails and messages requesting more information about Ivan The Tolerable.

It seems that many of my readers and minions believe that he is a big loveable lug that assists me in my misadventures and often endures being the butt of my jokes and pranks.

So to set the record thingy straight, I have decided to devote this post to filling in one of the blanks in Ivan's pre-blog history.

Anyone who has read my books or the earliest posts of my blog thingy knows that Ivan was here before I took over. He was adopted by my two leggers about three months before I subjugated them. However, what you may not know is that when I first met Ivan, he was an angry, idiotic, stinky, stuuborn, sullen, foul-tempered, thick-headed, anti-social, thuggish brute. In the last five years he has changed immensely.

He is no longer angry.

But Ivan has a deep, dark secret. Something known only to myself and my two leggers. Something that may forever change the opinions of those who hold him in such high esteem.

Ivan has a police record.

That's right. Ivan is a hardened criminal.

It happened about a year before I began my blog.......

As I have stated often in the past, my two leggers are a couple of earth loving, tree hugging, bunny kissing beatniks. They are suckers for any critter with a twitchy nose, waggy tail or floppy ears. They would probably adopt an alligator and name it "Mister Fluffy" if it exhibited a cute demeanor.

I suspected something was up when the two leggers came home one day and began constructing a fence in my backyard. Ivan and I watched from the kitchen window as they planted fence posts and installed a gate. The final clue as to their intentions came when the male began construction on what was obviously a dog house.

On Ivan's LOATH (List Of All Things Hated), Ivan has listed the following:
1. Big dog thingies
2. Little dog thingies
3. Living dog thingies
4. Dead dog thingies
5. SIUP (Socks In Unexpected Places)

The next afternoon, the two leggers returned home from work. As they exited the car, I noticed that the male was holding one end of a leash. At the other end was a mid-sized, black and white, fully grown, sniffing, grinning, slobbering dog beast. He was approximately three times my size with longish hair. The two legger let him off the leash and he immediately commenced to watering every tree, shrub and twig in my yard. As I watched, I heard a low rumble behind me. I turned to find Ivan in full poof, his poor excuse for a tail looking like an orange, upside down ice cream cone stuck to his butt. His nose twitching, eyes aglow, I found myself concerned that his anger might ignite the dust between his ears causing the whole place to go up in flames.

Unaware that Ivan had suddenly been transformed into a hellbeast, the two leggers entered the house with the dog thingy in tow. They both watched me warily, waiting for me to hiss, poof and attack. Little did they know that I had already reached the conclusion that my services would not be needed.

"Cujo, this is Ernie. He needed a home and so we decided he could share ours." The male announced. "We expect you to be nice to him and we're sure you will soon become great friends".

I stood there calmly and smiled. As always, I knew something that they did not.

While their attention had been focused entirely upon Yours Truly, the creature formerly known as Ivan was slowly and methodically making his way around the dining room table. Some doggie-danger sense alerted Ernie just as Ivan pounced. He turned just in time to receive a monster dose of orange tabby beat down. In a blind fury Ivan became a blurry ball of teeth, claws and I coulda sworn he had found a switchblade or small light saber as well. The male reacted immediately and reached in to separate the two combatants.....well, actually there was only one combatant, the other was just a confused canine wondering where his worst nightmare had come from.

Now allow me to pause a moment here and explain something. The male two legger has spent his whole life in the company of animals. He knows better than to attempt to separate two animals intent on doing each other bodily harm. However, in this case his surprise overwhelmed his knowledge and he pulled Ivan (or whatever Ivan had become) off of the mutt.

Though robbed of his intended victim, Ivan continued his attack upon whatever was at hand. In this case "whatever was at hand" was quite literally at hand(s). For the next 25 seconds (or 3.5 hours if you ask the two legger) Ivan sliced, diced and mutilated the hands of the two legger. Finally he opened his eyes and realized that the dog thingy had escaped and he had inadvertently been biting (and clawing) the hands that feed him and ceased his attack. He ran to the computer room where the female locked him in. After securing Ernie in the backyard, the female proceeded to spend the next hour treating the male's wounds. It soon became apparent that the wounds were beyond home remedy so the two leggers left for the doctor's office.

This is where the police enter the picture. Apparently whenever there is an animal attack that requires medical attention, the police are required to be notified. The male declined to press charges against Ivan, but he was placed on probation. The police sent Ivan a letter declaring him a "vicious animal". They stated that he was a certified "dog-hater" and even went as far as to label him a "naughty kitty".

It took several weeks for the two legger to heal, though he still has the scars to this day. In the meantime, they found Ernie another home (I believe it was at Ernie's request). Ivan, realizing that he had crossed the line this time, has spent the intervening years convincing the two leggers that he has amended his ways.

So now you know the story of Ivan's police record. We do not often speak of it, some things are better left in the past.

But I must admit, I do find it amusing to occasionally sneak up on him and bark.

Creature Discomforts (Part 2)

Now where was I?

Oh yeah, I was speaking to you of Bigfoot and pondering how I could use such a creature to my advantage.

My plan was fairly simple.
1. Find a Bigfoot.
2. Once found, subjugate him.
3. Release him to cause chaos and mayhem and any other tasks I may call upon him to perform.

I quickly found out that step one of my plan was not going to be quite as easy as I thought.

For three nights in a row, I waited until the two leggers had retired for the evening. Once I was sure that they were safely slumbering, I stationed myself in the bay window of the darkened living room.

"Bigfoot!" I whispered. There was no response.

"Hey Sasquatch!" I said a bit louder. The night remained eerily silent.

"YO, BIG HAIRY FREAK!!" I yelled. "COME OUT THIS MINUTE OR I'M GONNA.....WELL, I'M GONNA......OKAY, I'M NOT SURE WHAT I'M GONNA DO, BUT I ASSURE YOU THAT IT WILL DE DECIDEDLY ANTI-BIGFOOT!!"

Suddenly I was startled by a pine cone striking the window above my head. The pine cone assault was not Bigfoot related, but was thrown by the squirrel thingy because I was disturbing his "me time". (When I enslave Bigfoot, dealing with the squirrel thingy will be at the top of his list of duties.)

By this time I had grown fatigued and decided to take a nap. I put Ivan in charge of finding Bigfoot. I gave him a camera and told him to keep an eye out for anything big, hairy and frightening. If he saw such a beast, he was to take a picture and report to me immediately.

About an hour later, Ivan woke me up.

"Boss! I found him! He was in the bed room. I got picture for ya Boss!!"

One look at the picture and I knew Ivan was mistaken....

Though big and somewhat hairy, this was Bignose, not Bigfoot.

I sent Ivan back to the window and told him to try again. An hour later he was back.....

"Wrong again." I said. "That's Bigface".  

"Dis monster huntin stuff is really hard, Boss. It takes big thinkin." Seeing the validity of his point, I relieved him of his duties. 

After several more nights sans Sasquatch, I realized that perhaps my plan was flawed. Maybe I could cause some mythical monster mayhem without actually employing a mythical monster.

I could tell that after watching so many scary "documentaries" the male two legger was already a bit leery of things that go bump in the night. It just so happens that I take great pride in my longstanding record of being Chief of All Things That Go Bump In The Night.

There was only one problem. In order to really make this work, I needed to figure out a way to make a seven pound house cat (me) sound like a 293 pound Bigfoot thingy. Once again, Ivan was the obvious answer. I told Ivan that after the two leggers went to bed, he was to stomp across the living room floor in a most Sasquattish manner. He would take five or six steps and then curl up on the couch as if asleep. I told him to perform this every 20 minutes or so. If the two leggers got up to investigate, he was to feign sleep until they returned to their room.

Since all the documentaries reported that the Bigfoot made a deafening, high-pitched screeching call, I found that by glaring at Tiger Lily with my smacking paw twitching, I could entice her to make just such a bone-chilling sound.

Last night we put my plan into effect.

I am sorry to report that all did not go as planned. It started out well. Ivan stomped, Tiger Lily screeched Jaq listened at the bedroom door. Soon Jaq gave the signal that the two leggers were stirring. We all immediately assumed attitudes of sleep. However, once again, Ivan's inability to control his giggling did us in.

The two legger returned to bed as if he hadn't noticed the large stinky mass on the couch, jiggling like a furry orange jello mold from Hell.

We waited an hour before resuming our activities. But the next time the two legger came out, he was armed with a water squirty thingy. On the side of the weapon, he had crossed out "Cat Corrector" and written "Sasquatch Squirter".

Oh well. Such is life. Win some, lose some. Yadda yadda yadda.

I have not given up. My faux Bigfoot may have failed, but if I ever subjugate the real thing, oh what an amusing evening that will be.

And Bigfoot, if you are out there and have internet access, drop me an email of FaceBook me. We'll do lunch and discuss the possibilities.

If you are not out there, or if you eat cats, please disregard that last sentence.

Creature Discomforts

Recently there have been a lot of programs on the talking box thingy that seem to have a common theme.

Two leggers world-wide have become obsessed with attempting to find legendary monsters. They are constantly mounting expeditions to remote corners of the world, taking high-tech gadgets, doo-dads, thingamajiggets, and other paraphernalia in order to locate and document these unexplained and undiscovered critters.

Normally I would not pay much attention to the goings on of such eccentric, and in most cases, wild-eyed and bearded individuals.

However, due to the proximity of the sightings, there is one such beastie that has captured my interest.

Over the last century or two, there have been more sightings of a critter named "Bigfoot" here in the Pacific Northwest than anywhere else in the civilized world (and Arkansas).

Since the creature in question lives here locally, I felt that it would be in my best interest to learn something of this mythical mischief maker. Since making this decision, I have now slept through no fewer than 37 different documentaries that claim to have discovered "irrefutable" proof that it exists.

I now consider myself to be the ultimate authority on all thingies Bigfootish.

I shall now enlighten you....

By all accounts, Bigfoot is a large, hairy, stinky and loud two legger. It has been described as a cross between a man, an ape, a bear and an upright marmot. No clear photographs of Bigfoot exists, but after seeing several eyewitness accounts, I assume it looks something like what one would see if Ivan and Gary Busey ever decided to have a child together. 

Creatures bearing the same description have been reported from virtually every corner of the world. Here in the Pacific Northwest it is known as "Bigfoot". The local Native Americans also called it "Sasquatch" which is the Quiyallute name for "Mega Hairy Dude". In Asia, it is referred to as the "Abominable Snowman" or "Yeti". In Louisiana it is called the "swamp ape". In Texas, they named it "Hairy Man". There are even reports of one spotted in Arkansas that the locals call "Uncle Jimmy".

Sightings of the legendary beast have many commonalities. Physical descriptions of the animal, general terrain of the sighting areas and even the eyewitnesses themselves bear many common traits.

Usually, Bigfoot is described as being around six to seven feet in height, covered in fur with a shambling gait. It emits a high-pitched scream or yell and is often accompanied by a musky odor.

It is most often sighted in remote, forested terrain that is usually hilly, mountainous or otherwise hard to access.

The eyewitnesses are generally avid hunters with an average blood alcohol content of .283% who have just discovered that the mushrooms that grow out of bear feces is actually quite yummy and makes a great mid-afternoon snack. Even the eyewitnesses in Asia seem to have developed a Deep American Southern accent

The final common factor in all these reports was the fact that every single two legger that encountered Bigfoot was totally and completely freaked out. Well, perhaps "freaked out" is too much of an understatement. They were bug-eyed, shivering, tweaking, twitching, babbling and underwear soiling disturbed.

As I pondered Bigfoot and his affect upon the two leggers who encountered him, it occurred to me that perhaps I could use this to my advantage......................

TO BE CONTINUED..........

 

Web of Deceit

Eight leggers are revolting.

No, I don't mean that they are disgusting, even though they kinda are in a deliciously crunchy kind of way.

I mean that they are actually revolting.

They have decided that they no longer wish to live under the benevolent dictatorship that is my Kingdom.

It seems that the Bathroom Spider has been watching too much BBC America lately and found himself inspired by the two leggers in Scotland attempting to gain independence from the United Kingdom.

I have allowed the Bathroom Spider to exist in the bathroom under three conditions:
1. That he continue to creep out the male two legger whenever possible by staring him down while he bathes.
2. That he spin webs across the doorway while the two leggers sleep, causing them extreme panic in the morning when they walk through the web.
2. That he never crosses the threshold between the bathroom and the bedroom.

The former Bathroom Spider broke rule number three once and ended up paying the ultimate price for his insubordination. His trial and subsequent execution served as both an example to future generations and a tasty snack for Ivan.

I began to notice signs of unrest last week.....

First, I heard an inordinate amount of snickering coming from the bathroom. This did not particularly annoy me at first. I may be a tyrant, but I understand that even eight leggers occasionally need the companionship of their own kind. Quite frankly, the thought of a sleepy two legger freaking out because he inadvertently interrupted a spider frat party amuses me. However, the snickering continued for several nights and it became apparent that the Bathroom Spider had invited several hundred of his closest kin to take up residence. The fact that every time I entered the bathroom, the snickering immediately ceased and they all attempted to hide, displayed that they were definitely up to something that they wished to remain secret.

Fortunately, I had a spy thingy on the inside. Every night between the hours of 7:00pm and midnight, Ivan can be found sprawled upon the heated tiles of the bathroom floor. He spends most of that time sleeping, but he has also been known to nap, slumber and even snooze. He is such a fixture, that during those hours he is considered part of the decor and everyone forgets that he is there.

In order to find out what the eight leggers were up to, I assigned Ivan a mission. To call it an "intelligence gathering mission" would be a bit over-enthusiastic.(Ivan actually repels intelligence instead of gathering it) I simply told him that he was being promoted to Chief Orange Tabby in Charge of All Thingies Sneaky and Spy-Like. As my COTCATS&S, I ordered him to feign sleep and listen to what the eight leggers were doing. He was to report back to me by morning.

The following morning he abashedly reported that he had failed in his mission due to the sleep-inducing power of the heated floor. However, he was happy to report that he had a wonderful dream in which he chased a really fat bunny across a field of catnip while riding a unicorn made of tuna.

I decided that in this case, perhaps a more direct approach was called for.

This afternoon, while the two leggers were at work, I stalked into the bathroom in all my regal glory and informed the Bathroom Spider that I wished to speak with him. As he climbed down the shower curtain, I said in a low, intimidating voice: "I wish to speak to ALL the eight leggers present".

Slowly and nervously, eight leggers began appearing from under the sink, from behind the cabinet, from the folded towels, from inside the toilet paper roll, from the bathtub drain, from the curtains and even from under the toilet seat. Many carried small flags made from small bits of tissue connected to cotton swabs. The flags had slogans that read "Vive Liberte'!" and "Down With Tyrants" and ironically "Don't Tread On Me". There was even one that had a roughly drawn picture of a cat hanging from a tree.

"What's all this?" I asked the Bathroom Spider.

He replied:
"We, the eight legged denizens of your Kingdom, have decided that we have had enough of your tyranny. At best, you treat us as second class citizens. At worst, you treat us as a dietary supplement. We hereby declare that the bathroom belongs us. We have renamed it 'Arachnatopia' and hereby decree that cats are no longer welcome. Well, except for the big stinky tabby, he can come in at his usual time. He amuses us. But you other feline types are no longer welcome in our new society. Leave us in peace, and we shall part with no ill will. However, should you try to stop us, bear in mind that you are few, while we are many......"

I sat and pondered his words for a moment.

He grew uneasy with my silence and finally unable to bear it any longer, he asked, "Well? Do you have anything to say before we banish you?"

"As a matter of fact, I can only think of three words" I replied.

"IVAN! LUNCH TIME!"

Instantly, Ivan was among the eight leggers.

He stomped, chomped and whomped.

He slashed, bashed and smashed.

In a matter of minutes, the rebellion was put down.

The carnage was extensive. Legs and spider bits lay strewn about as if a bomb had gone off in a spider factory. Ivan sat in the corner with a sated smile on his face.

Needless to say that when the two leggers returned home, they were less than impressed with the killing field they discovered.

They do not appreciate the lengths I go to in order to keep their bathroom free of pests.

Finally, allow me to say that aside from a mild case of indigestion, no felines were harmed in the quelling of this rebellion

Physically Unfit

Scientist thingies have announced that they have discovered the "God Particle".

Also called the "Higgs boson", they say that it is the key to the whole big universe thingy. Given the fact that I am the Grand Poobah and Supreme Dictator of All Universes (known and unknown), I felt I should know more about this theory and those who thunk it up.

After studying this theory between naps over the last 45 minutes, I have drawn my own conclusions and developed my own theory:

There should be mandatory drug tests administered to all physicists.

Allow me to elaborate.

While the physicists have been studying the universe and stuff, I have been studying them.

It seems that in their quest to explain everything, they have become extremely adept at explaining nothing. Oh sure, they got the whole gravity thing right. Stuff drops. But how hard was that? I prove that on a nightly basis. Occasionally however, stuff happens that they simply cannot explain. Whenever this occurs, most folks would simply throw up their paws and say "Huh, I didn't see that coming. I dunno what happened there" and then go have a beer or something. A physicist on the other paw, would rather enter a lion cage in a suit made of meat and catnip than say those three awful words "I don't know".

So instead subjecting themselves to the ridicule and mocking of their colleagues by admitting that some things just happen, they invent a whole new particle, wave or element that is always invisible, untouchable and unmeasurable.

Now don't get me wrong, I understand that the mocking and ridicule of physicists can be quite extreme. If you think bullies in high school were vicious, try facing down a gang of college professors with malice in their pocket protectors and chemicals at their disposal. Imagine waking one morning and finding that the thesis you worked so hard on for the last two years has been vandalized with the words "Dr.______ is big doo doo head" written across the cover page in purple crayon.

So, back to my rant. In my opinion, in an effort to avoid such dire consequences, they simply invent a particle of the week and use such big words and convoluted mish-mashery that the rest of us assume that they must be really smart and that it would be the height of folly to question them.

By now you may be thinking that I dislike and have no respect for physicists. I assure you that quite the contrary is true.

In fact, I seek to emulate them.

I shall use their methods to my advantage.

But not to convince everyone that I know everything (they already know that), I shall use them to avoid accepting responsibility for my actions.

From now on, when a knock knack meets its end in the wee hours of the night, I will blame the "Cujon Wave". It is an invisible force that strikes in the night without warning and leaves only destruction in its path.

The smell that is so horrible that it makes artificial flowers wilt is now dubbed the "Ivanian Plasma Field". It is a colorless gas that dissipates all too slowly, leaving no film and is virtually undetectable by modern sensors after the cloud evaporates.

A high-pitched sound that begins as a soft hum and crescendos into an ear-splitting bit of sonic torture that can shatter glass and piss off any sentient being within a 7.41 mile radius will be forever known as "Tigerphonics".

When every bit of upholstery in the house (especially the right side of the couch and the back of the reclining chair) is suddenly found to be ripped to shreds overnight, this is caused by "a Jaquonian Tear in the space time continuum thingy"

From this point forward, the two leggers will have to bow to the fact that I and my fellow felines are not to blame for their problems.

After all, science doesn't lie.

Martial Paw

I have discovered that there exists a breed of two leggers that deserve my respect.

I have been watching several shows on the talking box thingy about them and have reached the conclusion that they are the most feline of all two leggers.

They are like cats with thumbs.

They are called..........Ninja thingies!!!!

They stalk the night, silent as shadows, blending with the darkness, striking suddenly and without mercy all those who annoy them.

Ivan and I have decided to become Ninja thingies.

Well, to be honest, I decided that we are to become Ninja thingies. Ivan is only doing it because I told him that Ninjas get to break stuff and eat a lot of Chinese food.

It was probably the food that convinced him.

So we immediately began our Ninja training:
Ninja thingies must move silently through a variety of obstacles and conditions. We practiced this skill by weaving through the multitude of knock knacks the female two legger cherishes so dearly. I told Ivan that he must navigate the shelf without touching a single knock knack. I then demonstrated by slinking slowly and silently from one side of the shelf to the other. Though the temptation to slap each and every one of them was great, I knew that the Way of The Ninja Thingy required great self-discipline and I resisted the temptation to smack them into oblivion.

Ivan was somewhat less successful. As he jumped upon the shelf, his greater bulk over-balanced the shelf causing the knock knacks to fly across the room as if launched by a teeter-totter from hell. I was forced to admit that by not actually touching any of the knock knacks, he passed the test, but I feel he missed the spirit of the exercise.

Ninja thingies are masters of concealment. They can blend into their surroundings enabling them to move unseen in the pursuit of their prey. To this end, we have been attempting to remain in the bedroom at night after the two leggers have gone to bed in the false belief that we have been locked safely in the front of the house.

I have been able to achieve this with every attempt. Ivan........not so much.

Whereas I am able to conceal myself in the folds of a blanket and lie perfectly still, silent and unmoving, Ivan invariably fails to control the excited twitching of his stubby tail. On the few occasions that he has been in control of his tail, he blows it by suddenly getting a case of the giggles right after the two leggers turn out the lights.

Finally, Ninja thingies are deadly fighters. They are masters of a variety of weapons and fighting techniques.

World famous for his patented "Karate Chomp", I figured that Ivan was surely able to grasp this part of the program.

I quickly realized that my optimism was unfounded.

Oh sure, he is great at chomping. His jaws are the stuff of legend. But like any effective weapon, they must be well-aimed. When Ivan attacks, he tends to chomp everything, and I mean everything, that comes within his grasp. Unfortunately, this includes shoes, pillows, table legs, rocks, dishes, silverware, books and in one tragic incident, an extension cord.

The smell of singed fur permeates the hallway even to this day.

And so, I have regretfully decided that perhaps Ivan does not have what it takes to become a Ninja thingy. 

But perhaps all is not lost. While I continued working on my Ninja skills, I also continued to seek proper employment for Ivan's limited assassin abilities. But how could I possibly utilize a dim-witted, overweight, uncoordinated, stinky and unattractive individual such as Ivan?

Hmmmmmm.........what's this Sumo thingy?

The Wrongest Yard

Last night I visited my Outer Kingdom.

At first, I had planned to give a brief summary of my adventure, but upon further consideration I decided that the only way to convey the true spirit of my idyll was in verse.

And anyway, it's been a while since I subjected my minions to the pure, unadulterated torture that is my poetry.

Those of you with a weak literary stomach may wish to look away now.

Beyond The Sliding Door Thingy  

Beyond the sliding door thingy  

Is the place I've longed to go.

No matter the weather there,

Be it wind or rain or snow.

I've spent many hours staring

through the cold, rain-speckled glass,

Standing motionless like a statue,

Or sitting on my perfect.......tail.

Last night as I stood my vigil,

There erupted a ruckus upon my deck.

The male two legger rushed over

And exclaimed "What the heck?"

He didn't even notice me.

He spared me not a glance.

And as he opened the outer screen,

I finally saw my chance.

Tiger Lily guessed my plan.

She whined "You better not!"

So I gave her a goodbye smack

As I snuck out through the slot.

Jaq's soft voice followed

Singing the theme from "Born Free".

Ivan was in the bathroom

Playing checkers with a flea.

Unnoticed by the two leggers

I slipped into the night.

An avenging nocturnal spirit

Dressed in black and white.

I set for the bird feeders.

A predator seeking prey.

But before I could catch one,

The birds all flew away.

No big deal, I thought.

It's the squirrel I truly seek.

I'll find him and stalk him,

And slay the furry freak.

 

 But alas, it was not to be.

The vermin alas had fled.

He was probably playing with his nuts

Up in his tree-bound bed.

I shall inspect the ferals!

The strays that haunt my lawns.

I would show them my noblesse,

The King would greet the pawns.

I approached Inky and Sheba,

They sat there looking bored.

But perhaps they were simply stunned,

By the presence of their lord.

I said "Bow to me wild minions!"

"For I have come to thee!"

But Inky just leaned to Sheba

And whispered, "Who is he?"

"He's that maniacal little tuxie"  

Said Sheba to her kitten.
"You've seen him in the windows,
Smacking the glass, a-hissin and a-spittin"

Obviously, they are in error.
Perhaps, they are misled.
Or perhaps due to their rough living,
They are damaged in the head.

Whatever the cause
Of this gross misapprehension,
I decided to leave them
and thus relieve the tension.

It was time to go back home.
To end my Royal Field Trip.
Now to figure out a way,
Into my house to slip.

I only had to wait a short time
Before they realized I was missing.
For the house was too quiet.
No sounds of fighting and hissing.

Whenever things get peaceful,
The two leggers soon grow wary.
They know that something's amiss
And find my silence scary.

So after a brief search
They realized where I'd gone.
They opened the slider
And I walked in with a carefree yawn.

So now I am returned.

Bearing gifts I am back.
I gave Ivan an old pine cone.
And Tiger Lily a smack.


 

The Walls Have Noses.

Several of my minions have written to tell me that they are curious about Ivan and his propensity for slamming his head thingy into the nearest wall every time he is startled.

They accuse me of exaggeration or embellishment of the facts.

I assure you that quite the opposite is true. I have actually downplayed the truth out of embarrassment for the stinky, orange, wrecking ball of furred destruction.

It is my theory that everyone (excluding myself, of course) has their one great weakness. A weakness that no matter how they try to avoid it, seems to seek them out and lay them low at just the wrong time. Superman has kryptonite, Dracula has sunlight, Achilles had his heel, Nero had his depravity. Miley Cyrus has her total lack of talent.

Ivan has walls.

It is a curious phenomenon, but every single time Ivan is startled, his head seems to seek out the nearest vertically flat structure and slam directly into it.

Throughout my entire house, in the dining room, the living room, the kitchen, down the hallway, in every bedroom and bathroom there are small indentations about three quarters of a tailspan above the floor. It has reached the point that visitors often mistake the dents for part of the decor. Even the stainless steel door of the fridge thingy has several impressions of Ivan's tiny noggin. There are times that the walls of a room he enters will actually begin to shake in anticipation of another cranial assault.

Pondering this, I decided that this required further study and immediately set out to find answers to this minor mystery. Of course the first step in any investigation is to observe the event and chronicle the results.

Fortunately, Ivan is extremely easy to startle. Often, just whispering the word "Boo!" in his ear is enough to cause him to poof, bolt and slam. Placing a sock in a place that he doesn't expect it to be can result in sudden abject terror and the subsequent structural damage that invariably occurs.

Allow me to pause for a moment and clarify something. Ivan is by no means a coward or "scaredy cat". He is actually one of the bravest cats I know. I once saw him face a running vacuum cleaner and chomp it into submission without showing a single whisker quiver of fear. But in order to face the potential danger, he must be made aware of the peril very slowly, with ample warning and preparation.

Startling is another thing altogether.

Anyway, I began with a test that started with Ivan being startled out of a deep slumber. I found him snoring on the heated bathroom floor. I stalked up next to his ear and shouted "OH NO! THE TWO LEGGERS FORGOT OUR FOOD!!" As predicted, Ivan jumped to his feet, poofed and slammed into the wall next to the commode. From start to unconsciousness, the experiment lasted 2.174 seconds.

Next, I stood silently behind the bedroom/hallway door and waited for Ivan to walk by. As he passed, I gently tapped him on the hindquarters. With a skittering of claws on the hardwood flooring, Ivan flew down the hallway but failed to negotiate the turn into the kitchen and slid headfirst into the utility closet door. He wasn't knocked out this time, but he did wander in circles, twitching for a few minutes.

For my third trial, I waited until Ivan was using the litter box. I felt that waiting until he was completely distracted might provide further insight into why Ivan is the way he is. Last night, about 3:37 AM, I noticed Ivan heading into the computer room to "take care of business". I knew he was headed to the litter box because he was carrying his comic book with him (he has been reading the same comic book for three years now and is about to start page five). I gave him a few moments to get fully engaged and then I smacked the side of the hood with all my might. An orange puffy lightning bolt shot out of the litter box and lodged in the wall. In the eruption, the litter box was sent flying in the opposite direction toppling over and spilling its contents in the process.

The commotion apparently awakened both two leggers. They emerged from their bedroom shouting my name and casting aspersions upon my character. When they entered the computer room, the female waggled her finger and glared at me while the male attempted to extricate Ivan from the drywall.

After several days of experimentation, I confess that I am no closer to solving this mystery than I was when I started.

So I shall continue my investigation.

But as a wise two legger once said: "The journey is often more rewarding than the destination".

Not a Leg To Stand On.

Last week, the male two legger came home from work with an apparent limp.

As the week progressed, the limp grew more and more pronounced. By Sunday, the female had completed her ritual of toe tapping, finger waggling and eye rolling that she must perform in order to convince the male to seek the advice of a physician.

When he returned home from the Vet thingy, he was walking with the aid of a stick and had a big dopey grin upon his face. The stick is called a "cane" and the big dopey grin was the result of modern chemistry. Immediately upon his return, the female planted him in his easy chair, brought him all 37 remote control thingies and issued orders that he was forbidden from any sort of movement or exercise until further notice.

Already I could see the benefits of such an order.

The male two legger is now at my mercy. He is immobile. His lap is now a permanent fixture in my living room.

He is mine to toy with....

However, I have learned not to blindly trust such an obvious windfall of good fortune. Though my two leggers are for the most part unimaginative and dull, they have occasionally been known to make attempts to entrap me. For instance, they once brought home a seemingly expensive vase thingy and placed it in the center of the dining table. Knowing full well the consequences of leaving such a temptation within my reach, they actually had the audacity to act angry and dismayed when the vase thingy met its inevitable end.

Anyway, the male's posterior was firmly planted in his easy chair, the female had retired to the bedroom, and I was ready for a little mayhem. However, as I approached the male, I realized that the female had made plans to enlist me in the recuperation of her mate.

She had brought out THE HEATING PAD.

Two leggers have known for centuries the healing powers that felines possess. No matter the injury or ailment, the placement of a cat upon the afflicted area will encourage quick and natural healing without the need for surgery or pharmaceuticals. The key is getting the cat to stay on the injury long enough for its healing benefits to work effectively. Early experiments with smearing tuna and catnip over the owie often had catastrophic consequences when the feline would simply eat the affected two legger thus defeating the purpose. With the advent of electricity however, the heating pad was invented. By laying the new device upon the injury, any feline within a five mile radius would be attracted and compelled to curl up, lay down and provide hours of purring power to the afflicted two legger.

I have spent the last six days healing the male's knee. Though it goes against my sensibilities to actually render aid to the two leggers, I comfort myself with the knowledge that whenever I shift my weight, it causes him much grimacing and pain.

In the meantime, Ivan has become bored with being a vacuum and has decided that he wishes to become a beaver. He has been spending every waking hour (about 1.74 hours per day) attempting to gnaw through the male's cane thingy.

Once he is finished felling the cane, he plans on damming the toilet and creating his own pond in the guest bathroom.

Attack of The Furms

The other day, my Kingdom came under attack.

It began, like all invasions, with a small scouting party that soon became an all out invasion.

I discovered the first one when I noticed Ivan standing in the hallway, fully poofed with a look of panic in his eyes. This is not particularly unusual and so I asked him the usual three questions:
"What are you doing?"
"Why are you doing it?"
"When are you gonna stop?'

Ivan, nearing hysterics, pointed down the hallway and replied "Boss! Look! The male two legger has lost his hairy lip thingy!!"

I looked and discovered, much to my surprise, that Ivan seemed to be right for once. There at the far end of the hall was what appeared to be the male's mustache (sans the male's face). It quickly became apparent that the male had not simply misplaced his mustache, but the mustache had chosen to escape of its own volition, for it was at that very moment moving across the floor, obviously intent upon some sort of mustache pilgrimage.

This was not completely without precedence. For the last several years, I have noticed that the hair on the front of his head has been slowly migrating to the back of his head, but I had never witnessed a total abandonment before. Perhaps mustaches are a bit faster or more mobile.

I decided to investigate it anyway. As I stalked it, I noticed that it was not a mustache after all. Instead, it appeared to be some previously unknown form of life. It was about two paw-lengths long, covered in rusty colored fur and seemed to have neither a head nor a tail. It moved along the floor by virtue of about a gajillion tiny legs. Now my curiosity was truly piqued. So I did what any scientifically curious person who encountered something completely unknown in the natural world would do........

I ate it.

Needless to say, it tasted like chicken.

Well, it tasted like chicken that had been left out of the fridge thingy for a week, stored in a dirty sneaker and liberally basted in toilet water. Don't ask me how I know what that tastes like, it's a long story and I'll save it for another post. Suffice it to say that I know the taste.

Having consumed the interloper, only leaving a couple of hundred tiny feet in the litter box as evidence, I put it from my mind and returned to my normal nocturnal activities.

The following morning I discovered to my dismay that several more of the fuzzy worms (furms) had entered my house. Ivan was busily chewing a few and had a couple of more trapped under his paw. As I entered, he turned to me and asked "Mwumppf gwom bofth?"

"Perhaps later" I replied.

It was at this point that I noticed the sound. It was a rumbling coming from both my front and back decks. Running to the bay window, I quickly realized that the rumbling was being caused by millions of tiny feet steadily making their way across the wood in search of entry into my house.

The furms were launching an all out invasion. Not even Ivan could eat them all.

As I lay pondering, trying to decide the best course of action to repel this multi-legged menace, a strange and wonderful thing happened. Suddenly my yard was filled with bird thingies! As though someone had rung an avian dinner bell, bird thingies of all sizes and shapes swooped, hopped and fluttered about in a furm feeding frenzy. In a matter of hours, every single furm was consumed. Scattered about my yard lay dozens of over-stuffed birds too full to fly.

I spent the next hour attempting to figure out a way to get outside and feast upon the bird thingies. I pushed at the window screens, I batted at the door knobs. I slapped Tiger Lily. Finally, I reached a decision.

There had been enough slaughter.

I shall let the bird thingies live.

Ivan Sucks

Around two o'clock today, I reached the conclusion that I was well and truly bored.

Those of you who have read my blog or book thingies will surmise that this never ends well.

You surmise correctly.......

As I sat in my bay window pondering my boredom, an infomercial came on the talking box thingy. It was touting the attributes of a new super-duper vacuum sucky thingy called a "Dyson". An over-caffeinated two legger was jumping about, screaming at his audience that their eternal happiness depended upon them sending him $99.99. But if they order in the next 20 minutes, he'll double their order! (Just pay $300 shipping & handling)

It seems this incredible machine sits around all day until something is dropped on the floor. It then awakens with a deafening whirrrrrrrrrrrrr and proceeds to suck up every last trace of fallen debris until the final molecule has been eradicated.

As I stared in infomercial induced stupor, a thought suddenly occurred to me.

My life can never be complete unless I procure a "Dyson".

There was just one problem......

The two leggers have taken to locking up all the credit cards.

Apparently they took exception to my last purchase of a new refillable catnip mousy thingy. Hiding my credit card was a total overreaction. Sure, it was a bit pricey for a cat toy ($625.00) But I considered it a bargain because it came with a 300lb bale of catnip. And they even delivered it free of charge!

Be that as it may, as I sat pondering my dilemma, I noticed Ivan was busily licking the spot on the dining room floor where a two legger had dropped a potato chip two weeks ago. It came to me in a flash! I don't need a "Dyson".

I have an Ivan.

Yup. Slap some stinky orange fur on a vacuum sucky thingy, teach it to chomp random objects, and Viola!

RoboIvan.

I just had to convince him that he was our new vacuum cleaner.

So I called him over and made him watch the infomercial.

First they spilled some cereal on the floor. The Dyson sucked up every crumb. Ivan's eyes grew big as saucers. He jumped up and shouted "HEY! I CAN DO DAT!"

They spilled some fruit juice on the floor. The Dyson consumed every drop. "I CAN DO DAT TOO!" Ivan declared. "I EVEN MAKE DAT SOUND WHEN I EAT!!".

Then they turned the Dyson off, folded it and stuck it in a closet.

"I SLEEP IN CLOSET TOO!!!" Ivan screamed, and ran down the hallway yelling "I AM DYSON!!! WHIRRRRRRRRRR!!!!'

It was at this point that the two legger started talking about the Dyson having "Smart Technology".

Oh well. I wonder if they accept checks.

Work, Work, Work (Continued)

When last we left our handsome, young, dashing, bi-colored protagonist, I was describing how overworked and underpaid I am.To illustrate this I decided to describe a typical day in my life.

I had described my day up to the point where the two leggers had departed for work. I now pick up the narrative where I left off...........

0815-Having seen the two leggers more or less safely off to work, it is time for The Morning Meeting. Per my orders, all four leggers are required to attend. During this meeting, I assign daily duties and form strategies for dealing with any challenges we may face. I welcome all input, critique and complaints from my fellow felines with the caveat that if something I hear displeases me, I may smack Tiger Lily with little or no warning.

0900- I adjourn The Morning Meeting having made the following assignments:

Jaq is on "Crumb Patrol". She is to wander the house, scouting out leftover morsels of food to be stalked, attacked and eaten. Once she locates a potential food source, she reports back to me the location, size, yumminess and potential for two legger retribution once they discover evidence of unauthorized nomming. 

I have given Ivan the much coveted duty of "Squirrel Watch". He is to track the movements of the squirrel throughout the day, keeping me informed of any squirrely or squirrel-like activities. Should the squirrel approach within hailing distance, he is to summon me immediately in order that I might hiss, hurl insults and mercilessly make hissing and chittering noises at the offending rodent.

Tiger Lily has been assigned the duty of "Ivan on Squirrel Watch...Watch". Ivan often gets distracted or confused when watching the squirrel and if not closely supervised, can occasionally been found sitting in a window, watching a butterfly while making a "Huh-huh-huh" sound. Meanwhile the squirrel thingy goes about his squirrely business completely unobserved. Tiger Lily's job requires her to whop him upside his noggin whenever he show signs of distraction.

I will spend the day cataloging the vast variety of bird thingies that visit my yard on a daily basis. Aside from identifying them, I also attempt to determine several of their traits such as:
What do they feed on?
How do they reproduce?
How big are their flocks, or are they solitary?
Are they easy to catch?
What flavor are they?
Are they gluten-free?
How many per serving?

0915- A sunbeam appears, so I decide the bird thingies can wait a while and decide to nap.

1115- I awaken with a start, realizing that no birds have been cataloged all day and the sunbeam has relocated to another window. Being a true believer in the "No sunbeam left behind" philosophy, I track down the elusive sunbeam and take another nap.

1235- Jaq cautiously awakens me to report that she has found three moderately intact potato chips between the couch cushions, a grape next to the trash bin and saving the best for last.....a frozen chicken breast thawing in the microwave. While we munch the chips and grape, I ponder the chicken breast. It appears to be safely ensconced within the microwave, however, I feel there must be a way to liberate it and feast upon its juicy goodness.

1245- I ponder the chicken breast.

Over the next few hours, I alternate between pondering the chicken breast and napping. I know I am neglecting the birds outside, but as they say: "A bird thingy in the microwave is worth two in the yard".

1630- I have only another hour or so before the two leggers return home. Even as I watch, the thawing chicken appears to get juicier and juicier. I believe it is mocking me.

1730- In desperation, I order Ivan to bang his head repeatedly against the microwave door. On the 31st impact of Ivan's head, the door pops open. I retrieve the chicken breast and we all sate ourselves on this incredible windfall.

I even saved a piece for Ivan to enjoy....... once he regains consciousness.    

1755- In a happy coincidence, Ivan wakes up just as the two leggers return home. They enter the kitchen just in time to find him starting to enjoy his reward.

1809- For the past several minutes, I have been listening to a long string of dialog containing words that I suspect the male learned during his time serving in the U.S. Navy. I also notice that though the male is convinced of Ivan's guilt, the female keeps glancing in my direction.

I think she might suspect something. There may come a time when she will become a liability.

2000- The two leggers have settled down to watch their favorite shows on the talking box thingy. This is our cue to race around the house, knocking over knock-knacks, hissing, fighting and causing general hate and discontent. We do this for their health. I have read many articles that warn against affects of a sedentary lifestyle. By forcing them to rise from the couch every five or ten minutes, they are enjoying the benefits of a nightly cardio workout.

As usual, our efforts go completely unappreciated.

2330- The two leggers have retired to their bedroom and so our busy day comes to a close.

For the 2438th day in a row, I have labored to provide the two leggers with the domestic lifestyle they enjoy.

For the 2438th day in a row, I have yet to be paid a single dime.

Who's underpaid now?

Work, Work, Work

According to the talking box thingy, one of the great issues facing two legger society is something called "financial disparity".

Apparently many believe that they get paid too little for whatever it is they do while others get paid too much for whatever it is they do.

As a rule, I refuse to muddy my paws in the affairs of lower lifeforms, however in this case, I can somewhat sympathize with the downtrodden two leggers. I too am woefully underpaid for the services I provide.

So starting here and now, I am starting a political movement thingy.

I call it: The Peoples Movement For The Endowment of Better Rights and Pay For The Blogging Tuxedo Cats of North Whidbey Island Who Have Written Two or More Book Thingies and Happen to Be Between The Ages of Seven and Eight Years Old and Who Wish to See Squirrel Thingies Outlawed In Our Lifetime With Extreme Prejudice and Lack of Mercy. 

The TPMFTEBR&PFTBTCNWIWHWTMBT&HBBTAS&EYO&WWSSTOIOLWEP&LM will strive to educate the masses as to the thankless struggles I face with quiet dignity on a daily basis.

Most of you go about your lives completely unaware of the lifetime of forced labor that I have had to endure. Few may know of the mountains of responsibility and work that it takes to rule all universe thingies (both known and unknown).

In order to illustrate my struggle, I shall now take you on a tour of a typical day in my life:

0345- I awaken to find that my food bowl is down by 1/8 of its maximum capacity. Fearing starvation, I attempt to summon the two leggers by voicing my consternation throughout the hallway outside their bedroom.

0400- Fearing that they may have died in their sleep, (leaving me no choice but to eat Tiger Lily once the food supply is exhausted) I repeatedly smack their door.

0425-I hear whispering from within and realize that even worse than dying in their sleep, they have chosen to ignore my summons.

0430-I am forced to desperate measures. I summon Ivan and order him to chew on Tiger Lily's tail. Her squawling has the desired effect and draws the two leggers from their room to investigate the ruckus. As they exit the bedroom, I knock over my food bowl and after cleaning up the mess (and, I might say using some rather inappropriate language) the male refills my bowl and returns to his room.

0450-Feeling generous, I express my gratitude to the two leggers by yowling my thanks through the locked bedroom door. This gracious gesture goes completely unacknowledged.

0530-Though I am somewhat miffed at them, I do not wish to see them late for work. So swallowing my pride, I ensure that they fully awake and cognizant at least two hours before their alarm is scheduled to go off.

0600-After much effort on my part, I have finally succeeded in arousing them and I join them in the bathroom. I take my position upon the highest shelf and glare at them while they bathe. I find that my glaring at them helps prepare them for dealing with customers at work.

0645-I supervise while the male cleans and repairs the damage from our previous night's activities. Once again, his language appalls me.

0715-As the female prepares their sack lunches, I realize that I must be slowing down as I age. Today I was only able to knock the peanut butter jar off the counter four times. When I was younger, I averaged seven to eight peanut butter pounces and once I even scored eleven times.

I gotta start working out.

0800-I vanish.

0810-After giving the two leggers an appropriate amount of time to panic and mount a search party, I reappear in the living room enabling them to depart for their workday safe in the knowledge that I am not locked in a closet or cupboard.

To Be Continued.........................

The Great Pacific Norsewest

There is great upheaval within my Kingdom.

A wailing, moaning and gnashing of teeth. Unprecedented strife and angst.

In a bold and foolhardy fit of defiance, the female two legger has relocated my throne from its rightful place in front of the firebox thingy to the cold, dark recesses of the computer room. She did this without my permission and with absolutely no consideration of my comfort or well-being.

How on Earth can she expect the Royal Hindquarters be properly maintained at their required 117.6 degrees if there is no available platform on which to rest the Imperial Buttocks?

When I informed her of her misstep, her response was brief and incredibly insubordinate. I believe her exact words were: "Suck it up Oreo-Boy!"

To say that I was taken aback is understatement in the extreme. Some will say that I should have smacked her immediately, however, I believe that like a good hairball, revenge is a dish best served cold (and if possible, in an area that is prone to nocturnal foot traffic).

For a transgression as major as this, I decided that I should ponder my revenge for maximum affect. A passing smack or ankle chomp simply would not do. No, she had crossed a line and the punishment must suit her crime. 

And so I pondered.......and mused.......and pondered........and napped......and pondered.

Whilst I pondered, I spent much of my time reading while perched atop the male two legger's shoulder. He is an avid reader as well as an enthusiast when it comes to anything pertaining to history. Currently he is reading a series of book thingies (and watching a television program) that provide a narrative of a group of ancient two leggers known as "Vikings".

The name "viking" is actually a misnomer perpetrated by Hollywood. "Viking" is actually a verb meaning "to raid". As in "Honey, I'm going out viking. I'll be home by six. You want me to pick up anything?"

They were actually correctly known as "Norsemen, Danes or Bikers". However, for this narrative, I will use the term "Norsemen".

During the Middle Ages, the Norsemen decided that they were fed up with living in the frigid wilds of Northern Europe, so they built ships and set off for the sunny tropical shores of England. Once they landed in Britain, they realized that their travel agents had made fools of them and so they set out for revenge. They sailed around the British Isles, searching for England's Lost Tribe of Travel Agents. In English mythology, the legendary Lost Tribe of Travel Agents was credited with perpetrating the lies that England was the land of sunny beaches, beautiful, exotic women and above average dental care.

During their quest, the Norsemen robbed, pillaged and burned every village or settlement they encountered. Soon, just the sight of Norse ships approaching the shore would cause entire villages to pack all their things and run for the hills. Their ruthlessness spread fear and terror throughout Western Europe.

I respect that.

Ivan and I will go "viking".

I changed my name to Cujorvic Cujorvicsson. I ordered Ivan Ivansson to prepare to pillage. He wanted a costume, I told him that his costume should strike fear into the hearts of the two leggers, showed him some pictures of Norsemen and left him to his own devices. He immediately ran to the bathroom to get dressed. He soon emerged in all his "viking glory".

 Unfortunately, his costume was not quite as intimidating as I would have wished. Unable to find a either a furred cloak or helmet with horns, Ivan wrapped an old, dirty washcloth around his shoulders and stuck cotton swabs in his ears. Though I knew his costume would intimidate no one, I figured it would confuse everyone, so I told him he looked great.

I decided that 2:38 AM would be the perfect time for us to make our raid.

At 2:37, Jaq Jaqsondottir began singing Wagner's "Flight of The Valkyries" at the top of her lungs. Ivan Ivansson and I burst into the two leggers bedroom and bounded onto their bed while yelling the Norse battle cry of "URPITY DURPITY DUR DUR DURGY BURGY DURG!!!!"

As far as I know, this was the first time that the two leggers had ever been attacked by wild Norsemen in their own bedroom, therefore their reaction was somewhat unpredictable.

In a billowing of sheets, the two leggers jumped straight up. Given the fact that they always sleep with the ceiling fan turned on, the sheet literally hit the fan. Ivan Ivansson lost focus and began chasing the sheet as it whirled about the room and finally got so dizzy that he slammed into a dresser rendering himself a casualty of war. Meanwhile, the two leggers had regained their senses and reaching for their bedside water squirty thingies, began spraying anything and everything that resembled a small tuxedo cat.

Though my vengeance was sweet, it was short-lived.

The female has moved my throne once again. It is no longer in the computer room. It is now in the hall closet.

Back to the drawing board.

Perhaps an attack by pirates will work.

Savoring Spring

The month of May has always rated in the top twelve of my favorite months.

Worldwide it is the month of beginnings.

In Texas, it is the beginning of the "dry" season (which will last until January 2017).

In California, it is the beginning of the "damn it's hot, but we may freeze tomorrow" season.

In Canada, it is the beginning of the "May hockey" season. Every month in Canada is the beginning of hockey season, but in this case, it occurs in May.

In Arkansas, they are unsure what season it is because someone broke the only functioning calender.

Here in the Pacific Northwest, it is the beginning of what the meteorologists refer to as the "slightly less rainy than April, more rainy than June, somewhat less moist than July, and let's not even think about September" season.

But all across the Northern Hemisphere, it marks the middle of Spring and begins the season where young animals are born and nurtured and sent off from their nests, lairs and dens. This is why they are called "offspring".

These younglings can often be seen wandering around wooded and grassy areas without their parents, seemingly lost, alone and defenseless causing two leggers to assume that they require rescue. I often receive emails from concerned two leggers asking my sage advice as to what they should do if they happen across one of these apparently helpless orphans.

I have consulted with several veterinarian types and the consensus seems to indicate that the young critters should be left alone. They usually have parents lurking nearby keeping an eye on their young and will intervene should a predator approach. Oftentimes, a mother seal will deposit her pup on a beach while they go out and hunt. Though the pup may seem abandoned, they are not. The mother seal will return within a matter of hours. Bird thingies will often force their brood from the nest as a way to teach them to fly. Though the young fledglings sometimes fail in their first attempt, they usually learn rather quickly afterwards. Even baby bears can be found on rural hiking trails on occasion.

So the veterinary two leggers urge that if you happen to find a young critter that you feel has been abandoned by its parents, you should leave it alone.

I disagree.

I strongly suggest that if you should find a young animal in distress, you should immediately find a box large enough to contain the animal with ample space for it to move around, but not so much that it may injure itself. Add some hay or other soft material to keep it warm. Provide fresh water and air holes for proper ventilation.

After ensuring that the animal is safely secured within the box, you should immediately contact me and I will provide you with my address so that you can send it to me. You can even send it anonymously if you wish.

In a totally unrelated note, I'd like to announce the upcoming release of my newest project "Cujo's Baby Cookbook". Within its pages you will find recipes for my favorite paw-licking dishes such as:

Baby Bird Bourganaisse
Baby Squirrel Succotash
Baby Bunny Biscuits
Baby Partridge Pancakes
and my personal favorite, Baby Possum Pot Roast.

A section in the back of the book features Tiger Lily's whine pairings.