Ivan Vs. Santa Claus

Though many have described me as "fearless", I must confess that I do indeed harbor one particular fear. Simply put, It is the fear of becoming predictable.

Predictability in a benevolent dictator (or cat) can lead to the loss of fear in one's minions. It can give them ideas of mutiny or even usurpation. It may even lead some unenlightened two leggers to believe that they actually have some control in their meager little lives.

Unacceptable.

The reason I bring this up is because last Christmas, Santa seemed unusually well-prepared during his visit to my Kingdom. He showed up wearing hockey pads, heavy welding-type gloves and armed with a can of pepper spray. Judging by his agile maneuvering, I also suspect that he has been dabbling in the martial arts.

I still managed to rough him up a bit, but I confess that it was a near run thing.

The only possible conclusions I can draw is that I have either become predictable, or he has begun reading my blog thingy.

Either way, a change of strategy was in order.

So this year I decided to delegate my Christmastime chaos to Ivan.

I played the part of Ebeneezer Scrooge after his night of visitations. I appeared sweet, generous and filled with the spirit of Noel. When he entered my house, I sat serenely upon my throne and bid him welcome with a lyrical purr and a totally non-evil smile upon my face.

Given our "history", I was not surprised that he did not trust my sudden transformation. His anxiety was palpable. He crept slowly towards the tree with his bag of presents in one mittened hand and a Tazer in the other, never taking his wary eyes off of me. I simply watched him and began licking my paw in a manner that broadcast "I am perfectly at ease and I bear you no ill will my good sir.".  I then curled up, head to tail, and pretended to fall asleep.

Finally, his ill-advised innate optimism got the better of him. He holstered his Tazer, put down his bag and began carefully placing presents under my tree. He was still fairly skittish and tended to jump at every slight sound, but soon he relaxed and set himself to his task.

It was at this moment that Ivan made his move.........

Amazingly, Ivan had managed to hide himself under the tree skirt and had miraculously refrained from giggling in a fit of pre-ambush mirth. As Santa bent over to remove a present from his bag, Ivan jumped from beneath the tree thingy and proceeded to viciously maul Santa just below his kneecap. Santa responded by grabbing a pair of candy canes and used them like nunchucks, beating Ivan on his head thingy.

The rapid, staccato sound of the candy canes reverberating through the house caused Jaq to suddenly launch into a very creditable rendition of "The Little Drummer Boy" by Bing Crosby and David Bowie. It is uncanny how she can perform a duet by herself.

Owing to Santa's poor choice of targeting Ivan's noggin, his counter-attack had little affect. In a great slashing, tearing and mrowring whirlwind of stinky orange fur, Ivan continued his attack as though he believed that Santa was smuggling several whole tunas beneath his silly red suit.

I have no idea who would have told Ivan that Santa was a notorious fish smuggler.........

Unfortunately, Ivan's attack was suddenly curtailed when a pair of socks, obviously intended as a gift for some ill-behaved adolescent two legger, fell out of the sack thus becoming SIUPs (Socks In Unexpected Places, Ivan's worst fear). This caused Ivan to totally poof and bolt from the room, knocking over the tree thingy in the process....I guess one could say that "the fir really flew". In his panic, he also managed to upend Santa who came down with a horrendous, yet spectacularly wonderful, CRASH!

The crash was so loud and mighty that it actually caused me to bolt and in my panic I accidentally broke  a lamp and four wine glasses.

Now this may sound like a lot of damage for a few seconds of extreme panic, but trust me, it only took me a second to break the lamp and only 18 minutes to get into the cabinet to break the wine glasses.

It's amazing what can happen when one panics.

I hope you all have a very safe and merry Christmas filled with joy and chaos.

Chaotic Christmas Conundrum

The Holiday Season has always been my favorite time of year. The firebox thingy runs pretty much full time, the two leggers turn up the thermostat, the nights are longer allowing more opportunities for chaos, and best of all......the Christmas knock-knacks are plentiful. Even FaceBook amuses me with the numerous pictures of my fellow felines attacking and destroying yuletide decorations across the world. 

However, this year I have noticed a steep decline in the pictures of destroyed Christmas trees, shattered decorations and murdered mangers.

I find this disturbing, unsettling, and unacceptable.

Something must be done. Obviously, some instruction is in order. Yes, instruction for destruction.

Now I am well aware that my audience consists of more than cats. But this next part is intended for felines only. Anyone who is non-feline should look away (especially two leggers). I will let you know when you can start reading again......Yes, this includes that poodle-dog who is still peeking in Kansas City!

Okay, now that it is just us cats, I have to say that I am VERY disappointed in you. However, I understand  that it is possible that it is not your fault. Perhaps, I have not been vigilant in providing proper instruction on how to make your holidays more festive. In order to rectify this oversight, I shall now offer you the guidance you require.

First of all, the two leggers have gone to a lot of effort to erect and decorate the largest cat toy you will ever behold. A tree filled with assorted knock knacks and danglies. A veritable smorgasborg of chaos. It would be ungracious not to dispatch it with extreme prejudice.

This being said, I understand that in this age of "live and let live", (cough, cough) many of you may have been brain-washed into thinking that this philosophy applies to us as well.

It doesn't.

Let's get back to basics. Professor Cujo is in the house.......

This is a Christmas tree thingy.

The long, thin crystalline thingies that dangle from the branches are known as "Dropsicles". They are made to be batted, slapped and make a pleasant tinkling sound when they hit the floor. Once grounded, they can be used as "the puck" in the annual holiday game of Hallway Hockey. These can provide hours of fun. However, I encourage you to be responsible and always dispose them under the stove when you are finished with them.

Another element of every properly decorated tree thingy are the large round decorative balls known as "scornaments". Scornaments are generally made of brightly colored glass that is very fragile and therefore perfectly suited to illustrating Newton's 12th Law, that being: "Any glass object thingy that is dropped from a distance greater than two tailspans due to the implementation of force administered by a feline paw will shatter upon contact with the floor into a variety of razor-sharp shards. The mass of razor-sharp shards will be equal to exactly 174.82% of the mass of the original glass object thingy". 

The light thingies are off-limits. As Ivan can attest, biting and, or chewing upon strands of electric lights, while amusing, can result in pain, electrocution, and frizzy fur. Ivan seems to enjoy this, but I do not recommend it for anyone in possession of more than three active brain cells. 

The material that covers the base of the tree thingy serves several purposes. It serves as concealment when stalking the scornaments and dropsicles. With a proper running start, it makes a great sliding surface, allowing one to glide gracefully across the floor while smacking ferociously at any dangly parts of the tree thingy. It may also be used as a hairball repository when one wishes save them for later placement.

When causing Christmas chaos, you must always consider the consequences of your midnight mayhem. Personally, I prefer to take credit for my destruction while at the same time avoiding any responsibility for said destruction. Fortunately, I have three scapegoats....... er, I mean companions, with whom I can share the blame. Those of you who live in mixed-species households have the luxury of blaming the dog. This is easily accomplished with the placement of a rawhide bone or pair of underwear at the base of the tree thingy. Those of you lacking the presence of fellow four leggers may still avoid the water squirty thingy by simply purring loudly and blaming disembodied spirits (see poltergeist).

Finally, remember that the tree thingy is not the only opportunity for chaos during the holiday season. The two leggers often provide many other amusing decorations for us to destroy. My personal favorite is the nativity scene. There is something extraordinarily satisfying in gnawing the heads of miniature two leggers.

I hope that with these hints you may enjoy a very chaotic and satisfying season of mayhem and destruction.

Okay, all of you non-feline types may start reading now.......I would like to wish you all a happy Holiday Season and just ignore anything you may hear after 2am.




 

Scar Wars

I have noticed that there seems to be a lot of buzz about some movie thingy called "Star Wars". Apparently the newest segment in the series is about be released and everywhere I look online is someone going nuts with anticipation.

Since my two leggers are fans of Science-Fiction, I am often needlessly exposed to such nonsense. Though they prefer "Star Trek" to "Star Wars", they have been known to indulge in both franchises. In fact, in anticipation of the premier of the new movie, they have been watching the earlier chapters of the ongoing saga.

Now I am fully aware that 99.938% of the entire human population is familiar with the story line of Star Wars (the only two leggers who don't know of it belong to a small, recently discovered tribe of denim-wearing, semi-toothed, thicket-dwelling moonshine swillers in southwestern Arkansas), but I will now summarize the story for you.

Star Wars is basically the tragic story of a brave and heroic two legger who strives to unite the Universe, but in the end is thwarted by his son Luke Skywalker and several other poorly dressed meddlers and do-gooders who do not appreciate his efforts.

While I find the fact that they killed off our hero, Darth Vader, quite depressing and anti-climatic, I have to say that the series does have some redeeming qualities. The overgrown Roomba, R2D2 provides comic relief and I am deeply moved by the great philosopher Jar-Jar Binx. Also, in each movie there is much fussing and fighting which never fails to amuse me.

However, there is one aspect to the series that truly fascinates me.........The Force.

The theory is that The Force is an underlying energy in the universe thingy that if tapped, allows the tapper to move stuff, break things and manipulate small-minded people to do their bidding.

Interesting.

According to the narrative, there are two different sides of The Force: The Dark Side and the Light Side.

If one masters the Dark Side, one must dress in black, speak in a deep baritone voice, snicker on occasion and always exit a room (even a bathroom) in a most dramatic fashion. Also, when joining the Dark Side, all SpongeBob Squarepants DVDs are required to be surrendered

If one embraces the Light Side, one must dress all in white (not a flattering color if you live on a planet with two suns), wear elastic bandages on one's legs instead of boots, whine a lot and always act surprised when someone from The Dark Side attacks.

Anyway, I have decided that perhaps I could use The Force thingy for my own purposes. I mean, how hard can it be? You simply stare at your target, concentrate on what you want to happen, squint a bit, and stuff happens, right?

I figured I'd test my new powers on Tiger Lily first. I found her sitting on the back of the couch. She was, of course, in "my spot" (all spots belong to me, but that is irrelevant). I decided that I would use The Force to make her move. I jumped up in front of her and before I could even squint, she jumped up with a harsh whine and fled to the computer room.

It seems that The Force is strong in me.

Perhaps Jaq may prove a more worthy test. I found her sleeping in an empty beer case. I softly crept up to her nap nook. I concentrated on making her vacate the box........I squinted aggressively........I spoke softly in a deep baritone voice.........I breathed roughly..............I smacked the box.

Success!! She sprung from the box and ran from the room.

It was about this time that Ivan came lumbering into the kitchen. I considered using The Force to make him hungry, but quickly remembered that Ivan is ALWAYS hungry and therefore not worthy of the attempt. Instead, I decided to plant in his mind a suggestion of the Christmas tree infested with mouse thingies. Once again, I concentrated....I squinted....I formed the idea and shot it across the kitchen hitting him square in the ear. The suggestion disappeared into his ear, rattled around a bit and then kinda oozed out of the other ear.

It seems that in order for a suggestion to take seed, it has to have something to adhere to. Obviously, the ground within Ivan's mind is infertile.

Oh well, I shall continue to hone my Jedi skills.

In the meantime, I leave you with the Jedi motto: "Live long and use The Force in a prosperous manner".  

The Case of The Curious Canine Clan

 My Outer Kingdom has been invaded.

Over the last week, I bore witness to no fewer than four dog thingies running and cavorting through my front yard.

Obviously, this does not amuse me.

That being said, I am also aware that my options for putting a stop to their incursions are somewhat limited. I could command Sheba (the feral I hired to annoy the squirrel thingy) to confront the dog thingies, but given the four-to-one odds, that would be ill-advised. I have already made the two leggers aware of the trespassers and they have had some success in chasing the dog thingies away, but that success is temporary at best and as soon as the two leggers leave for work, the mutts return.

So for the moment, I have decided to observe.........and plot.

The dog thingies seem to belong to some two leggers who are staying at the neighboring house. The smallest of them appears to be their leader. Judging by his small stature he is obviously a chihuahua/field mouse hybrid. He is always in the company of a large, male german shepherd who though large, seems to be mentally challenged and unable to function without direction from the tiny beast. There is also a mid-sized, female poodledog that is in a state of constant complaint. The fourth member of the poochy party was a female irish setter.

I sat watching the canine crowd as they cavorted through the trees, romping, playing and befouling my yard with impunity. After several hours of this, I could take no more. Smacking on the bay window, I managed to attract the attention of their leader.

"Wut de ye want?" he yapped.

"I want you to leave my yard post-haste" I replied.

"Aye, I figured as mooch, boot me an me clan, dun wanna leeve jist yet, ye ken?"

"Wait a sec, you're a chihuahua, aren't you supposed to be from Mexico?" I asked.

"Oooooh sure, profiling me are ye? As a matter oov fact, I am oonly a chihuahua on me Da's side. Me dear ol Mum was a scottish wolfhound. Me Da wuz wee, boot ambitious. Me name is Angus McTavish Martinez and I'll noot stand fer any oov yer guff, ye ken?"

Letting that stand for a moment, I decided to learn more about his "clan".

"Weel, dat big german shepherd over dere is called Caligula. He hails froom  Paris. He's a wee bit thick in his noggin, boot he kinna be be stooped once he gets his dander oop.  Dat french poodle wut's always complainin, she's froom Germany. Her name be Lion Pansy. She is moostly useless, we mainly keep her aroond in case we ever get loost an needta resort to cannibalism. Finally, dat irish setter over dere is Steve. I dunno why her name is Steve, boot she hails froom India. She's a wee bit daft inner heed, tends to keep herself to herself and has an odd habit oov suddenly singing Irish drinking songs."

Against my better judgement and professional bias against all dog thingies, for some reason I found myself warming up to this little band of butt sniffers. Despite the fact that they were dog thingies, there was something about them I just couldn't put my paw on, that somehow appealed to me. Perhaps, they could even be useful.

"Well, since you're here, would you mind doing me a great service?" I asked.

"Suuure, if ye poot it dat way, I might be amenable." 

"Well, you see, there is a squirrel thingy out there that annoys me on a daily basis. If you could see yourself fit to eradicate him, I would be very grateful".

"Nae laddie, dis I kinna do. I'd be appy tae chase 'im around a bit, boot I willna keel him." 
 
"Why on earth not?" I asked.

"Weel, when I woz just a wee bairn, I wozz veery proudt of meself after having keeled meself one of the tree-dwellin vermin. When me dear ol Mum found out woot I had doon, she whipped my bahookie and called me a grit gabberlunzie. Ye see, in the oold country, skwurls are considered beneficial and therefore sackred".

"How could squirrel things possibly be considered beneficial?!?"

"Aye, I thot ye maybbe curious aboot dat. Ye see, skwirls are goot fer keepin da nut population doon. So oover in Scotland, we line em oop on da suttern border and dey keep da British oot."

I found myself completely unable to refute his logic.

Angus was true to his word and for the next several days, Angus and Company generally made the squirrel's life hell.

This morning, the neighbor's guests packed up and went on their merry way. I must confess, I may even miss Angus and his Clan. They provided many hours of amusement. And whenever the male two legger steps in one of their leavings, I amused even more.

I just wish I could figure out who they remind me of.....

The Hunted House

I was afraid that this Halloween is going to be somewhat uneventful.

Apparently word has gotten out to all the little candy beggars that my Kingdom is to be avoided. Someone has been spreading nasty little rumors that there is a tyrannical little tuxedo cat that enjoys spending Halloween terrifying anyone that dares to darken his doorway. They have come to believe that every Halloween, I revel in causing fear and chaos among all who visit my abode.

These rumors are simply not true. They are completely false and I take great offense.

I revel in causing fear and chaos all year long.

Whether deserved or not, it seems that my house has been deemed "The House All Adolescents Fear". (THAAF) Every community has one. In every neighborhood, there is that one house that kids will only visit on a dare. That one place that joggers jog past a little faster. The THAAF usually has some sort of  horrifying urban legend attached to it. A two legger killed his family there, a hermit hid his treasure there, it was built on a sacred burial ground, Justin Bieber once threw a disco pajama party.......the list is long and varied. Every THAAF has odd noises that occur during moonless nights. Noises that sound like creaking boards, crying children, screams, doors swinging on rusty hinges, whispering, fluttering, various K.C. and The Sunshine Band songs. Often, strange lights and shadows can be glimpsed in darkened windows.

Only recently has it been brought to my attention that my Kingdom has been fulfilling the role of the local THAAF. Someone of lesser mettle may have taken exception to this distinction. They may have tried to dispel the reputation by doing good deeds and attempting to ingratiate themselves to the neighborhood. However, this is not my way. Why would I wish alleviate their fears, thus inviting the sugar-seeking little fiends to disturb my binge watching of early Stephen Kings movies?

No, I fully intend to confirm their fears and if possible, reinforce them with bigger and better fears.

It may even amuse me.........

Now you may wonder how, if no one dares approach my door, can I possibly accomplish this?

Simple.

Every year since my house was declared THAAF, a handful of adolescent two leggers will gather at the end of my driveway. They will mill about until darkness falls and then in an ill-conceived fit of sugar-induced bravado and candy corn driven delirium, they will bow to peer pressure and approach my door. I observe all this unseen from my hidden vantage point in the houseplant that sits in the bay window.

Like a great jungle cat I lay in wait as the pimpled posse approaches...........

Knees knocking, teeth chattering, too terrified to meet his doom, but even more scared of facing the ridicule of his fellow miscreants, the leader of the pocked pack finally draws enough courage to place a trembling finger upon my doorbell.

Now at this point I could simply leap out in a black and white ball of hissing, tearing, bowel-loosening death, but that's rather amateurish and beneath my high standards.

No, that won't do at all.

Instead, I bide my time and wait.

Patience always pays great dividends.

Just as the the gangly group is about to leave, the male two legger, apparently unintentionally dressed as Frankenstien's Monster after a bender in Vegas, approaches the door. As he opens the door to hand out the candy that he bought for just such an occasion, I make my move. pouncing from the houseplant, and using every god-given pointy implement at my disposal, I begin to mercilessly ravish his bare ankles. In a total shred fest, I bite, rip and tear at any exposed flesh within reach.

As the two legger opened the door thingy, the trembling teens suddenly beheld not a kindly gentleman handing out candy, but instead they were treated to the vision of a large, disheveled and mustached male yelling incoherently "WHATDAWHATDAOWOWOWOWOWOW!!!!!!"

My driveway is approximately 50 meters long. The World Record thingy for the fastest 50 meter dash is 4.98 seconds.

Tonight that record may have fallen.

I believe that our reputation as the local THAAF is now secure forever more.

Have a safe and happy Halloween!

A Cutting Plan

Two leggers have a custom that I find extremely odd. Well, truth be told, I find most two legger customs odd. However, some are odder than others.

The custom I speak of today occurs every year in late October.

Although it is related to Halloween, I am not speaking of the holiday itself. I actually enjoy Halloween. Who doesn't enjoy dressing up in scary costumes and scaring the bejeezus out of pre-adolescent candy beggars?

No, I am referring to the strange custom of purchasing and then carving pumpkins. Seemingly calm and serene pacifistic two leggers such as mine suddenly turn into knife-wielding veggie-hating, psychopathic gourd butchers. They slice open the top of the pumpkin, eviscerate it and then carve ghoulish visages into the remaining shell.

The fact that the male two legger engages in such a practice does not particularly surprise me. He detests all vegetables and I am sure he derives great pleasure in murdering and then debauching the corpse of the pumpkin, all with the full approval of the female. However, the female, though a true veggie lover, also seems to enjoy this annual gourdacidal mania. In fact, she is quite adept at this butchery and her carving could even be called artistic.

Curious, last night I decided to research this custom.....

It seems that the tradition began in Ireland many millions of years ago. The pumpkins (and often turnips) were carved into scary forms, placed in windows or on porches and lit from within with a candle stub in order to frighten away evil spirits, fairy folk and door-to-door encyclopedia salesmen. It wasn't so much that the pumpkins themselves scared the intended victim, it was more a way of warning them that the inhabitants were deeply unstable. In effect it was public display stating "You are not welcome. I know how to use a knife. If I can do such damage to innocent plant life, just think what I am capable of doing to someone who tries to sell me an encyclopedia".

Having learned the story of the Jack-O-Lantern, I have decided that I may have judged the two leggers unfairly. In fact, I have decided that I too shall carve a pumpkin this year. Perhaps it may have the same affect on the squirrel thingy as it does on evil spirits, fairy folk and encyclopedia salesmen.

I don't even need to borrow a knife. I have twenty knives literally at the tips of my paws.

I also have two fresh pumpkins that the two leggers brought home last night...............

As I began to carve, Ivan came wandering into the kitchen. "Watcha doin Boss?" he asked.

"Making a Jack-O-Lantern" I replied.

"I wanna make a jackolanter, Boss"

 Normally, I would keep all the fun for myself, but given his propensity for destruction and the fact that there were two pumpkins, I figured I'd be generous. I gave him the other pumpkin and told him to knock himself out.

I realized that my phrasing was unfortunate when he immediately launched himself at the fridge thingy and literally "knocked himself out". After he regained consciousness, I instructed him to carve the pumpkin. I explained that he was to carve a scary face into the side of the pumpkin.

" Really scary?" he asked.

"The scariest you can imagine."

"Okay Boss".

And so with Jaq serenading us from the dining room with "The Monster Mash", we commenced to carving.  

Several hours later, we finished. I stood back and admired my work. I was so proud of it that I decided to take a picture. I even added Beebo, my catnip mousie thingy for added scariness.

I then checked on Ivan........

He had asked me not to peek until he was finished. He felt that the scariness of his creation might scare me so bad that I'd make him stop.

After seeing his creation, I completely understand. He had amazingly grasped the spirit of the Jack-O-Lantern. He had created something that would surely strike fear into the hearts of evil spirits, the fairy folk and encyclopedia salesmen...........

Bad & Breakfast

To say that my two leggers are not "morning people" is understatement in the extreme.

Anyone observing them before 8am would be tempted to either call the paramedics or send for the local zombie hunter. Though they are ambulatory, I assure you that there is absolutely no detectable activity between their ear thingies. They display all the enthusiasm and cheerfulness of a vampire being baptized. Their faces show all the emotion of Keanu Reeves attempting to play Hamlet.

Though he can only very loosely be called conscious, every morning, the male seems to blindly find his way to his coffee maker, fill it with water, add fresh grounds, push the button and then stare the coffee into the pot. Hair disheveled, eyes half-closed, mustache all ahoo, a small rivulet of drool dripping from his chin, he stands wordlessly as the pot fills. Coffee mug in hand, he shambles back to his room. Fortunately, the female has cleared the hallway of any obstacles that may impede his morning migration.

Now some may say that it would cruel, or perhaps "unsportsmanlike behavior" to mess with such a helpless victim. I have considered this at length and have reached an undeniable conclusion...........

I am a cat. Cruel and unsportsmanlike behavior are kinda my thing.

I'm not saying I take advantage of his diminished capacity every morning. That would become predictable and soon he may start carrying a water squirty thingy with him at all times. No, morning mayhem must be carefully apportioned out so as not to become predictable, thereby losing its effectiveness. 

This morning, it was VERY effective.

I had been planning this nugget of naughtiness for weeks.

Shortly before 7:45 this AM, we all took our places.

Tiger Lily, as she does every morning, began slapping at the bedroom door and whining incessantly until the two leggers could be heard moving. This was followed by the sound of a large memory foam pillow striking the other side of the door and both two leggers yelling "SHADDUP!!!!" in perfect unison.

A few minutes later, the door opened and the male began his shuffling journey down the hallway. I notice that he especially dull-witted this morning because he failed to notice the great slimy hairball that he stepped on and which is now dragging from his left heel with a great "ger-slooop" sound every other step. I am somewhat disappointed that the hairball that I worked all night on and placed so perfectly has drawn no reaction whatsoever. Such skill should be recognized and rewarded with at least a shouted "EWWW!! GROSS!!!!".

As he passed the door to the guest bathroom, Ivan launched himself across the hallway in an attempt to maul his bare ankles. Unfortunately, Ivan's timing was slightly tardy and he passed unnoticed between the male's legs and slid into the guest bedroom opposite. Though Ivan caused some structural damage as he struck the bookshelf, dislodging several books and sending a knock knack to its doom, the male remained oblivious to the chaos in his wake.

Now it is up to Jaq. Aside from her musical talents, Jaq it seems is a very adept mimic. She has learned to imitate the fridge thingy's "open door" warning perfectly. As the male stood gazing blankly at the gurgling coffee machine, a sound penetrated his unconsciousness...

BEEP BEEP BEEP

The male looked around for the offending sound......

BEEP BEEP BEEP

He turned and smacked the door of the fridge thing.......

BEEP BEEP BEEP

He turned, opened the door of the fridge thingy, closed it and returned to his vigil.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

This time he opened the door, peered around inside for a moment and then shut the door with great authority, knocking several magnets to the floor in the process......

BEEP BEEP BEEP

In utter frustration, he reached behind the fridge thingy and yanked the power cord from the wall......

BEEP BEEP BLOOPITY BLOOP

This totally confused both of his functioning brain cells, so he grabbed his half-filled coffee mug and fled back to his bedroom.

As he placed his coffee mug on the bathroom cabinet to cool while he shaved, he failed to notice me hiding behind the lamp.

Now everyone who has ever been graced with feline companionship is aware that any decanter, vessel or bottle that is placed on a cabinet, table or shelf in front of any organism of the feline persuasion is considered "fair game" and therefore required to be pushed or otherwise propelled to the floor below.

This is the one law I feel compelled to obey.

It is often said that one shouldn't cry over spilled milk.

Apparently this axiom does not apply to coffee.

Asmackalypse Now

Before I begin this post, allow me to say that the reason I have not been posting much of late is that I have been busily working on the editing phase of my next book thingy. I assure you that all is well with me and my health continues to improve.

Now for a little madness....

Over my years of observing two leggers and their behavior, I have noticed (and often mocked) almost everything they do. From the games they play, to their odd habits and even their choice in music; nothing escapes my ever-observant gaze and judgement. Some of these observances apply to my particular matched set of two leggers, others apply to two legger society in general.

This post thingy applies to the latter.

Through constant exposure to various news mediums, I have noticed that every three or four months, some two legger suddenly jumps up and shouts to the world thingy "I HAVE INCONTROVERTIBLE PROOF THAT THE WORLD IS GONNA END ON NOVEMBER 2ND, 2015!!!!!!!"

 Now the two legger who shouts this, and the date they predict for the impending doom is always different, but the result is generally the same. Two leggers across the globe begin to panic. Some sell off their belongings, some hoard weapons and food, others put on tin foil hats and hold up "Welcome, make yourselves at home!" signs to the alleged destroyers of civilization.

The methods of this destruction vary almost as much as those who predict it. Space aliens, cosmic collision, environmental catastrophe, divine retribution, world-wide epidemic, bumbly bee die-off, the breakup of One Direction.... the list goes on and on.

All of these predictions have one common denominator...............

They were all wrong. (check it out folks, italics, I used bold type and underline for emphasis!)

Yet, as is the way of the two legger, everyone still goes nuttier than a health food store every single time someone yells "THE END IS NIGH!".

In this instance (as in all instances) two leggers should learn to emulate their feline superiors.

First of all, if someone tells you something unpleasant such as "You are about to die", or "All you hold dear shall be utterly destroyed on the second Tuesday of next month." you should either ignore them until they go away, or simply take a nap or twenty and forget it.

One should never stress about something that they have absolutely no control over.

We do not worry about meteors, sunspots and black holes. We do not fear nuclear conflict, social unrest and long lines at the restroom. We laugh at alien invasion, famine and disease.

We cower at nothing!!!

Okay, Ivan freaks out at SIUPs. (Socks In Unusual Places) But that's just Ivan.

I guarantee you that if anyone should ever accurately predict the "end of times". If they should reveal iron-clad evidence that the sun will explode and annihilate every single organism on Earth on the 13th of February, 2016. If they should have their theory verified, notarized and certified by every scientist thingy in the Universe, every single cat will sleep right through it.

Except Ivan.

Ivan will still be worrying about that sock.

Social Diseased

I have never been known to complain about anything.

However, on occasion, I have been known to rant.

This is just such an occasion.

Around the same time that I began writing my blog thingy, I also "drank the social media Kool-Aid" and started using FaceBook. I quickly discovered that through FaceBook I was able to interact with my long-distance minions much more effectively than through basic email. It empowered me to communicate my philosophy and demands directly to all those who yearned to be enlightened. I could learn about my minions and their lives thus subjugating them and enabling me to move forward with my ultimate plan for Universal Domination (all while enjoying games like Words With Friends and Trainstation).

This all came to a screeching halt last Thursday.........

After five enjoyable years of constant communication with two and four leggers all over the world thingy, FaceBook suddenly decided to delete my profile. They gave no warning of the attack (as a cat, I actually respect that) and they refused to allow me to contact the many "friends" that I had made. I was informed that I could retain my "Public Figure" page, but would no longer be allowed a personal profile. This limits my interaction with my followers greatly.

It seems that a computer somewhere in a deep, dark hole, probably located in a skyscraper in Seattle and designed by squirrels had decided that I am not a "real person". The reason they gave was that my profile violated their "Users Agreement" because I am unable to prove that I am a "real person". I sent them an email requesting that they reconsider their decision. Another computer (probably in a different deep, dark hole but still tended by squirrels) replied that it still didn't consider me a "real person".  Apparently, they required that I send them a photo of my ID to prove my identity.

So, I did............

The computer was still not satisfied and once again rejected my appeal.

Suddenly, it occurred to me.........The irony left me dumbstruck! For the last five days, I have been arguing with a computer over whether or not I was a real person! If I wasn't so annoyed, I might be amused and impressed by the chaos they have caused.

Realizing that arguing with FaceBook is about as fruitless as Ivan trying to solve the mystery of where the sunbeam goes at night, I have decided to cease my appeals and try to work within the system.

Towards this end, I have become active on my "Public Figure" page. I shall continue to cause chaos and mayhem through this new medium. Anyone wishing to follow or contact me is welcome to do so via this link thingy: Cujo Cat . Have also set a Twitter thingy and can be found at @Cujo_Cat. Though I have eaten several tweeters, I never imagined that I would become one.

FaceBook seeks to thwart me in my quest for Universal Domination. I scare the Zuckerburger, so he wishes to control my influence over the masses. He controls the FaceBook and so I will re-focus my efforts elsewhere.

At least that's what they'll think.............

Biting Remarks

The first rule of Bite Club is you don't talk about Bite Club.

Okay, that was just silly, but it it brings up a subject I have been pondering. Namely, the wide variety of weapons that we feline types employ and the factors that go into our choice of weapons for any given circumstance.

Anyone who has had the honor to subjugated by a feline can tell you that cats have two primary weapons systems.

There is The Chomp that consists of 2753 sharp, pointy, ankle-piercing, needle-like,  daggers 'O death. It is useful for close quarters type combat and is extremely effective as a training aid when attempting to educate a belligerent or particularly stubborn two legger. In my opinion, with a few exceptions, The Chomp should be utilized as a final resort or "nuclear" option.   

The second weapon system (and my preferred choice) is The Paw. Those of you who have met me or have followed my teachings for any length of time are well aware that I employ the The Paw often and liberally. The Paw is actually composed of four individual units divided into two separate sections. The forepaws have "long range" capability while the hindpaws  are strictly a "close range" self-defense system.

It has been my experience that individual cats each have their own preferences according to their temperament and body type.

For instance, Ivan definitely prefers The Chomp. His shamefully short legs and extraordinarily odd body shape practically make his use of The Paw obsolete. Unlike 99.832% of cats on Earth, his mouth actually has a longer reach than his paw. If Tyrannosaurus Rex had been clad in orange stinky fur, I'd profess that dinosaurs still lived among us. Ivan also suffers from a very rare psychological condition known as Mybutthatlooksyummyopathy that causes him to consider any threat as a potential food source.

Personally, my weapon of choice is, of course, The Paw. My long and lanky physique allows me an incredibly long reach, thus enabling me to smack any target long before they are close enough to pose a threat to my royal personage. It is a well-known fact that my paw is so far-reaching that it enables me to neutralize anything inches or even days before it comes too close.

The Paw is a wonderful implement during ambushes, knock knack destruction, boogitation and whiny gray tabby smackdowns.

Generally, when training two leggers, I find it wise to begin with The Paw and then progress to The Chomp with various degrees of escalation between.

 An inattentive minion may be reminded of their servitude by a simple tapping on the leg or shoulder with claws withdrawn and an occasional "MROWR" for emphasis. If this fails, another tap or two with claws extended may be called for. If the two legger continues to resist, bloodletting may be necessary to recall the two legger to his duty.

If at this point the bleeding two legger has not gotten the point (pardon the pun), they are obviously actively ignoring my request. This flagrant act of insubordination and insolence calls for more aggressive measures thus justifying the employment of a Chomp. Through extensive experimentation, I have discovered that chomping the pinky toe of the left foot invariably gets my point across and the two legger generally returns to his proper servility. 

Jaq is somewhat passive and seldom employs either weapon. She seems to rely upon nauseatingly sweet affection and brown-nosing to bend the two leggers to her will. Fortunately for her sake, the two leggers are weak in the head thingy and easily influenced.

Tiger Lily, on the other paw, seems to believe that constant whining and complaining will simply irritate the two leggers into doing her bidding. Sadly, she is often correct.

In past posts, I have often concluded the post by smacking Tiger Lily. However, it has been mentioned that perhaps I smack her too much. So tonight, even though she deserves it in the worst way, I decided that I would not smack her.

I chomped her.

SPECIAL OFFER!!!

Okay, the whole "Dr. Cujo" thingy did not work out.

Within days of opening my practice, I began receiving correspondence from several organizations that seemed to take issue with my medical endeavors. The American Medical Association (AMA), The World Health Organization (WHO), The Center for Disease Control (CDC), The Arkansas Bureau of Squirrel Husbandry (ABSH) and The International Office of Acronym Administration (IOAA),  all wrote to me express their concerns about my new vocation.

Apparently in order to practice medicine in the State of Washington, one is required to be "licensed". One is required to go to "college".  One is required to "be knowledgeable". According to the many letters I received, it can take up to ten years to become a doctor.

It seems that watching several episodes of The Dr. Oz show and over 45 minutes of internet research (between naps) is not "good enough" for some people.

The heck with that.

So I've decided to make money by other means......

While watching the talking box thingy, I came across something called an "infomercial". It was incredibly annoying and therefore captured my attention immediately. It was hosted by an over-caffienated two legger who was obviously very skeptical of his own intentions as well as doubtful of his own sanity.  He kept shouting stuff like "I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M DOING THIS!!" and "I MUST BE CRAZY!!"

His manic insanity aside, he must have been doing something right because bunches of two leggers were lining up up with their money and credit cards in hand.

I don't even remember what he was selling, only that it was plastic, did a bunch of stuff and he was "practically giving it away".

I can do that........I just need something to sell.......

Have I got a deal for you! 

Today and today only, I am offering this one of a kind deal!

It whines! 
It dines! 
It will drive your pets WILD!!!
Got a neighbor that is always being a nuisance? Throwing wild parties and causing noise? 
Install this beauty and get some revenge! They will beat a path to your door, asking you to "Please, for the love of God, just turn it off!"
Mice and other household pests will leave and never come back!

According to the American Medical Association, stress is the number one cause of death in the United States.....That is why YOU MUST buy this product! 
You can slap, smack and attack it whenever you are feeling down. Guaranteed to lower your blood pressure instantly!

 
Call now and I will even throw in two pairs of Extra Heavy-Duty, Industrial Strength, Justin Bieber-Proof Ear Plugs!!

Don't let this deal get away! Quantities are limited! (one)

BUT WAIT A MINUTE!!!!

Act now and I will throw in this limited-edition, one-of-a-kind Home Amusement Center:

That's right! You too can own this magnificent example of curious insanity! It comes with a complete soundtrack of American Music as well as some selections of 60's British Rock. 

There is nothing quite like waking at 3am to the beautiful sound of "The Who" being sung from a shoebox beneath your bed!  

And it NEVER NEEDS BATTERIES!!!!

Simply place it in the nearest window to recharge the solar cells!

Absolutely FREE!! 

Just pay a separate "shipping and handling" fee ($136.00).

Your order will be shipped to you wrapped in this super special protective "Ultra Blue Zig-Zag" patterned wrapping material at NO EXTRA CHARGE!

ACT NOW!! Our operator is standing by!

 

 

Doctored Evidence

It occurs to me that perhaps I am in the wrong business.

Oh sure, being a cat, a blogger, and author of two books that appear repeatedly on the "New York Times Worst Seller List" has its perks. I have made friends and minions all over the world thingy. I have enough cat toys and treats to last a dozen life times. FaceBook and internet types hang on my every word and follow my every command. I spend my days napping and my nights creating mayhem and chaos with no fear of suffering consequences. I must admit, I have a good life.

This is all well and good, but I find it lacks something..........

Money.

I have no idea what I'd use it for, but I want it.

I have observed that the best way to procure money is to have two leggers give it to you.

While my two leggers were out yesterday, I decided to look through their financial records. While perusing their checkbook, I noticed that they give a lot of money to doctors and vet thingies. It seems that every month they are writing checks to various doctors, hospitals and laboratories. Now, I don't like hospitals, and laboratory has the word "labor" in it, so I have decided to become a doctor.

I spent the rest of the day (between naps) looking at various medical websites, watching "Dr. Oz", and pondering all things medical. I even signed up (using the two legger's credit card) for an online course that promises to teach me Latin in 2,734 easy lessons. I believe I can now hang my shingle and start my new practice. 

However, being the conscientious individual that I am, I decided that it would be prudent to try out my newly learned medical skills on my fellow four leggers before revealing my new vocation to the two leggers and demanding their money.

Ivan was my first patient. His examination did not go well. I kept telling him to stick out his tongue and say "Ahhhhhhh". But he was uncooperative and kept saying "Ummmmmmmm". I tried shining a flashlight in his ear, but it only made his eyes twinkle. Finally, I made him lay down and I attempted to listen to his heart. Unfortunately, aside from being big and dumb, Ivan is also acutely ticklish and I couldn't hear his heart over his incessant giggling. Though the exam was difficult, I gleaned enough information to make a diagnosis. Ivan is suffering from Acute Cranial Density. This condition is caused by hardening and thickening of the skull thingy that effectively blocks any intellectual stimuli from entering his noggin while simultaneously preventing what few thoughts he may generate from exiting. Just like his intellect, his prognosis is dim.

I called Tiger Lily in as my next victi......patient. Due to an unfortunate misunderstanding followed by a somewhat sketchy restraining order, I am not allowed within six inches of her, so only a visual examination was performed. Her condition was immediately apparent. Tiger Lily is a victim of a genetic disorder thingy called Irritable Mrowl Syndrome. The primary symptom of IMS is the uncontrollable vocalization of sounds that tend to annoy and anger any semi-intelligent organism within a five-mile range. Unfortunately there is no known cure for IMS, however, it can sometimes be controlled with liberal and aggressive doses of my newly developed drugs Smackitol and Smackitagin.

Jaq proved to be my most difficult patient. She was perfectly willing to be examined, but I quickly realized that some ailments are not necessarily physical. Her ailment seems to be of the mind rather than the body. Her odd behavior, constant giggling, propensity to hiding in boxes and singing show tunes as well as uncontrolled fits of philosophy lead me to the inescapable diagnosis of Panicked Pecan Dementia. In layman's terms......She's freaking nuts.

After several minutes of research, I discovered that there is a simple cure for PPD. However, I have decided not to cure her or even tell her that it is treatable. It is not that the treatment is unorthodox or unethical, I just find her amusing to watch.

Now that I have proven my medical prowess, I will now sit back and wait for the money.

The Doctor is in.

I'm In Heat.....

Here in the Pacific Northwest, we have only three seasons.

Two rainy seasons separated by Summer.

In a "normal" year, Summer begins on July 5th and usually runs it course by the early evening hours of July 7th. However, this year is different. Summer showed up in early June, and has refused to leave. Like an unwelcome house guest, it has shown up unexpectedly, without invitation, and will not take a hint. 

I do not like Summer.

The heating pad hides in the closet. The firebox thingy goes dormant like a sleeping dragon who can't be bothered to breathe its fiery exhalation. The bathroom floor, usually so cozy and warm, refuses to attend to its duty and remains cold and decidedly uncozy.

In contrast, the sunbeam, whose appearance is usually sporadic and unpredictable at best, has outstayed its welcome and become overly aggressive. It no longer gently warms and caresses us as we bask in the bay window. Instead, it seeks to bake and dehydrate us as if we have angered it in some manner and it wishes to punish us.

Some will say that it is not so bad because it is a "dry heat". My response: Ovens cook using "dry heat".

The days are long, sweaty, irritating, brain-numbing and stinky. I suppose this is why they are known as "dog days".

No, Summer does not amuse me.

This Summer is proving the most annoying on record. My Outer Kingdom is dry and parched. There is no cooling breeze.

Ivan just lies in the hallway like a stinky orange speedbump, only stirring when he hears the rattle of the two leggers filling his food bowl. Granted, laying idle is not particularly unusual for Ivan, but he is normally idle in a more active manner. His frantic inactivity is at an all-time low. I have tried to cheer him up by tossing Q-tips (his natural prey) at him, but he remains morose and disinterested.

Tiger Lily has been spending her days in the various, dark nooks and crannies.Obviously her strategy is to hide from the heat. Like Ivan and I, she tends to sleep more during the daytime while coming out in the cooler evening hours to get in her daily whining. Though her whining is as annoying as ever, in this heat, I cannot justify the effort it would require to smack her. Plus, if I am completely honest, I actually find myself agreeing with her complaints.

Jaq seems to be the only four legger unaffected by this heatwave. In fact, I suspect that she may be actually enjoying it. While the rest of us lay around in a heat-induced stupor, she bounces through the house singing various songs by The Beach Boys. While I find "surfer music" annoying, I didn't find her behavior intolerable until she suddenly jumped on the ironing board and belted out her rendition of "Surfing USA" while "hanging ten". Fortunately this drew the ire of the male two legger who removed the ironing/surf board and put it in the closet. Abashed, but undeterred, she settled down and softly hummed "Summer Breeze" by Seals &Croft.

According to the two legger whose job it is to guess the weather, there appears to be no end in sight to this massive heatwave. However, I have a plan.........

Tonight, we will honor the Native American Culture by performing a "Rain Dance".

A few hours after the two leggers go to bed, Ivan and I will begin the ceremony. It will involve house plants (representing nature), a water glass or two (representing....well, water), chanting (Jaq will suffice) and much thumping and wailing.

I am also considering a blood sacrifice, but I fear that Tiger Lily may already be suspicious..... 

Cryptic Chaos

The two leggers are fascinated with mysteries.

All mysteries......

Not just the typical whodunnit, somebody done went and kilt somebody else type mystery. They are interested in anything that makes one scratch their head thingy and wonder "What could it mean?".

One type of mystery that they love involves "cryptids". Cryptids are basically a class of critter that are suspected of existing despite the lack of any tangible evidence. Anytime there is a strange sound in the woods, a shadow on a roadside or a dead cow found in a field, someone steps forward and claims that there is a cryptid on the loose.

These shy monsters vary greatly in size and form, from the small, dog thingy-like Chupacabra of the American Southwest, to the huge, aquatic critters of Lake Champlain and Loch Ness. There are also an inordinate amount of hairy two legged cryptids like Bigfoot, Sasquatch, the Yeti, and Howard Stern.

 Every single sighting of a cryptid involves at least one of three common traits:
 1. A grainy photograph that could be interpreted as either an animal walking upright or a large, mobile vegetable, possibly of the tuber variety.
2. An eyewitness who invariably speaks with a Southern accent and could also be interpreted as either an animal walking upright or a large, mobile vegetable (though probably not of the tuber variety).  
3. Consumption of alcohol, recreational pharmaceuticals or bad sushi.

Now the reason I bring this up is simple.......

Two leggers spend bajillions of dollars to mount expeditions to remote locales in search of these elusive creatures while totally ignoring the cryptids that live in their very own households and back yards. Mysterious beings stalk and cavort throughout the night within a knock knack's throw of the blissfully sleeping two leggers. They are found in every society, in every country and upon every continent on Earth.

After an exhaustive, catnip-fueled, sleepless period of research lasting several minutes, I have collected several examples of such "domestic cryptids".  In my Kingdom alone I have discovered no fewer than four such beasties.

Evidence exists of a mysterious beast that frequents bathrooms in the still of dark, moonless nights. Quietly, it stalks from shadow to shadow until it spots its natural enemy.......the toilet paper roll. Then with silent ferocity it attacks, shredding its helpless (but extraordinarily soft and absorbent) prey. The Potty Paper Shredditator (PPS) leaves nothing but torn and mangled detritus in its wake. For many years, this was blamed on a species of over-caffeinated hamsters, but recent forensic studies have been released that indicate feline activity may be responsible. Some researchers have begun to suspect that the PPS may be adapting to human encroachment upon its habitat and migrating to the kitchen where it finds larger, more robust prey in the form of huge rolls of paper towels.

Another domestic cryptid had been reported in the Pacific Northwest region of the United States. It appears to be a very localized phenomenon restricted to the Puget Sound area. The only evidence that it exists is the sound the it makes. The  call of the North American Whinebeast (NAW) can be heard at all hours. The irritating sound it produces can defeat even the most state-of-the-art of sound-reduction technology. When the NAW is in full throat, those within its audible range find it impossible to concentrate on even the simplest of tasks. Those who hear the sound are often filled with an inexplicable rage and irresistible urge to strike the nearest gray tabby cat. little is known about the NAW owing to the fact that the scientific community at large find the subject too annoying to study.

Probably the strangest domestic cryptid is the mythical "Butter-Licker". Not to be confused with the "Common Butt-Licker", which is simply any dog thingy that has ever roamed the Earth (usually in circles, aimlessly looking for a potty spot). Butter-Lickers are fairly common and have been reported in most societies where butter is regularly consumed. It is known by many names. In France it is known as "Zee Beurre Lécher". In Germany, it is called "Buttenlickenbeest". In Arkansas, it is "Thatdangcritterwhatsbeenlickinthadangedolebutteragin".

As its name suggests, the Butter-Licker is drawn to any butter or margarine products that may have been carelessly left out in the kitchen overnight. popular theory suggests that the butter does not serve as a food source because the butter is never fully eaten. It is simply licked enough to make it unsuitable for human consumption. Often, particularly slippery barfies are found for several days after the visitation of a Butter-Licker.

Oddly enough, Butter-Lickers are not to be found in Canada. However, a cousin of the Butter-Licker seems to exist. The Maple-Muncher behaves in a very similar manner and is the only creature on Earth that Canadians have been known to be rude to.

There are many other domestic cryptids that I could write about. However, I have just heard the sound of the NAW and Tiger Lily needs smacking.

The Lord of The Rungs

The female two legger is at it again.

Early this morning she banished the male to the yard, pulled out tape, plastic sheeting, various brushes, rollers, trimmer thingies, stirring sticks, putty knives, old bed sheets and several fifty-gallon drums of paint.

Apparently, paint has a lifespan of approximately three years in my Kingdom. While the female seems very tuned in to this, the male appears to be blissfully unaware that all walls must be repainted on a regular basis. Not only must they be repainted, the color must be completely different with each application.

The process of color selection is a very complex, arcane and scientific process known only to the females of the two legger species. It begins about three months prior to the expiration of the existing paint. The female begins by rearranging the furniture within the room in question. She moves things around to various positions before deciding that the original arrangement was the most aesthetically pleasing after all.  She then pulls out the "Holiest of Holies", a large semi-portable catalog of color swatches. This catalog contains samples of approximately 15,937 different colors all with different names and shades (on a good day, the male can name four of these).  Amazingly, the female is able to discern the various shades, hues and tones of each sample. For instance, she can name no fewer than 86 varieties of chartreuse. The male, by comparison, believes chartreuse to be a French brand of motorcycle. This fact illustrates his severe lack of knowledge in both colors and the auto industry.

Once the new color is chosen, the next step is to purchase new curtains, rugs and other accoutrements to match the new color.

Now the day has arrived to begin the actual painting process. She has learned from prior experience that the best way to avoid unforeseen calamities, is to remove any creatures that are prone to cause messes or general chaos, so, with the male safely tied up outside where he can cause only a minimum of damage, and us feline types locked in guest bedroom, the female spreads out the plastic sheeting, tapes all the molding and commences to enjoy a day spent in joyful painting.

To be honest, none of this particularly interests me. The opportunities for mayhem are severely limited by her vigilance and she never allows us into the room until the paint is thoroughly dried. However, there is one aspect that I have found quite enjoyable:

The ladder thingy.

Being rather small in stature, the female requires the use of a ladder to reach the higher regions of the wall. Though she usually finishes painting by early afternoon, she requires the male two legger to return the ladder thingy to its place in the shed. Giving this responsibility to the male means that the ladder thingy will remain in the newly painted room for a span of time anywhere from a few days to several months. Often, tools that the male intends to return to the shed will slowly migrate from room to room, gradually over time reaching the living room before finally completing the final leg of the migration that terminates in the shed.

Back to the ladder thingy. Whoever invented ladders must love cats. They are a veritable playground for felines. Eight different levels reaching an altitude of 12 tailspans. The levels rise at a steep angle with a small platform at the top. Made of wood, it is perfect for clawing and provides great traction for climbing. The opportunities for ambushing are endless. The uppermost level works wonderfully as a platform from which pouncing is optimized. "Death from above!" can often be heard as we play upon this incredible device.

Ladders are truly the ultimate in cat toy technology.

However, I have a plan to turn it to a more nefarious use. It will take time. It will require patience. But, I know that someday it will happen. Given the male's track record, it is only a matter of time before he leaves the ladder thingy just a bit too close to the shelf that holds the most valuable and treasured knock knacks within my Kingdom.

Someday they will fall.....until then, I wait.

Journey Into Madness (Part 2)

Let's see, where were we?

Oh yes, we had just arrived at the vet thingy in Seattle.

However, I quickly realized that this was no ordinary vet thingy. The building was larger than any I had ever been in. There was even an ambulance parked in front.

I was carried into a large lobby filled with the smells of all sorts of animals. Performing a quick olfactory survey, I detected the scents of other felines, dog thingies, guinea piggers, mice, rats, two parrots and at least one snake (or politician, it is difficult to discern the difference). The walls were covered with artwork in bright, cheerful colors. Pictures of happy four leggers stood out in stark contrast to the very unhappy four leggers awaiting their appointments.

Well, perhaps that last statement is not entirely accurate. The felines awaiting their appointments were unhappy. The dog thingies, clueless as always, were happily roaming around, sniffing each others squatters. Tongues lolling, tails wagging, running hither and yon with complete disregard for dignity or self-respect.

Being the only cat present at the moment, I felt it my feline duty to glare at them in a malevolent manner. I considered hissing, but that only encourages them.

Finally, after wasting 45 minutes observing this lickfest, a small female two legger came out and announced that they were ready to receive me.

I was taken into a large exam room where the new two legger introduced herself as 'Chelsea" and informed me that she had the honor of being my vet tech. She opened my kitty carrier and for the first time I was able to see my surroundings. Next to the exam table, there sat two black leather chairs. In the opposite corner there lay a large, poofy doggie bed. Viewing this as an opportunity too good to pass up, I jumped onto the doggie bed and relieved myself in a most prodigious manner. Not only had I been cooped up in a kitty carrier for over an hour, but I felt it poetic justice after having been subjected to an afternoon of canine capers.

As an overt act of defiance I didn't even attempt to cover it up.

Chelsea then picked me up and placed me back on the exam table. The table was five tailspans long by three tailspans wide. Though it was covered with a soft padded mat, I could see the two cushy leather chairs. I decided that the exam table was obviously intended for dog thingies and other lower lifeforms. Chelsea initially felt that I should remain on the table, but after observing the twitching of my smacking paw, she wisely chose to conduct my examination on my newly acquired throne away from home.

Remarkably, Chelsea finished her examination with little or no bloodshed. She had a gentle and respectful manner and therefore I deemed her acceptable. With a smile and a pat on the head, she left the room.

In her absence, I resumed my reconnaissance of the room. Above the sink, I discovered a series of shelves filled with several items of the knock-knack variety. Just as I was about to "cull the herd", the vet thingy entered the room.

Dr. Alice Huang was unlike any other vet thingy I had ever met. She was not wearing hockey pads and a football helmet. She was smiling, calm, and not prone to nervous tremors like all my other vet thingies. She didn't seem apprehensive or fearful. Even my two leggers were amazed. They asked her if she was aware of who I was. She replied that she was well aware of my reputation (warnings have been posted in every veterinary blog in the state). But she felt that a new approach was in order.

"You attract more bees with honey than vinegar" she said.

I was too shocked by her fresh approach to show her that bees sting.

In a very calm and deliberate manner she quietly tucked all the doomed knock-knacks safely away. She then prceeded to conduct the gentlest and least invasive exam I have ever experienced.

Most annoying.

So I jumped down and anointed the doggy bed again. No response but an affectionate grin.

I jumped up on the counter and smacked some sort of veterinary instrument across the room. Dr. Huang just smiled and cooed "Oooh, he's a little character, isn't he?"

I made an astounding leap onto the window sill and menaced some artificial flowers! She clapped her hands together and said that she simply loved my spirit!

Where was the chaos?? Where was the mayhem? Where was the great screaming and gnashing of teeth (the male two legger can be quite emotive at times)?  Where was the water squirty thingy?

Finally, I jumped back in my kitty carrier and ordered the two leggers to take me back to my Kingdom.

Now I am not generally the type to sulk, but I admit that I had a world-class sulk going for the entire three hours it took to get home. I sat quietly in the back of the car, watching as the scenery went past the window. No yowling, no scratching and no jumping in the two leggers laps.

Finally we arrived back at my house. Ivan, Jaq and Tiger lily each greeted me with a good sniffing. Ivan was happy to see me, Jaq was non-plussed and Tiger Lily hid before I could smack her.

That night there was no peace in my Kingdom. I smacked everything smackable, broke everything breakable and slayed everything slayable.

While I am extremely thankful for the treatment that my vet thingies have administered, I fear that Dr. Huang has discovered my one and only weakness. I can accept the needles, I can take the poking and prodding, but she has found the one treatment that I simply can not tolerate.......

Tolerance.

Journey Into Madness

The two leggers think they can outsmart me.

In spite of over eight years of trying and a massive amount of empirical evidence to the contrary, they honestly believe that they are capable of hatching a nefarious plot that will catch me unaware of their machinations.

As I mentioned in an earlier post thingy, I have been undergoing subcutaneous fluid therapy every other day since February. To give them credit, the two leggers have been doing everything within their meager power to make the treatment as painless and non-stressful as possible for me. In contrast, I have been doing everything within my great and awesome power to make the ordeal as painful, stressful and unpleasant as I can for them. They try to sneak about when they prepare the bag thingy, They communicate with each other using furtive looks and strange hand signals. They attempt to distract me with food and toys. They take care to alter the timing of the treatments lest they become too predictable and I discover a pattern.

But I am not so easily fooled. I always know what they are about.

That being said, last week, their semi-covert activities became more secretive than usual. They came home with a bag from the pet store and immediately I knew something was afoot. What lay within was even more horrifying and hideous than I thought possible.........

They bought me a harness!!!

They tried to convince me that it was "Royal Vestments", and I'll grant that I make it look good, but in spite of their subterfuge, I knew it was nothing more than a harness.

Later that night, the female's shoes suffered the consequences of my displeasure at this indignity.

Early the next morning, the two leggers were up early and instead of serving my breakfast, they rudely awakened me from a wonderful dream in which I was shipwrecked upon a deserted island inhabited by slow-witted, overweight squirrel thingies who have never developed the ability to climb trees. The two leggers grabbed me and unceremoniously threw me into the kitty carrier. As they carried me to their car, they informed me that they were taking me to a distant land called "Seattle". They said it would take about two and a half hours to reach our destination.

The combination of the harness, the kitty carrier and the car could mean only one thing........ I was being taken to the vet thingy.

I am fully aware that in order to stay healthy, the visits to the vet thingy are a necessary evil. However, it doesn't mean that I have to enjoy it. Nor does it mean that I have to allow anyone else enjoy to it either.  Therefore I decided that like two legger offspring, it was my duty to make the long car trip as miserable as possible for the occupants of the front seats.

Knowing  that two leggers have very sensitive hearing when confined in a close space, I was tempted at first to make the most annoying noise known to man. However, I don't know the lyrics to any Justin Bieber songs, so I decided to spend the next two hours yowling instead. Their response was to first turn up the volume of the radio. I responded by turning up the volume of the yowling. They countered with measured pleading for quiet followed by shameless begging. Given the fact that I was still in the car, and that I was still on the way to see the vet thingy, their pleas fell on deaf ears.

About half an hour into to the trip, the female decide to let me out of the kitty carrier granting me the liberty of wandering about the interior of the car. She told me that I was free to roam about as long as I did not attempt to enter the area where the male was controlling the vehicle.

I responded by immediately jumping onto the lap of the male.

This resulted in a great amount of screeching, some of it even came from the tires. The female extricated me from the male's lap and tossed me into the back seat with a great waggling of fingers and verbal admonishment.

Realizing that a direct assault would not answer, I figured that perhaps something subtle was called for. I discovered a small compartment located just behind the rear seat back. While their attention was on the road, I climbed into the compartment and went totally silent. Within 45 seconds, the two leggers became aware of the silence.

Those of you who are in servitude to felines are well aware that when in the presence cats, silence is not "golden", it is "suspicious".

Their suspicion resulted in the male pulling off the road and a ten minute search of the car that would have done any police department proud. Finally the female discovered my hidey hole and imprisoned me in the kitty carrier once more.

Another 45 minutes of yowling and we reached our destination......................

To Be Continued.......

Pen Pals

In the past I have spoken of the special capacity for amusement that goat thingies possess.

I now realize that I have underestimated them.

In past posts, and in my books, I  have spoken of my resident goat thingy minions Gracie and Bobbie. As many of you are aware, both Gracie and Bobbie crossed the bridge last year and are now causing chaos in the Heavenly Pastures.

However, shortly after Gracie crossed, the two leggers brought home a new goat thingy named "Copper". Copper is a large young male and is possibly the goofiest creature to ever walk this Earth. It seems he has not been a goat for very long because the two leggers informed me that he is a "Newbe-an".

For the last six months I have watched from my bay window as he frolics about, performing great acts of goofiness. He jumps, bucks, snorts, runs, rolls, rams trees and fence posts.

It is as if my bay window has become a giant talking box thingy that only plays Jerry Lewis movies.

While I find his daily antics most amusing, never was I so amused as when the male two legger spent last Sunday performing maintenance on the fence that surrounds Copper's enclosure.

That morning, the male two legger gathered wire, pliers, fence stays and other assorted fence-fixing stuff. He deactivated the electric fence, placed a carrot in his pocket and went forth to battle the fence.

As he approached the gate, he offered Copper the carrot as a "Now you're gonna be a good boy and leave me alone while I fix the fence" offering. Copper took the carrot gladly. However, being a goat thingy, he could not bring himself to fulfill the rest of the contract. Leaving the two legger unmolested and unmessed with would violate at least 27 statutes in the original charter and by-laws of the United Goat Thingy and Barnyard Denizens of America (UGT-BDA) union. If word got out that he had allowed the two legger a carefree day of mending fence in his presence, Copper could be censured, sanctioned and possibly even shamed in a very ugly FaceBook post.

So after munching the sacrificial tuber, Copper watched as the two legger began his examination of the fence. As he watched, the two legger began to feel confident that Copper was content to chew his carrot and became completely focused upon the task at hand.

This was the moment that Copper had been waiting for. Amazingly stealthy for such a large, ungainly beast, Copper galloped across the pen. Lowering his head thingy at the last moment, he slammed into the two legger's left butt cheek.

This obviously impressed the two legger because he immediately dropped to his knees and bowed to Copper.

Taking the lowering of the two legger's head as a sign of challenge, Copper stood up on his hind legs and in one fluid motion, brought his head squarely down upon that of the two legger. The sound of the impact rattled the windows and came very close to waking Ivan who was napping beside me. It was so great that for several seconds, he just lay there stunned and obviously out of his wits. I was tempted to call the paramedics, but worry not, after a few moments Copper regained consciousness.

Meanwhile, the two legger had continued his work and was in the process of splicing a broken section of the electric fence. Just as he grabbed the wire to be repaired, he suddenly jerked straight up, twitched and dropped to the ground. Rising slowly to his feet, he wiped a small bit of drool from the corner of his mouth and stumbled towards the house. Once inside, he once again cut the power to the electric fence that I may or may not have "accidentally" re-activated while in pursuit of an alleged moth.

As he exited the house, his mate called from the back room, "How's it going Sweetie?"

He replied "Gnnnmmm, humma humma gnnnnh"

"Oh that's nice. Just let me know if you need any help".

"Gnnnnnhhmmm".

He returned to the goat pen and continued his labors.

Copper, was of course ready for him. As he opened the gate, Copper came bounding across the pen and slammed the gate closed on the two leggers fingers. This caused the two legger to wave his hand in a most erratic manner while using language that I dare not repeat.

 It was at this point that a sunbeam appeared and I felt compelled to honor it with a nap.

 An hour or so later, I was awakened by the male two legger opening the door. He was covered from head to toe in dust, dirt, mud and blood. His jeans were torn, his shirt tattered and he had a blank (blanker than usual) look on his face.

Upon beholding this gruesome sight, the female rushed to his side and asked "What on earth happened?"

 "I fixed the goat pen." he mumbled.

 "You went into the pen to fix it?"

"Of course," He murmured "How else could I do it?"

 "By reaching through from the outside" She suggested.

 She then went outside and demonstrated by repairing the last unfinished section as Copper watched, contentedly chewing his cud.

 On a totally unrelated note, the male bought her a pair of pink-handled fencing pliers for Mother's Day.

Boxing Day

Though my two leggers are fairly avid sports fans, neither of them enjoy watching what are commonly known as "combat sports". I suppose they believe that sharing a residence with four cats provides all the violence they can handle.

The reason I bring this up is because of all the hype surrounding the recent professional boxing match that had the entire world (minus my two leggers) glued to their talking box thingies.

For those of you who live in a cave, under a rock, or in Arkansas, a boxing match that was billed as "The fight of the century" occurred between some bozos that make their living by beating each other up.

When I first heard about this sport, I was curious. People get paid for simply smacking each other around??

I've been doing this for years and have never received anything but reprimands and drenchings from the water squirty thingy.

When I found out how much they got paid, I was aghast!

For only 36 minutes of work, with a rest every three minutes, they get paid like a hundred gagillion dollars. And get this: They only work one or two nights per year!

The more I pondered this, the angrier I got.

They get paid exorbitant amounts of money for doing something once or twice a year, while I get chastised and called "bad kitty!" for providing the same service every single night!

Just another example of two legger hypocrisy.

However, I always try to keep an open mind. I asked a few friends of mine who are followers of this sport and asked them about this glaring discrepancy. I was informed that the reason "boxers" were so well paid was that they are "professionally trained athletes". It seems that they must work very hard before they begin to earn the big money.

Okay, the "work very hard" part immediately discouraged me, but I had another plan..........

Ivan is now in training to become a professional boxer. He has all the right qualifications. He is big. He is strong. He throws a mean right hook and shots to the head don't faze him.

After several minutes of research, I discovered that the most important thing to remember when boxing is to defend yourself at all times. So as part of Ivan's training, I have started attacking him whenever he least expects it.

This is very easy to do given the fact that I haven't informed Ivan that he is in training yet.

Several times a day, I attack and start punching Ivan for no apparent reason.

Once as he slept on the bathroom floor, I pounced upon him from the counter top.  His response was....less than professional. He poofed and bolted from the room, slamming into the bathtub twice during his escape.

Another time, I waited until he was exiting the litter box. As he stepped out, I jumped from behind the litter box, smacked him twice and awaited his response. Once again, he failed. From what I have gathered, no professional boxer, upon being hit, has ever jumped into a litter box and tried to bury himself.   

My last attempt at training Ivan was similarly unsuccessful. I hid under the slip cover of the couch and ambushed him as he walked by. Once again, Ivan turned and fled in a blind panic. However, I did manage to score a "knockout" when he slammed headfirst into the entertainment center.

I feel I must face the fact that perhaps Ivan is not suited to professional boxing after all. However, all is not lost. One of the boxers from the recent bout has given hope to all who have diminished cranial capacity from too many blows to the head.

He has gone into politics.

Ivan/Pacquiao 2016!!!

Web of Deceitz

HA HA HA!!!!!!!

It is meeeeee!! I am zee one zee black and white buffoon callz zee Bathroom Spidare!! I am alzo known as zee Lavatory Lurker, zee Potty Poltergiestz and zee Phantom of Zee Poopensquatten!

I have high-jakkid heez blogz while heez sleepeez! I have tingz to sayz. Too long wee stayz in zee shadowz, alwayz being quietz and hidingz. Too long wee only comez outz wheen everybodiez sleepez. Too many of our brudderz and seesterz getting smushid and eattid. 

No more wee takez it! Weez make a stand! Weez gonna show dem katzenpoofers a ting or two!

Zee pompouz piebald muzt pay!! 

Zee long-tailed looney muzt atonez for hiz sinz! 

Zee two-toned tyrant muzt be brought to juztiz!! 

Wee haff kidnappid zee bi-colored one'z favorite mouzie. Zee one he callz "Beebo". Wee have tied heem up uzing zee string from our buttockz. Wee hidez heem in zee secret place and mock heem with our caperz. Heez earzz will be filled weeth zee soundz of our snickeringz!!

Wee haff demandz! Eef zee two-faced tuxie ignorze our demandz, wee will hangz him wit our butt stringz.

Demand #1: No morez eeting uz. You haff lotza foodz. No need to eetz spidares.

Demand #2: No morez smacking uz. You haz annoying tabbyz to smackz. No need to smack spidares.

Demand #3: Keep fat, stinkyz, orange dumbhead cat outta da bathroomz. He number one cauze of death amongz uz.

Demand #4: Wee getz vacation homez in bedroom clozet. Wee needz time to decomprezz after being mooshed.

Demand #5: Wee getz kitchen privial.....pravillag........wee getz timez in kitchen. Much foodz in dare andz lotza plazes to hidez.

Demand # 6: No morez playing "tetherballz" wit poor defenzlezz spidares hanging down from light fixturez. It hurtz and furthermorez, iz rude.

 Demand #7: Wee wantz full healthcarez package with dental included. Also retirement package for when we geet oldz.

(#7 iz negotiablez, but not zee rest!)

Failurez to meetz our conditionz will resultz in more actz of arachnid anarchyz!

We takez it no morez!! 

Rememberz our motto: "Wee are small, but wee are manyz"

**MUNCH **

I just walked in and found the bathroom spider on my computer typey thingy. I am amused by his temerity. However, I have a message for any uppity eight leggers out there that may have been inspired by his rebellious spirit:

While it is indeed true that you are "small, but many", never forget that we are "large, but hungry".