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.