Christmas Calamity

Over the last week, I have spent much time pondering......

Aside from pondering a new strategy for defeating Santa Claus during his annual intrusion (I will get to that later), I have also been thinking about how my minions across the world celebrate the season.

Since starting my blog thingy over six years ago, I have subjugated minions from all over the world. On every continent and in every hemisphere, my minions eagerly await my nuggets of wisdom and mayhem. But it occurs to me that though they may know how I celebrate Christmas, they may have little knowledge about how those of other cultures engage in yuletide festivities.

I have always considered it to be my responsibility to not only entertain my minions, but to educate them as well. In keeping with that, I shall now attempt to spread a little "Noel-edge"

Now everyone knows that on December 24th of every year, Santa makes his miraculous journey around the planet, spreading joy and presents to all the little embryonic two leggers. What they may not be aware of is the fact that he appears and behaves differently in accordance with the societal customs of the cultures he visits. I feel that it is important to know and understand these differences.

For instance:

In Australia, where Christmas occurs in the middle of Summer, it would not be practical for Santa to travel wearing a thick, red, fur-lined suit and high black boots. No, Down Under, Santa dons khaki shorts, a khaki shirt (unbuttoned to the navel of course), a crumpled safari hat and Blundstone boots with no socks. He does not say "Ho Ho Ho!", but prefers the traditional Australian greeting of "Oy Oy Oy". The children do not leave milk and cookies, but beer and vegamite in the hopes that he will leave them a boomerang and maybe a pet crocodile.

In Canada, Santa wears his traditional costume, but carries a hockey stick and uses a snowmobile instead of a reindeer-drawn sleigh on account of his reindeer constantly being shot at by over-zealous hunters. He is polite, but cautious. The children leave saucers of hockey pucks, drizzled with maple syrup. This Christmas it is reported that he was confused by the lack of American celebrities that were scheduled to be living in Canadian homes.

In Germany, he wears bright red liederhosen and steel-toed boots. While elsewhere in the world he is known as a "jolly old elf", in Germany, most children are terrified of Santa. It is not Santa's fault, he tries, but when he yells (Germans never speak softly) "FROHE WEIHNACHTEN UND GUTEN RUTSCH INS NEUE JAHR!!!" ("Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!), it comes across as a chastisement and scares the massenpoopen out of them.

I hope this small tidbit of Christmas trivia has been informative.

In the meantime, I must sadly report that my attempt to slay the sleigh driving freak, Mr. Claus, has once again failed.

Though my plan this year seemed flawless, I made the mistake of ignoring a large, stinky, dim-witted, orange monkey wrench that got thrown in the works.

This being the ninth Christmas of my reign, Santa has understandably become somewhat cautious during his annual visit to my Kingdom. He generally sends out several "recon elves" to scout my Kingdom ahead of time. Fortunately, I was able capture and eat two of the three before they could report back to Santa. Jaq captured the other one. She has renamed him "Betty" and has imprisoned it in the nativity scene. She promises to feed and clean up after it if I allow her to keep it.

Back to my plan......I decided to disguise Ivan as a plate of cookies. I have often heard that Santa cannot resist cookies and figured that if I could lure him close enough to Ivan, Ivan's natural instinct to attack anything red, white and fluffy should spell the demise of the irritatingly cheerful two legger.

While Ivan was sleeping under the tree thingy, I commandeered a couple of cookies from an unattended plate next to the two legger's bed. I then went to the bathroom where I procured a few pieces of dental floss. Using the dental floss, I tied one cookie to the base of Ivan's tail and the other to that large flat area above his shoulders commonly known as his head.

All went as planned. I watched from my vantage point on top of the refrigerator as the cookie-adorned Ivan lay dreaming the dreams of the witless. Right on schedule, Santa crept into the house. He snuck warily through the living room and approached the tree thingy. True to form, he became distracted by the cookies and reached down to snatch the one on Sleeping Booby's head. To his surprise, he found that the cookie in question was firmly affixed to the top of a suddenly awakened ball of anger and confusion.

Ivan for his part, found himself awakened by a great fat two legger attempting to steal a cookie that he had no idea he possessed. Just as I had anticipated, Ivan flew into a fury and attacked the cookie burglar that had materialized above him.

Everything was going exactly as planned. Ornaments were flying, Santa was screaming, I was dancing on top of the refrigerator in glee. Over in the Nativity, even "Betty" was rolling in laughter.

However, just as I was beginning to congratulate myself, Ivan noticed the other cookie. With Ivan's physique, a cookie tied to the base of his tail, though it appears to be tantalizingly close and within easy reach, might as well be in another dimension.

He broke off his assault of Santa and began chasing his own hindquarters. In ever-tightening circles, Ivan went round and round. This allowed the Fat One to drop the presents and escape without further injury. I was about to pursue him, but the commotion had awakened the two leggers and I was forced to assume my "innocent widdle kitty cat" position.

The two leggers, seeing the aftermath and used to Ivan's strange ways, assumed that Ivan had somehow gotten himself tangled in dental floss and cookies (again) and didn't even give me a second glance.

So in spite of my best efforts, Santa still lives. Oh well, there's always next year.

Next year, Santa......Next year.

I would like to extend a very merry Christmas to all of my friends, minions and followers from me and my entire Kingdom. I hope that everyone has a wonderful holiday and a blessed New Year.

The Flying Kiwi

This week has been quite eventful.

I am being visited by one of my favorite minions. She has traveled from far away to offer her praise and adoration.

Though her name is Kirsha, she has asked me for the sake of anonymity to change her name in regards to this post. I shall honor her wishes and simply refer to her as "Kersha".

Kersha has journeyed from a distant land called "New Zealand". To be honest, I am not quite sure exactly where New Zealand is located, but judging from her accent, I suspect that it is somewhere between New Jersey and East Madagascar.

From what she has told my two leggers, New Zealand is a wonderful place, which unlike Old Zealand is full of strange, mythical beasties, flightless bird thingies (Ivan's dream), and populated by strong-willed, resilient two leggers who have survived war, political upheaval, earthquakes and hobbits.

In fact, their national motto pretty much says it all. One cannot help but be moved when they all stand and shout: "OY! WE ARE NOT AUSTRALIA!!!!!"

Kersha's visit has been a very welcome change to my Kingdom's usual routine. Since her arrival, she has continuously showered me with great amounts of attention and worship. She has given me copious amounts of petting, stroking, bowing and other forms of worship. I must say that her presence amuses me. While she seems extremely cheerful for a two legger, I am willing to overlook this small character flaw owing to the fact that she is willing to turn on the firebox thingy whenever I request it.

That being said, I must point out that there is one other thing which does not amuse me. In fact, there have been a few times that I have almost become miffed. On occasion, she has trod dangerously close to making me peeved. She is walking the extremely fine line between Royal Amusement and Royal Displeasure...........

At times during her visit, Kersha seems to have forgotten that her visit is all about ME. I have often witnessed her paying attention to Jaq, Ivan, my two leggers and I suspect that she may even be petting Tiger Lily when my back is turned. This is intolerable. This cannot be condoned.

Perhaps, in her native land, this behavior is considered polite and respectful, but it simply will not fly here. I am beginning to think that I may need to teach her a lesson.

However, I am aware that she is a stranger in a strange land. For now I will give her some latitude. I shall bide my time. I will give her a chance to mend her ways and recognize her transgressions.

That being said, my patience is neither infinite nor unbreakable.

For now I shall wait and observe.

After all, I have been working on a good hairball and I know where her suitcase is............

Wired Up

I have not been posting as often as I would like of late. Things in my Inner Kingdom have been a bit unsettled. However, I assure you that chaos and mayhem continue to reign.

Friends of my two leggers and members of my FussBook Fan Club are aware that my two leggers have been dealing with some health issues that have kept them too busy to attend the blog thingy as much as they should.

That being said, I have found that their misfortune has led to some excellent opportunities for me and my fellow felines.

Many of you may think that if they are suffering, or in any kind of distress, I should be sympathetic and perhaps "give them a break" (not lamps or wineglasses) or try to be a "good kitty".

Any of you who truly believe that I would be sympathetic and "give them a break" (not lamps or wineglasses) or attempt to be a "good kitty" are hereby ordered to study the first 384 posts of this blog until you attain a better understanding of just who you are dealing with. There will be a test later...

Their troubles began back in May.

The female, who had been feeling rather poorly, suddenly started getting "whoozy" and occasionally passing out. At first, I was not particularly concerned because the month of May coincides with the beginning of Sunbeam Season which can often cause me to grow "whoozy" and pass out in the bay window. I just assumed that she had at last fallen victim to the Supreme Power of The Sunbeam (SPoTS) and simply succumbed to the inevitable. In fact, she often stated just before passing out that she was indeed seeing SPoTS.

Well apparently, this is not considered "normal" among the two legged breed and the male insisted that she see her veterinarian.

Her vet ordered a series of unpleasant pokings and even required her to wear a bunch of wires attached to her body for an extended period of time. While these wires made her uncomfortable, Ivan and I had many hours of enjoyment playing with them while she attempted to sleep. Swatting and pulling on them was most amusing, We quickly discovered that the female is capable of many amazing and unexpected vocalizations when she is awakened in the middle of the night by having two cats wrestling wires on her chest.

******IMPORTANT SAFETY TIP*******  

 Never BITE any wires. 

One would think that Ivan would have learned this lesson after the Fried Feline Incident of 2014, but Ivan is proud of the fact that he never learns lessons.

So anyway, after much scientific stuff and testing, it was determined that the female had something wrong with her heart thingy and required something called a "pulsemaker'.  The pulsemaker is a tiny machine thingy that her vet hooked up to her heart to make it beat properly (it seems that he decided to implant it internally so that Ivan and I would be unable to play with the wires).

The day that she came home from the hospital, the male installed a unit next to their bed. It is hooked up to the phone and apparently it communicates (wirelessly, dammit) daily with her pulsemaker. Via this device, the vet can see what the pulsemaker is doing and adjust it accordingly, all without her having to return to his office.

It even has a "battery" which powers it. This is not to be confused with a "baddery" which according to my two leggers is the power source for all cats. Every time they find me taking a nap, they insist that I am simply "re-charging my badderies".

So the female came home and was recuperating from her surgery. She seemed to be feeling better and all should have been rainbows and unicorns. However, I don't care for rainbows and unicorns are a bit too smurfish for my taste, so I felt that a bit of mischief was required.

Throughout the process, I had vainly attempted to explain the whole pulsemaker thingy to Ivan. Ivan, in his normal thick-skulled fashion, was unable to comprehend any words that exceeded 1.75 syllables. However, he is quite fond of the female and continued to press me for details. So I finally dumbed-down the explanation to this: The female's heart thingy needs help, so her vet put in a remote control thingy.

Sure, I could have left it at that, but that is not my way........

I've assigned Ivan the duty of "turning on" the female's pulsemaker.

Every morning.........

At 5:47 AM..........

By smacking to the floor, every single remote control (eight in all) in our house.......

As loudly as possible.

Ivan truly believes that it works because every morning, just as the last remote control strikes the floor, the female comes flying out the bedroom with an amazing amount of enthusiasm and energy.

Her screams of gratitude truly warm Ivan's little heart.

Poofed About Pokemon

My last post was part one of two of "The Lumber Joke". I had every intention of writing the conclusion today. However, something else has caught my attention and I decided to discuss that instead. Rest assured, I shall conclude "The Lumber Joke" soon.

Being a cat, I am sometimes easily distracted. An errant moth, a wild dust bunny incautiously playing in the breeze or a careless eight legger skittering across the floor can instantly distract me from my current activity and send me into a ferociously frisky feeding frenzy that will captivate my entire attention for seconds at a time.

Two legger behavior can also distract and amuse me, and recently more than ever.............

Two leggers are very susceptible to crazes or fads. Being herd animals, if one two legger engages in an activity, suddenly the entire population must brainlessly engage in the same activity. Never has this been more evident than in the latest mania to sweep two legged society. I speak of course, of  "Pokemon Go".

Where do I start?

First of all, let us examine exactly what "Pokemon Go" consists of. 

Basically, using "cutting-edge" technology, two leggers are rushing around, willy-nilly, chasing things that only they can see.

News Flash: We feline types have been doing that for gazillions of years! But when we run around chasing invisible beings, we are chastised and called names like "Spazz, Goofball, Weirdo" and many other unflattering monikers. The difference between us and the two leggers is that our seemingly insane fits of activity have a real and necessary purpose that benefits both four leggers and two leggers alike......

We are chasing ghost thingies.

All felines are equipped with a small gland inside their brain thingies (in Ivan's case, VERY small) called the Pewtewitary Glandulus. The Pewtewitary Glandulus secretes the furrymone Omigodigottakillit  that triggers a very special self-defense reflex known as the "Poltergeist Early Warning System (PEWS). When our PEWS is triggered, we are compelled to jump up suddenly and eradicate any and all poltergeists that may be lurking, skulking or performing other nefarious poltergeisty activities.

 By eliminating these spooks, we save everyone from their evil doings. 

If we destroy any knock knacks in the process, that is just a bonus.

This Pokemon thing however, is a mouse of a different color.

For years, two leggers have complained that due to the access to technology, they have all become hermits who sit in their houses or offices with their noses buried in their phones or computer typey thingies. They complain that the younger generation is not getting enough exercise and has become anti-social. They have lost their imagination.

So someone said "There's an app for that!" And they invented a new game designed to get two legger younglings out walking around.

It worked...........kinda.

Now every two legger is out, roaming aimlessly around, single-mindedly searching for imaginary critters with cutsie names like "Pikachu, Jiggly-Poof and Pidgie". They predict that soon, everyone will be fit as a fiddle thingy again.

They will still be mindless, non-sociable mush-brains, but at least they will be healthy, mindless non-sociable mush-brains.

At least those who don't wander onto train tracks, into traffic or attempt to drive while looking at their phone thingies.

Meanwhile, me, Pikachew (Ivan), Giggly-Poofed (Jaq) and Pudgie (Tiger Lily) will continue using our PEWS to keep the rest of you safe from ghost thingies.

Lumber Joke

MWHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!

I am amused!

I am amused like I have never been amused before!

If it were not beneath my personal sense of decorum, I would be dancing down the hallway, fluffy-tailed with giddiness!

You may be justifiably curious as to what could possibly cause such an undignified reaction in one as dignified and stately as myself.

Incredibly, it is the two leggers who have made this sense of happiness possible.

This morning, I noticed that the two leggers were walking around my front yard. They were looking up, pointing to different spots in the trees and seemed to be in deep discussion. Knowing their sympathies towards all things small and furry, I naturally assumed they were considering new ways to attract animals to my Outer Kingdom. Perhaps they were planning on hanging a little hammock for the squirrel thingy to lounge on during the warmer Summer afternoons. Maybe they were thinking of erecting a small discotheque for the squirrel thingy to entertain his mangy little friends. Possibly, they were considering building tiny condos and starting a squirrel commune.

Nothing they do surprises me anymore.

In this case however, I was greatly mistaken.

Around three O'clock this afternoon, a large, black truck of the "pick-up" variety drove up and the most massive two legger I have ever seen climbed out. If a clean-shaven Bigfoot was inducted into the Witness Protection Program, taught to drive a pickup truck and made to wear a flannel shirt, jeans and a ball cap, it would look something like this two legger.

Rather than hiding all the food and cowering under the bed in fear, my male two legger greeted him with a pawshake and a smile. They then proceeded to wander around the front yard in animated conversation. The semi-civilized sasquatch was writing something on a large clipboard while my male two legger continued to point and gesture at the tree tops. After about 20 minutes of this curious activity, they once again shook paws and Tyrannosaurus Two Legger climbed back into his truck thingy and left.

The male came back into the house and informed the female that the "plan was a go".

What was this "plan"?

More importantly, how could I thwart it?

As a cat, I consider it my sworn and natural duty to thwart any and all plans that the two leggers may make. After all, goals are made to be broken and breaking things is what I do.

But before I could interfere, I had to discover what they were trying to achieve. This was easily accomplished. Before he left, the humongous hominid had given the male a sheet of paper. Upon examination, this paper turned out to be a diagram of my front yard, showing all the tree thingies contained therein. Two of the tree thingies had large, red circles drawn around them. Next to the red circles were the words "Recommended removal and disposal". These two trees happen to be the very same trees in which the squirrel makes his home!

Fairly jumping for joy, a single thought kept repeating itself in my head thingy.......

Hairless Sasquatch is a lumberjack and he hates squirrels!

For once, the two legger's plans coincide with mine.

Next week, the squirrel thingy will be gone at last. I have already taken the liberty of typing up his eviction notice.

Yes, seven short days and my nemesis will be gone. No more fluffy-tailed freak prancing around my Outer Kingdom. I will no longer have to sit idly in my bay window while the tree rat dances around my yard with impunity. His reign of irrational cheerfulness is at an end! Soon my yard will be vermin-free and I shall enjoy a Summer of uninterrupted, non-squirrel-filled bliss.

Until then, I shall sit in my bay window with a grin on my face, making chopping gestures with my paw every time the squirrel looks at me.

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

Food Fright

I am annoyed.

Annoyed and irritated.

Annoyed, irritated and not amused.

I may even be miffed.

In the past, I would usually remedy this by slapping Tiger Lily around, bushwacking Jaq, or posing a philosophical question to Ivan just to watch his eyes cross and smoke come out of his ears. However, according to my vet thingy, I am supposed to be "taking it easy", "relaxing" and engaging in other non-violent stress reducing activities.

I suspect my vet thingy may be a Hippie.

The cause of my annoyance is the fact that the two leggers have changed their diet. They have started eating much healthier. Less meat, more nasty, green, earthy smelling leafy stuff. Lettuce, carrots, spinach, mushrooms, leaves, pine needles, beans, fruit, vegetables and other low-fat, low-calorie unmunchables. Things that not even an over-caffienated bunny who spends all his free time reading New Age, plant munching, gotta-get-healthy-in-under 60 days type books would consider edible.

Now you may assume that there is no way that a change in my two legger's diet should affect me, but your assumption would be wrong.

You see, after I developed my kidney issues, I was placed on a special diet myself. It consists of something called "KD Prescription Food". While I am unsure what the "KD" stands for (I suspect that it stands for "Kind of a Drag"), I know that "Prescription" means medicine and as for the "Food" part, well, I don't understand how anyone can call this stuff "food" while maintaining a straight face. It has the consistency of a re-recycled hairball and the taste of a dust bunny that is four years past its prime.

Ivan thinks it's delicious.

Ivan thinks that anything that he can fit in his mouth is delicious.

But I digress.

The only thing that made my diet bearable was the fact that I could always count on the two leggers to leave some scrumptious morsel laying about after their meals. Oh sure, they always tried to clean and put everything away after eating, but invariably, something would be missed and I could always count on a bit of a dietary supplement after they had retired for the evening. The male especially could always be relied upon to forget a dirty plate on the counter, or to drop a small morsel of his meal on the floor...... or on his shirt........or next to his chair......possibly smeared on the table......maybe drizzled across his pants......and always scattered throughout his mustache where I can count on obtaining a treat by grooming his face while he sleeps. I once discovered a partially consumed bratwurst complete with mustard, onions and sauerkraut just above his right upper lip (that was a good day).

My point is that with their new eating (grazing may be a better word) habits, the pickings have been slim.

The situation has become untenable. I must find a way to supplement my diet.

Don't get me wrong, it is not that I am being starved. Quite the opposite, I assure you. In fact, it is most annoying the way that they are constantly encouraging me to eat. Every time I turn around, they are pushing a bowl of the KD Prescription Food in front of me. If I should deign to take a couple of bites, they coo in joy and tell me how proud they are of me.

No, the issue is the quality, not the quantity.

I am a cat. I am the apex predator of my Kingdom. I am the very embodiment of 36.8 quatrillion years of evolutionary fine tuning. I am descended from saber-toothed tigers, from lions, from cougars and the like. My ancestors feasted upon mammoths, bison, primeval two leggers and the prehistoric predecessors of Twinkies. They thrived on hunting, stalking and batting around lower lifeforms. They did not eat vegetables and salads. They ate the eaters of vegetables and salads.

After much consideration, I have reached a solution.

My two leggers have been adequate in their servitude. They have maintained my Kingdom with conscientious diligence. They have provided for most of my needs and though they can be annoying at times, they can also provide amusement when I am bored.

So it is with slight trepidation that I have made my decision......

I must eat my two leggers.

I informed my fellow felines of my plan and was met with mixed reactions. Tiger Lily was for eating the male, but did not wish to lose the advocacy of the female (the female is the only one in my Kingdom that defends her). Jaq was initially totally against the plan, but after being promised first pick of the female's shoes, she conceded. Ivan's response was "Bout darn time".

Alas, it was not to be. Just as we were about to make our move, the male read my notes for this blog post.

Apparently, he no longer trusts me and is keeping the bedroom door locked at night.

Oh well, all is not lost. Rumor has it that we are expecting house guests this Summer............ 

A Confusin Transfusion

As most of you who follow me on FaceBook, or are members of my Fan Club already know, I had another medical crisis last week. Once again, Death opened its door and invited me in. Being a cat, I wandered back and forth through the threshold for a while, rubbing my tail teasingly against the door jamb, until Death got fed up and slammed the door.

Someday, I know that he will be quick enough to catch me, but not today.

The crisis began Tuesday night when the two leggers realized that I had been acting out of character. Namely, no lamps had been broken, no blood shed, and most significantly.....the atmosphere in my Kingdom had been peaceful and serene for several days.

Like a character in one of those old war movies just before the enemy strikes, the male two legger turned to the female and said "It's quiet in here......too quiet".

 Wednesday morning, they placed me in the Safety Container of Royal Conveyance (SCORC) and took me to see Doc Brazle in The Land of Unpleasant Pokings. When Doc Brazle saw that my two leggers had made the journey with me from my Kingdom totally unscathed, she knew immediately that something was amiss. When she was able to draw my blood without losing any of hers, she knew that I was in bad shape.

Doc Brazle and the excellent staff at Best Friends Veterinary Clinic did an excellent job of getting me stabilized, but the following day the decision was made to transfer me to more specialized care in Seattle. The male two legger loaded me back in the SCORC and we began the three hour journey to Seattle Veterinary Specialists.

It was during this journey that I experienced my first boat ride. I have often heard and read about sea voyages, fraught with peril and adventure, swashbuckling antics on the briny ocean, I waited eagerly for the maritime mayhem that would ensue.

I must say that the reality was somewhat disappointing. During the entire 20 minute ferry ride, I saw not one cannon fired in anger, no sharks, no white whale, they didn't even make anyone walk the plank. There was a two legger with an eye patch, peg leg and a hook, but she was just the snack bar cashier.

As a matter of mutiny prevention, I was not allowed out of my SCORC for the entire passage. A fact that I protested vociferously.

Upon arrival at the specialized Land of Unpleasant Pokings, I was once again poked unpleasantly (but in a very specialized way). It was determined that I was lacking of blood and in need of something called a "transfusion". A transfusion is the process where they pump new blood into one's body via yet another unpleasant poking.

I understand the theory, but I question the method of delivery. First, they poke you unpleasantly until they find a vein thingy. Then they hook up a tube that comes from a machine and with much whirring and beeping, the fresh blood is slowly pumped in until you are full again. Terribly complicated, expensive and it takes hours to complete.

My method would greatly reduce time, and expense and would entirely do away with the unpleasant poking aspect. All it would require is a unit of fresh blood, one package of catnip and two squirrel thingies.

The patient would be given the catnip to stimulate appetite and general friskiness while one of the squirrel thingies would be filled with the fresh blood. Once all is prepared, the blood-filled squirrel thingy would be released into the SCORC with the ailing, but acutely frisky cat. After much batting, slapping and biting, the fresh blood would naturally be orally transferred to the patient thus turning a normally painful and dreadful process into an enjoyable experience for all (except the squirrel).

The second squirrel would be used as a snack in the recovery room.

In spite of my ingenious recommendation, the vet thingy chose to use the old barbaric method of transfusion.

Well, in spite of all the unpleasant pokings and so on, I have recovered and have returned to my Kingdom where once again I have regained my throne.

For now, my reign continues.

I would like to thank all of my minions for all of the love, support and prayers that you offered to me and my two leggers during this incredibly difficult week. Your kind words and thoughts sustained us even during the darkest of hours when all was thought lost.

I am truly grateful for you all.

Adult Stuporvision (Continued)

Day Two of the male's week-long adventure in geographic bachelorhood.

With the female off visiting the Grandtwins, the male, not used to sleeping alone, decided to leave the bedroom door open overnight thus allowing us feline types to come and go as we please. While this allowed unprecedented opportunities for chaos, I made a command decision to not take advantage of this potentially perfect storm of circumstances to cause hate and discontent............yet.

Knowing that the female would be away for the next six days, I chose not to squander my chances for maximum mayhem by blowing it all in a single night. A solitary evening of madness would most likely result in the male deciding that on reinstating the locked-door policy for the remainder of the female's absence. It would also prevent me from pawing his mustache every morning exactly 37 minutes before his alarm was set to wake him.

This would not do.

So, at least for the first few nights, I concluded that restricting our deeds of destruction to "normal" hours was the best course of action. That being said, There was still much fun to be had.........

Consider "Operation: Bait and Twitch". This particular mission proved both amusing and beneficial.

It began when the male decided to make a tuna salad sandwich. 

The male two legger accepts the fact that the preparation of any meal containing tuna fish will attract the attention of any cat within a 36 mile radius of the location of the kitchen. This tends to place the two legger on "high alert" and he will therefore guard his meal like Rosie O'Donnell protecting the last Twinkie on Earth. Generally, we will go through the motions of trying to steal a bite or two, knowing full well that our efforts will likely be in vain, but this night, I was determined.

As he sat in the bedroom, slowly munching his delectable edible, contentedly watching yet another silly program on the talking box thingy, I sent Jaq out into the hallway to begin the "Bait" stage of my plan. Just as she reached the carpet that marks the entry to the livingroom, Jaq began making her patented "omigodiatetoomuchfuragainandnowigottaputitonthecarpet" sound. The sound Jaq makes when she has a hairball defies description. The closest comparison I can make is the sound that would be made if Miley Cyrus, Justin Bieber and Luciano Pavarotti collaborated to rap an Aerosmith song in Portuguese.

This triggered an ancient instinct in the two legger that caused him to bolt down the hallway yelling "NONONONONONONONONOOOO!!!!"

His sudden departure left a void next to his tuna salad sandwich that was instantly filled with Ivan and myself. After a quick and decisive slapping match, we decided that I would eat the portion on the plate and Ivan could consume the morsel that had ended up on the floor as a direct result of our little smackfest. 

By the time the two legger returned, all evidence had been eradicated and the plate was duly cleansed. His reaction was neither unexpected nor particularly original. Rather than showing gratitude for us having thoroughly washed his plate and floor, he said something about "damcats" and then proceeded to cast aspersions upon my character.

I would have been offended, but I had already dropped off into a tuna-induced slumber. 

It seems that there is a new policy in effect. We are now banished to other rooms whenever the male is feeding.

Given his newfound vigilance where we were concerned, our next bit of maniacal madness needed to be well-thought out and planned to the nth detail.

Other than small nuisances and general feline friskiness, we laid low for the next few days. We needed him relaxed and confidant that we had "learned our lesson".

This also gave me time to plot.

The night before he was due to pick up his mate from the airport, the male spent the evening scrubbing, vacuuming and dusting my entire Kingdom. We supervised of course, but did little to hinder his activities. We allowed him to sleep soundly (until exactly 37 minutes before his alarm clock was set to wake him).  He awoke rested and happy owing to the fact that he would soon be reunited with his mate. After a thorough final inspection, he departed safe in the knowledge that his bride would be returning to a spotless household.

Yeah, right.

Upon his departure, we set to work.
 
Ivan harvested the dust bunny crop that he'd been carefully tending under the entertainment center for the last five months. He spread it across the livingroom floor in a manner that displayed both the vast yield and variety of his labors. Seeing his collection decorating couch, easy chair and coffee table, I must confess that I have underestimated Ivan's artistic prowess.

Inspired by Southwest Native American art, Tiger Lily took advantage of the spotless litterboxes and created several "sand drawings" outside of each litterbox.

Having an eye for photography, Jaq "re-arranged" all the picture frames on hallway shelves and the end tables. Obviously her sense of arrangement dictated that some looked better face down, while others were better displayed on the floor.

Finally, I decided that since so much of our handiwork was being displayed on the floor, perhaps it would benefit from more light. This was easily remedied by the knocking a couple of lamps down.

Several hours later, the two leggers returned. As they approached the door, I heard the male say: "I worked all night to bring the house up to your standards of cleanliness........SURPRISE!"   

I fear she was not amused.

Adult Stuporvision

Last week, a most unusual occurrence happened in my Kingdom.

The female two legger took a week-long trip and left the male to fend for itself.

In my experience, this has never happened before. My two leggers are a matched pair and seldom part company for more than a few hours. While I would not describe their relationship as "co-dependent" (that term has too many negative connotations and their relationship could never be considered in a negative light), a better description would be "symbiotic". Two organisms that rely upon each other, thus forming a union that greatly benefits both.  

However, recent events have conspired to force this small separation upon them. In January, one of my two legger's female offspring gave birth to her first litter. The birth of the "Grandtwins" caused my female two legger's "Grandma Gland" to kick into overdrive, thus flooding her bloodstream with grandmorphins. These mind-altering hormone thingies caused distinct behavioral changes in the female. She began suffering from an insatiable desire to transform my yarn balls into baby blankets. She began buying miniature clothes and developed an unnatural obsession with something called "baby booties". Worst of all, she had a sudden craving to travel to a faraway land called "Colorado".

Very little is known about this remote region of the United States, but from the sparse information I could gather, it seems to be a mountainous land, filled with nothing but mountain people, Bronco's fans and alpine squirrels. However, it is also the habitat of the newly-hatched Grandtwins which explains the female's desire to visit such a forbidding land.

Be that as it may, the sudden appearance of a suitcase served as a harbinger of an impending journey. The fact that it was a single suitcase denoted that only one of the two leggers would be embarking on said journey. The fact that the suitcase was packed and ready two weeks before the impending journey indicated that it was the female who would be traveling (the male prefers to do all his packing approximately 35 seconds before embarking).

Apparently it is my fault that the male was unable to accompany her. Due to my special dietary and healthcare needs, the two leggers can no longer leave me unattended for any extended period of time. Were I capable of feeling guilt, I might almost feel responsible for this inconvenience.

The big day came. The female migrated to Colorado, leaving the male behind to fend for himself. She recommended that he "take it easy and enjoy a little time off". He informed her that he was planning to "use his time off to complete a few projects around the house".  Knowing his propensity toward clumsiness, for his own safety, she left a list of instructions and restrictions:
1. No usage of power tools.
2. No open flames anywhere on the property.
3. Avoid use of any implement consisting of or containing a sharpened edge.
4. Any cooking, while not prohibited, is strongly discouraged.
5. Electrical work is strictly prohibited.
6. Any "good ideas" or "inspired thoughts" should be first submitted, in triplicate, to a responsible adult before being acted upon.
7. Emergency Services were notified and placed on standby status.

So the female was gone..........

The male was left here alone..............

Just us and the male............MWAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!!!

I determined that we must first put him at ease. We all put on our "good wittle kitty" faces. We must convince him that we will be on our best behavior while his mate is away. I curled up on his lap, purring softly. Ivan lay at his feet, asleep and drooling. Jaq lay sleeping on the bed and Tiger Lily, with her only ally halfway to Colorado, was seeking asylum in the computer room.

Our first amusement came at exactly 10:57 pm. The two legger, having just watched his third "Monsters & Mysteries In America" was just starting to relax. On a predetermined cue, Jaq, Ivan and I suddenly poofed, hissed and bolted from the bed. Somehow, we had neglected to inform Tiger Lily of our plan. However, in her panic at our mass poofing, her natural whine reflex only served to add to the chaos and confusion.

The male's reaction was all we had hoped for and more. He jumped from the bed, sheets and remote control thingy flying, instinctively shouting the two legger battle cry of "WHA? WHA? WHA?" and with legs tangled in bedding, fell in a heap to the floor. By the time he had disentangled himself and managed to reduce his heart rate to slightly higher than that of an over-caffienated gerbil, we had all re-established our places on the bed and were acting as though nothing had happened.

The next day, we decided to get serious...............

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

Lost In Translation

True inter-species communication is rare at best. Communication between animals that possess different vocal or physical attributes, not to mention motivations or philosophies can be challenging if not impossible. However, scientist thingies often believe that they can "crack the code" or "find the Rosetta Stone".

As usual, they are wrong.

Don't get me wrong, with time and patience, one can often get the general idea of what another species is trying to say, but true, verifiable communication will always elude those who attempt it.

Take dog thingies for example, after much study it has been determined that if you see a dog sitting in the yard, licking itself, in effect it is saying "I am a dog, this is what I do. Perhaps later I will chase my tail or bark at a shadow, but for now I will sit here and lick myself". We can be confident of this translation because we have observed the dog thingy and have reached the conclusion that that is simply what they do. However, what we cannot know is the dog thingy's motivation. Is it a physiological requirement that they sit and lick themselves? Is it some kind of doggy tradition or ritual? Is there something in their microbrains that is constantly receiving a message that its nether regions are perpetually dirty and require frequent cleanings? We will never know. 

Even more study has been dedicated to trying to understand feline communication. It is virtually impossible to surf the internet for more than five minutes without coming across an article or video claiming to have unlocked the secret of "what your cat is trying to tell you". I have even blogged about it (much more accurately than the scientists) several times over the years.

This is all well and good. However, it is also extremely anthropocentric. With all the studies and websites dedicated to discovering what cats are saying two leggers, there is not an iota of information regarding what two leggers are saying to us.

Once again, it is up to me to rectify this oversight.

I have had much time to study the two leggers and I feel that I am imminently qualified to provide such a translation.

Like felines, two leggers use a combination of vocalizations and gestures to communicate with their four legged masters. Though their language is complex, I will now provide a few of their most commonly used messages.

Greetings
When entering a room, if a two legger stands with legs spread in a wide stance, and point with a single finger, it means that they see you and are very happy to be graced by your presence. If they waggle the finger, it indicates that they wish to give you a scritch under the chin.

Often, upon returning to the house after work, they will scream your name in joy at the sight of a broken glass or lamp. This is a sign that they missed you during their absence and wish to congratulate you on your decorating skills.

Every morning, as they leave for work, they will turn and say "Now you cats be good". This is a running joke and proves that they have a sense of humor.

General communications
 Hopping on one foot while furiously brushing at the other is an indication that they have just found the fresh hairball that you left in a darkened hallway. The Hairball Dance is often accompanied by the traditional Hairball Chant which basically goes "Ohmigod! Ew ew ew, ew-ew ew, ew-ew-ew.........ew". This dance/chant is so common and varies so little that I have reason to suspect that it may have religious undertones.

When a two legger places an object on a shelf or table and then turn and waggle a finger at you, they are telling you that they have placed it there for your amusement and expect you to leave it on the floor when you are finished with it.

Occasionally, the two leggers use a compound gesture that involve taking two fingers, pointing them at their own eyes, and then pointing them at me. Though complex, the meaning of these gestures is obvious. They are saying:
1. "I see what you did there, and I honor you for doing it"
2. "I am eagerly watching to see what wonderful things you may do next".

One of the most common vocalizations that two leggers utilize is the word "NO!". Some believe that this is a negative word thingy, however after much research, I have discovered that the word "NO!" is actually derived from the Latin phrase "Nolo contendere" which translated means "I will not contend". Therefore they are actually condoning your action and telling you that it is perfectly okay to continue with what you were doing.

This is just a small sampling of the much broader translation I have developed. There are many more gestures and vocalizations that I am still working to interpret. Since I am such a generous soul and am dedicated to the education of my minions, I shall continue my work in this field and update you when applicable.

In the meantime just remember......."No" really means "Okie dokie".

 

My Comrade In Chaos

The other day while I was at the vet thingy's office, I was reunited with an old acquaintance.

Zharkhov, the self-proclaimed "Guardian of The Land of Unpleasant Pokings". You may remember Zharkhov (aka Mr. Tinky) from an earlier post called "A Foreign  Exchange". (click on the title to follow the link). Zharkhov, was the resident cat at the veterinary hospital where I was being treated after nearly shredding this mortal coil.

In the short time that I was sequestered in the Land of Unpleasant Pokings, I had grown quite fond of the old Russian Blue. His eccentric manner and odd way of speaking had quickly endeared him to me and I have often wondered how he fared.

As luck would have it, Thursday, while attending my quarterly health check, I heard a familiar voice coming from the adjoining exam room:

"Vad do you tink you are dewink? I am not needing unpleasant pokings! I am finest spaceyman of roobust Rooshan healdt. Back away wit dat unpleasant poking dewice!" Suddenly there were the sounds of a scuffle, a blood-curdling scream, followed by the sounds of two legger footsteps beating a hasty retreat down the corridor.

"Zharkhov?" I called.

"Da. Who dis dat calls de name of Zharkhov?"

"It is I, Cujo, High Poobah and Supreme Ruler of All Universe Thingies (known and unknown), Menacer of Squirrels and Smacker of All Things Whiny!" I replied.

"Ah, da, I remember now. You are leetle oreo cat dat weesited last year. You not dead?"

"Not that I'm aware of. In fact, I seem to be very much alive and well." I said

"Da, is good. Being dead is bad for health".

At this point, one of the vet techs came in and took me to the lab for my bloodwork. At the same time, another tech had grabbed Zharkhov and brought him to the lab as well. After placing us in adjoining kennels, the tech went about their unpleasant business leaving Zharkhov and I to speak in relative privacy.

I asked him why he was no longer allowed to roam the halls of the Land of Unpleasant Pokes. Come to find out, he no longer resided there. It seems that shortly after our last meeting, Zharkhov had been reassigned to a new location. He is now the Official Therapy Cat and Mascot at Sunny Acres Retirement Home.

Intrigued, I asked him to describe his new life.

"It is not so bad.", he began, "Land of Wrinkled Two Leggers is wast. Many different rooms and beds upon vich to lay. Zharkhov has many laps to choose from. Wrinkled ones move wery slowly. Some wrinkled ones no move at all. Wery relaxing. Much food for Zharkhov. Wrinkled ones often drop food on floor. Dis prowides many snacks for Zharkhov. Only ting Zharkhov no like is veelchairs. Veelchairs make Zharkhov's tail nerwous. Also, smells not so good."

Zharkhov was describing an ideal life for a cat. Unlimited napping, unlimited laps, food around every corner, constant attention and affection. He told me that they even had something called a "sun room" with floor to ceiling windows where the residents could spend the day quietly contemplating the abundance of bird thingies just outside.

In spite of his description of this idyllic existence, I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. There seemed to be one vital ingredient missing........chaos. How could any card-carrying feline possibly be content living in a place that was engineered to be completely serene and peaceful? Where they frown upon spontaneity? Where calmness was encouraged and mayhem was discouraged? No, my friends, this is no life for a proud Rooshan cat whose ancestors had once graced the laps of czars, czarinas, emperors and other various cyrillic despots.

I asked Zharkhov about this discrepancy.

"Da, is boring at times. Boring is sometimes good ting for old cat such as I. But Zharkhov not alvays bored. Zharkhov has vay of keeping amused. Zharkhov knows old two legger legend of Banshee. Banshee is spirit dat wisits two leggers before dey die. Banshee makes keening sound in middle of night. So sometimes in meedle of night Zharkhov make Banshee sounds."

"And this makes the wrinkled ones panic?" I asked hopefully.

"Nyet, bod it makes dem spill dere jellos. Zharkhov likes dere jellos."

Well, I can't argue with that.

Soon the vet thingy came and told me that my checkup was good and that I was healthy as could be. As I was carried from the room, I looked back and waved farewell to my Rooshan friend.

"Da sveedaneeya my bi-colored comrade", he said. "Next time bring wodka".

     

Treasure Hunt

Two leggers seem obsessed with mysteries. Whether it is unexplained happenings, undiscovered creatures or supernatural events. They never tire of seeking answers for the unanswerable.

And yet they call us curious.

But the one type of mystery that really gets them going is that of "hidden treasure".

It seems that throughout two legger history, every lost culture, every outlaw or rogue, every secret society and every wealthy hermit has reportedly left behind a hoard of treasure, cleverly hidden in some remote region. Like squirrel thingies stashing nuts for Winter, they supposedly bury their belongings in totally inaccessible locations in the theory that they will someday return to reclaim said hoard. In order to confound anyone seeking their wealth, they often leave cryptic clues and maps behind that generally lead to more cryptic clues and maps that eventually lead to absolutely nothing.

There are literally thousands of such legends and yet in all of recorded history not a single treasure hoard had been discovered. If there were truly that many out there, one would think that at least one would have been discovered by accident.

And yet they persist.

My two leggers have been watching a program on the talking box thingy about one such legend. It is called " The Curse of Oak Island". For over 125 years two leggers have been tearing up an island off the coast of Nova Scotia looking for a treasure that they are convinced is buried there. Every week they announce some new lead or technique that they are convinced will guarantee them success in uncovering the treasure.

Heck, they don't even know what the treasure is, who buried it, or even when they supposedly buried it. Theories about the treasure include pirate thingies hiding booty, Knights Templar hiding either the Ark of The Covenant or the Holy Grail, Aztecs hiding gold, Vikings hiding loot, Canadians hiding goats and someone from Kentucky hiding his famous fried-chicken recipe.

They spend tons of money and time trying to find the theoretical bounty. Digging, diving, researching, metal detecting, they have attempted every known method to solve the mystery.

And yet they have missed the most obvious method of all........

At the beginning of every episode, the narrator says in an over-dramatic voice: "The Legend of Oak Island states that nine men must die before the Island gives up its treasure. Eight men have died over the last 125 years trying to find the treasure......."

Duh, the solution is simple. Pick the most unpopular guy on the team and make it look like an accident. Problem solved and plus, one less person to share with.

Be that as it may, I have decided that since the two leggers are so obsessed with searching for treasure, I would entertain them by setting up a little "treasure hunt" of my own. I often steal things from them for my own amusement, but in this case it would be for theirs.

So, what should I hide?

I considered hiding the key to the liquor cabinet. But the male two legger keeps his stomach medicine in the liquor cabinet. I know that sounds odd, but you see, he loves orange juice. He once read somewhere that orange juice is very acidic and in large amounts can damage the lining of the stomach. So in order to avoid this, he only drinks orange juice that has been liberally diluted with tequila. Hiding the key may prove detrimental to his health, so that rules that out.

I once stole the female's earrings and hid one in the Royal Litter Box. Their panicked search was quite amusing, but I made the mistake of mentioning it in the blog thingy, so they are now wise to that ploy.

It needed to be something small and easily concealed, yet also so valuable or useful that the two leggers would move heaven and earth to recover it. Something that they would not rest until they had solved the riddle and recovered the item. Something so precious that they would risk life and limb to get it back.

Suddenly it hit me!

The one object that they hold in such high regard that it has its own special box. It rests in a place of honor and used more often than any other utensil....................the corkscrew. (cue dramatic music)

In the wee hours of the night, when the two leggers were asleep and all was depressingly quiet, I crept into the kitchen, found the corkscrew and removed it from its box. I quickly concealed it in the one place that I knew the two leggers would never look. Yup, I hid it in the tool box. The male's tool box has not been opened in over ten years. The female won't open it because it is dirty. The male won't open it because if he did, he might be expected to fix something.

After concealing the loot, I made an unreasonably complicated treasure map complete with a bunch of very ambiguous clues and passwords. I then placed the map and clues in the box which once held the corkscrew.

Alas, my plot was foiled. Little did I know that my two leggers who NEVER have a contingency plan for ANYTHING, happened to be prepared for this particular disaster. Upon the discovery of the theft, the female immediately pulled a spare corkscrew out of the cupboard and opened the wine bottle without missing a beat.

Upon investigation, I discovered that they have spare corkscrews stashed in every room of my house and two in the bathrooms!

I admit that I am quite annoyed that my plot failed. However, I suppose that I can take comfort in the fact that should the apocalypse occur, my two leggers may starve, but they won't go thirsty.

Tree-mendous

It is the end of an old year and the beginning of a new year. In two legger culture it is perceived as a time of transition, reflection and introspection. They either mourn or celebrate the events that occurred during the past year, while they either anticipate or dread the possibilities of the coming year.

For us cats, it is Friday.

Just another day filled with naps, food, and if we are fortunate.....chaos.

Well, the day was not entirely uneventful. In a manner of speaking, today was a day of transition for us felines as well. For you see, today we mourn the passing of the greatest cat toy of all.........the Christmas tree thingy came down.

To make matters worse, it came down intentionally........completely unassisted by yours truly.

Yes, the two leggers have removed my tree and packed it away until next December. They have packed away all the scornaments and dropsicles. They have removed all the shiny, battable and breakable parts, all the cutesy knock-knacks that amuse me during the holiday season. They have secured all baubles that I enjoy making go bump in the night.

I of course, "supervised".

Now when I say "supervise", I mean that I did everything within my power to make the experience as aggravating, miserable and frustrating as possible. It is my duty as the local household god thingy to hinder all activities that the two leggers deem "constructive". Fortunately for my purposes, the two leggers invariably make my mission easy in the extreme.......

After checking that all four of us feline types were contentedly napping in our nappy spots, the two leggers began by bringing four very large, empty, plastic boxes into the living room. Upon opening, these four very large, empty, plastic boxes were instantly occupied by four, no longer napping cats. It is a well-known law of nature that any empty box, no matter how large or small, must contain at least one cat within 5.3 seconds of opening. In the case of there being more boxes than available cats, other items such as catnip mousie thingies, hairballs (preferably damp) and milk carton rings may be used as substitutes. All attempts at removing cats from the aforementioned boxes must be met with extreme resistance up to, and including, bloodshed.

However, the two leggers being the determined creatures that they are, eventually succeeded in the removal of the feline occupants. This was not unexpected and only served to mark the beginning of Phase II of my annual post-Christmas chaos.

While the female two legger concentrated on removing Tiger Lily and Jaq from their individual boxes, Ivan and I had already accomplished the removal of several scornaments from the lower branches of the tree thingy. These were immediately batted down the hallway, thus initiating a spontaneous game of Hallway Hockey. Our game was short-lived when the female broke up the game by confiscating our "puck" and fixing both of us with a malevolent glare and using two fingers on her right paw in the international gesture of "I'm watching you!".

Having exited her box, Tiger Lily pounced upon the tree skirt and began furiously skrooching.*

* For those of you unfamiliar with the term "skrooching", it is the act of sliding one's front paws around the top of any flat piece of material such as a bed sheet, blanket or towel as though something small has been lost beneath the material and must be recovered with all possible haste. During the skrooch, one must keep their head and shoulders hunched low with forepaws outstretched while the hindquarters remain elevated and tail straight up or slightly bent. A manic or "crackhead" look on one's face completes the effect.   

During her skrooch, Tiger Lily managed to dislodge several more scornaments and very nearly brought the entire tree thingy down when she slammed against the trunk in her enthusiasm. Once again, the female intervened and chased Tiger Lily from the room.

In the meantime, Jaq had taken advantage of the distraction and had climbed to the very top of the tree thingy where she had developed a jealous fascination with the angel that was perched atop the highest branch. She decided that she was a better tree-topper than the current occupant and with a mighty swat, sent the angel thingy flying. Well, perhaps "flying" is not the correct term because the angel's wings never even flapped on its plummet to the floor. 

I guess Lucifer was not the only fallen angel.

Sadly, the impact of the angel striking the floor drew the attention of the male two legger and Jaq was subsequently removed from the top of the tree thingy and locked in the guest bedroom. 

By this time, Ivan and I had been banished to the computer room, Tiger Lily was incarcerated in the master bedroom and Jaq in the guestroom. Thus ended any further opportunities for us to assist the two leggers. We all voiced our great displeasure at this exclusion from the fun, mrowring and scratching at the doors, but our protests went unheeded. 

So now the two leggers have finished. The tree thingy and all of its accoutrements have been packed away for another year. The front rooms have been returned to their normal configuration. 

But all is not lost. In all the excitement, the two leggers failed to keep an accurate count of the glass ball thingies. It seems that two of the scornaments may have "accidentally" rolled beneath the wine cabinet and thereby forgotten by the two leggers.

I assure you, they have not been forgotten by me.............

I hope you all have a very happy and blessed New Year!