tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14064051578019142592024-03-16T11:52:02.916-07:00The Cujo Cat ChroniclesOk, so the 2 legged members of my pride have insisted that I keep one of those blog thingies. I am to record my thoughts and activities. must be some kinda animal planet thing. So here goes....Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.comBlogger373125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-43130347095221116722017-02-11T19:04:00.000-08:002017-02-11T19:04:09.675-08:00The Last Word<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b><i>****** This is Cujo's male two legger, or as he liked to call me "The Male Two Legger". While doing some cleaning today, I found an envelope under Cujo's toy box. It was addressed to "All Minions" and per his enclosed orders, I am sharing it with you now...........******</i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Dear Minions,<br />
If you are reading this, one of two things have happened:<br />
1. I have crossed The Bridge.<br />
2. The Male has finally dusted under The Royal Toy Box.<br />
<br />
Given the Male's cleaning habits, my money is on the former and not the latter.<br />
<br />
So I have passed on. Right now I am either in Heaven, frolicking with those who have gone before me, knocking over holy chalices, shredding ethereal curtains and scratching up the arms of the Heavenly throne, or if I was sent "South" I am in upper management and teaching the demons of the Lower Levels a few new tricks. Personally, I believe that St. Peter let me in (after several minutes of slinking around the door frame, of course).<br />
<br />
Even though I am gone, I am sure that I am still watching. It has become too much of a habit for me to stop now.<br />
<br />
Now I'd like to address some of my closest minions:<br />
<br />
Ivan, though dim-witted and stinky, you were my closest friend, ally and "partner in grime". Though our dust bunny hunting days are now over, I hope that occasionally when you have your weekly thought, it may be of me. I shall save you a spot on the Heavenly Bathroom Floor and I will make sure that there are no Socks In Unexpected Places (SUIPs) to startle you.<br />
<br />
Tiger Lily, we have often had our......ummmm......"differences", but without the daily smacking practice you afforded me, I could not have been half the benevolent dictator that I was. Your service to my Kingdom has been invaluable. I assure you that when you cross The Bridge, I will be waiting with the Royal Smacking Paw holstered and benign. We shall embrace as friends as I welcome you to your new home (unless you whine, then I'll totally have to smack you).<br />
<br />
Jaq, you crazy little thingy. You are The Queen now. I leave my Kingdom to you. I do not do this lightly. However, you are the only one in my Kingdom that has just the right mixture of brains, smacking paw, wiliness, ruthlessness, larceny and incipient insanity to rule in my stead. I trust that you will reign long and wisely. Though Ivan is larger and stronger than you, remember my philosophy: "If you can't beat him, confuse him". Oh, and give Tiger Lily a smack once in a while, otherwise she tends to get surly.<br />
<br />
My Female Two Legger, you are the conscience of my Kingdom. You attempted to keep my ego in check (the only thing you've ever failed at), you gave me cuddles when I deserved it, and even when I didn't deserve it. Admittedly, I seldom deserved it. Though I destroyed most of your best knock knacks, you never bore a grudge. I broke your wine glasses and you still offered me a scratch behind the ears. I was the reason you could never have nice thingies, and you loved me anyway. Your voice raised in chastisement was always such music to my ears. I shall await you at The Gates with my tail straight in the air and my purr engine already pre-warmed. But take your time, The Male needs you now more than ever.<br />
<br />
The Male Two Legger.....you have been my scribe and my punching bag. You have been the recipient of the consequences of many of my misadventures. I have made you bleed, scream and stomp your feet in joy at my antics. When I first chose you, you were tall, proud and well-coiffed. You are now slump-shouldered, beaten, balding and gray. You are welcome. However, no matter how much I abused you, when you thought that I wasn't looking, I would glimpse that slight grin that you would show as I strutted away from my latest scene of mayhem. Your lap was always my preferred napping spot.<br />
<br />
Especially when I knew that your bladder was full.<br />
<br />
To all my other minions, fans and friends, please know that I will continue to watch over you. I will know when you are sleeping, I will know when you are awake. I will know when you've been good, and I'll know when you've been bad (good on ya!). Think of me as a furry little, bi-colored Santy Claws without the red suit, deer thingies and questionable "reward for good behavior" system.<br />
<br />
My tenure as the Universal Dictator of All Universes (known and unknown) Grand Poobah of The World Thingy, Benevolent Dictator and Smacker of All Things Whiny may be at an end, but please know that you all have made my reign a most amusing experience.<br />
<br />
This will be my final post. However, my third book has been written and hidden somewhere in my Kingdom. I have left instructions with the male that he is to publish it when he finds it.<br />
<br />
It should keep him cleaning for a month or two. <br />
<br />
It is my wish that though my personal FaceBook profile will be "memorialized", the Fan Club will continue to be a place where people who love animals and humor may gather and post stuff that amuses them. The creation of a place where so many people gather without hissing and spitting is my proudest achievement and legacy.<br />
<br />
Farewell my dear minions.<br />
<br />
Someday we shall meet again.<br />
<br />
Buh-bye<br />
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Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-89802952499776150172017-02-09T14:05:00.005-08:002017-02-09T14:05:38.745-08:00Farewell To The King<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
At 1pm. today, His Royal Highness and Smacker of All Things Whiny, crossed The Bridge.<br />
His decline was very swift and merciful. He had been doing wonderfully
right up until yesterday when he became very lethargic and was obviously
in great pain and disoriented. Kathy and I could not bear to see him
suffer so. After much discussion, tears and consultation, we made the
decision to let him cross over with dignity and grace. <br /><br />
It was truly the hardest decision we have ever made and our hearts are shattered.<br /> We would like to thank each and every one of his fans/minions for all the support and joy you have given us. <br /><br />
I am unsure right now what the future holds for the blog, his FaceBook
profile or his third book. For now, Kathy and I will be taking a hiatus
from Social Media to mourn his passing.<br /> Deepest gratitude and love from the entire Dunn Clan.</div>
Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-17708786150200585442016-12-25T19:37:00.000-08:002016-12-25T19:37:17.380-08:00Christmas Calamity<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Over the last week, I have spent much time pondering......<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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"<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
For instance:<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I hope this small tidbit of Christmas trivia has been informative.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I must sadly report that my attempt to slay the sleigh driving freak, Mr. Claus, has once again failed.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
So in spite of my best efforts, Santa still lives. Oh well, there's always next year.<br />
<br />
Next year, Santa......Next year. <br />
<br />
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.</div>
Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-18351661025163650012016-10-19T22:50:00.000-07:002016-10-19T22:50:39.035-07:00The Flying Kiwi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This week has been quite eventful.<br />
<br />
I am being visited by one of my favorite minions. She has traveled from far away to offer her praise and adoration.<br />
<br />
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".<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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!!!!!"<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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...........<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
That being said, my patience is neither infinite nor unbreakable.<br />
<br />
For now I shall wait and observe.<br />
<br />
After all, I have been working on a good hairball and I know where her suitcase is............</div>
Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-35520755298853413812016-08-04T17:52:00.000-07:002016-08-04T17:52:31.376-07:00Wired Up<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
That being said, I have found that their misfortune has led to some excellent opportunities for me and my fellow felines.<br />
<br />
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".<br />
<br />
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...<br />
<br />
Their troubles began back in May.<br />
<br />
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 <i>me </i>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.<br />
<br />
Well apparently, this is not considered "normal" among the two legged breed and the male insisted that she see her veterinarian.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>******IMPORTANT SAFETY TIP******* </b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Never BITE any wires. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><b> </b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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).</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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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".</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Sure, I could have left it at that, but that is not my way........</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
I've assigned Ivan the duty of "turning on" the female's pulsemaker.<br />
<br />
Every morning.........<br />
<br />
At 5:47 AM..........<br />
<br />
By smacking to the floor, every single remote control (eight in all) in our house.......<br />
<br />
As loudly as possible.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Her screams of gratitude truly warm Ivan's little heart. </div>
Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-14757029837066016532016-07-14T15:05:00.000-07:002016-07-14T15:05:12.827-07:00Poofed About Pokemon<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Two legger behavior can also distract and amuse me, and recently more than ever.............<br />
<br />
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".<br />
<br />
Where do I start?<br />
<br />
First of all, let us examine exactly what "Pokemon Go" consists of. <br />
<br />
Basically, using "cutting-edge" technology, two leggers are rushing around, willy-nilly, chasing things that only they can see.<br />
<br />
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......<br />
<br />
We are chasing ghost thingies.<br />
<br />
All felines are equipped with a small gland inside their brain thingies (in Ivan's case, VERY small) called the <i><b>Pewtewitary Glandulus. </b></i>The Pewtewitary Glandulus secretes the furrymone <i>Omigodigottakillit</i> 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.<br />
<br />
By eliminating these spooks, we save everyone from their evil doings. <br />
<br />
If we destroy any knock knacks in the process, that is just a bonus.<br />
<br />
This Pokemon thing however, is a mouse of a different color.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
So someone said "There's an app for that!" And they invented a new game designed to get two legger younglings out walking around.<br />
<br />
It worked...........kinda.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
They will still be mindless, non-sociable mush-brains, but at least they will be<i><b> healthy</b></i>, mindless non-sociable mush-brains.<br />
<br />
At least those who don't wander onto train tracks, into traffic or attempt to drive while looking at their phone thingies.<br />
<br />
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.</div>
Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-18490566840196135872016-05-30T15:22:00.000-07:002016-05-30T15:25:50.179-07:00Lumber Joke<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
MWHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!<br />
<br />
I am amused!<br />
<br />
I am amused like I have never been amused before!<br />
<br />
If it were not beneath my personal sense of decorum, I would be dancing down the hallway, fluffy-tailed with giddiness!<br />
<br />
You may be justifiably curious as to what could possibly cause such an undignified reaction in one as dignified and stately as myself.<br />
<br />
Incredibly, it is the two leggers who have made this sense of happiness possible.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Nothing they do surprises me anymore.<br />
<br />
In this case however, I was greatly mistaken.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
The male came back into the house and informed the female that the "plan was a go".<br />
<br />
What was this "plan"?<br />
<br />
More importantly, how could I thwart it?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
Fairly jumping for joy, a single thought kept repeating itself in my head thingy.......<br />
<br />
Hairless Sasquatch is a lumberjack and he hates squirrels!<br />
<br />
For once, the two legger's plans coincide with mine.<br />
<br />
Next week, the squirrel thingy will be gone at last. I have already taken the liberty of typing up his eviction notice.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>TO BE CONTINUED.............</b></div>
</div>
Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-87736118048895584912016-05-22T13:53:00.000-07:002016-05-22T14:14:45.582-07:00Food Fright<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I am annoyed.<br />
<br />
Annoyed and irritated.<br />
<br />
Annoyed, irritated and <b><i>not</i></b> amused.<br />
<br />
I may even be miffed.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I suspect my vet thingy may be a Hippie.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Ivan thinks it's delicious.<br />
<br />
Ivan thinks that anything that he can fit in his mouth is delicious.<br />
<br />
But I digress.<br />
<br />
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).<br />
<br />
My point is that with their new eating (grazing may be a better word) habits, the pickings have been slim.<br />
<br />
The situation has become untenable. I must find a way to supplement my diet.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
No, the issue is the quality, not the quantity.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
After much consideration, I have reached a solution.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
So it is with slight trepidation that I have made my decision......<br />
<br />
I must eat my two leggers.<br />
<br />
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".<br />
<br />
Alas, it was not to be. Just as we were about to make our move, the male read my notes for this blog post.<br />
<br />
Apparently, he no longer trusts me and is keeping the bedroom door locked at night.<br />
<br />
Oh well, all is not lost. Rumor has it that we are expecting house guests this Summer............ </div>
Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-71314121150122862162016-03-24T17:04:00.000-07:002016-03-24T17:15:44.057-07:00A Confusin Transfusion<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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.<br />
<br />
Someday, I know that he will be quick enough to catch me, but not today.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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".<br />
<br />
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 <i>knew </i>that I was in bad shape.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
As a matter of mutiny prevention, I was not allowed out of my SCORC for the entire passage. A fact that I protested vociferously.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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).<br />
<br />
The second squirrel would be used as a snack in the recovery room.<br />
<br />
In spite of my ingenious recommendation, the vet thingy chose to use the old barbaric method of transfusion.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
For now, my reign continues.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I am truly grateful for you all.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-71920157261949229332016-03-06T14:59:00.000-08:002016-03-06T14:59:38.619-08:00Adult Stuporvision (Continued)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Day Two of the male's week-long adventure in geographic bachelorhood.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
This would not do.<br />
<br />
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.........<br />
<br />
Consider "Operation: Bait and Twitch". This particular mission proved both amusing and beneficial.<br />
<br />
It began when the male decided to make a tuna salad sandwich. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
This triggered an ancient instinct in the two legger that caused him to bolt down the hallway yelling "NONONONONONONONONOOOO!!!!"<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I would have been offended, but I had already dropped off into a tuna-induced slumber. <br />
<br />
It seems that there is a new policy in effect. We are now banished to other rooms whenever the male is feeding.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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".<br />
<br />
This also gave me time to plot.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Yeah, right.<br />
<br />
Upon his departure, we set to work.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Inspired by Southwest Native American art, Tiger Lily took advantage of the spotless litterboxes and created several "sand drawings" outside of each litterbox.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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!" <br />
<br />
I fear she was not amused.</div>
Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-60531297377123576322016-02-28T18:29:00.000-08:002016-02-28T18:29:08.245-08:00Adult Stuporvision<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Last week, a most unusual occurrence happened in my Kingdom.<br />
<br />
The female two legger took a week-long trip and left the male to fend for itself.<br />
<br />
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 <i>never </i>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. <br />
<br />
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 <i>grandmorphins</i>. 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".<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 <i>single</i> 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).<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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:<br />
1. No usage of power tools.<br />
2. No open flames anywhere on the property.<br />
3. Avoid use of any implement consisting of or containing a sharpened edge.<br />
4. Any cooking, while not prohibited, is strongly discouraged.<br />
5. Electrical work is strictly prohibited.<br />
6. Any "good ideas" or "inspired thoughts" should be first submitted, in triplicate, to a responsible adult before being acted upon.<br />
7. Emergency Services were notified and placed on standby status.<br />
<br />
So the female was gone..........<br />
<br />
The male was left here alone..............<br />
<br />
Just us and the male............MWAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!!!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
The next day, we decided to get serious...............<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">To Be Continued.........</span></b></div>
</div>
Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-39962488064621931592016-02-11T18:42:00.000-08:002016-02-11T18:42:14.702-08:00Lost In Translation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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".<br />
<br />
As usual, they are wrong.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Once again, it is up to me to rectify this oversight.<br />
<br />
I have had much time to study the two leggers and I feel that I am imminently qualified to provide such a translation.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<i>Greetings</i><br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
<i>General communications</i><br />
<i> </i>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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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:<br />
1. "I see what you did there, and I honor you for doing it"<br />
2. "I am eagerly watching to see what wonderful things you may do next".<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
In the meantime just remember......."No" really means "Okie dokie".<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div>
Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-81669386842468508382016-01-31T18:52:00.000-08:002016-01-31T19:01:40.280-08:00My Comrade In Chaos<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The other day while I was at the vet thingy's office, I was reunited with an old acquaintance.<br />
<br />
Zharkhov, the self-proclaimed "Guardian of The Land of Unpleasant Pokings". You may remember Zharkhov (aka Mr. Tinky) from an earlier post called <a href="http://cujocatchronicles.blogspot.com/2015/02/a-foriegn-exchange.html" target="_blank">"A Foreign Exchange"</a>. (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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
As luck would have it, Thursday, while attending my quarterly health check, I heard a familiar voice coming from the adjoining exam room:<br />
<br />
"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.<br />
<br />
"Zharkhov?" I called.<br />
<br />
"Da. Who dis dat calls de name of Zharkhov?"<br />
<br />
"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.<br />
<br />
"Ah, da, I remember now. You are leetle oreo cat dat weesited last year. You not dead?"<br />
<br />
"Not that I'm aware of. In fact, I seem to be very much alive and well." I said<br />
<br />
"Da, is good. Being dead is bad for health".<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Intrigued, I asked him to describe his new life.<br />
<br />
"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."<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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 <i>dis</i>couraged? 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.<br />
<br />
I asked Zharkhov about this discrepancy.<br />
<br />
"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."<br />
<br />
"And this makes the wrinkled ones panic?" I asked hopefully.<br />
<br />
"Nyet, bod it makes dem spill dere jellos. Zharkhov likes dere jellos."<br />
<br />
Well, I can't argue with that.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
"Da sveedaneeya my bi-colored comrade", he said. "Next time bring wodka".<br />
<br />
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Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-87932071670031819082016-01-22T21:04:00.000-08:002016-01-22T21:04:28.282-08:00Treasure Hunt<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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.<br />
<br />
And yet they call <b><i>us </i></b>curious.<br />
<br />
But the one type of mystery that really gets them going is that of "hidden treasure".<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
And yet they persist.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Heck, they don't even know<i><b> what </b></i>the treasure is, <i><b>who</b></i> buried it, or even <i><b>when </b></i>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.<br />
<b><i></i></b><br />
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.<br />
<br />
And yet they have missed the most obvious method of all........<br />
<br />
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......."<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
So, what should I hide?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Suddenly it hit me!<br />
<br />
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)<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Upon investigation, I discovered that they have spare corkscrews stashed in every room of my house and two in the bathrooms!<br />
<br />
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.</div>
Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-27352178720868284122016-01-01T17:07:00.001-08:002016-01-01T17:25:21.917-08:00Tree-mendous<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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.<br />
<br />
For us cats, it is Friday.<br />
<br />
Just another day filled with naps, food, and if we are fortunate.....chaos.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
To make matters worse, it came down intentionally........completely unassisted by yours truly.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I of course, "supervised".<br />
<br />
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.......<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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!".<br />
<br />
Having exited her box, Tiger Lily pounced upon the tree skirt and began furiously skrooching.*<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">* 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. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">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</span>. <span style="font-size: small;">Once again, the female intervened and chased Tiger Lily from the room.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">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. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I guess Lucifer was not the only fallen angel.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">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. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">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. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">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. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I assure you, they have <b><i>not </i></b>been forgotten by me.............</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I hope you all have a very happy and blessed New Year! </span> </span></div>
Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-69875918572833299542015-12-23T18:30:00.000-08:002015-12-23T18:30:30.035-08:00Ivan Vs. Santa Claus<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Unacceptable.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I still managed to rough him up a bit, but I confess that it was a near run thing.<br />
<br />
The only possible conclusions I can draw is that I have either become predictable, or he has begun reading my blog thingy.<br />
<br />
Either way, a change of strategy was in order.<br />
<br />
So this year I decided to delegate my Christmastime chaos to Ivan.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
It was at this moment that Ivan made his move.........<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
I have no idea who would have told Ivan that Santa was a notorious fish smuggler.........<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
It's amazing what can happen when one panics.<br />
<br />
I hope you all have a very safe and merry Christmas filled with joy and chaos. <br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-80173850416086352492015-12-16T23:09:00.001-08:002015-12-16T23:09:21.462-08:00Chaotic Christmas Conundrum<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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. <br />
<br />
However, this year I have noticed a steep decline in the pictures of destroyed Christmas trees, shattered decorations and murdered mangers.<br />
<br />
I find this disturbing, unsettling, and unacceptable.<br />
<br />
Something must be done. Obviously, some instruction is in order. Yes, instruction for destruction.<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
It doesn't.<br />
<br />
Let's get back to basics. Professor Cujo is in the house.......<br />
<br />
This is a Christmas tree thingy.<br />
<br />
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<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 <i><b>very </b></i>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". <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 <i>poltergeist</i>).<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I hope that with these hints you may enjoy a very chaotic and satisfying season of mayhem and destruction.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>
Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-66598609830276885862015-12-03T17:53:00.001-08:002015-12-03T18:12:57.984-08:00Scar Wars<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 <i>some </i>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.<br />
<br />
However, there is one aspect to the series that truly fascinates me.........The Force.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Interesting.<br />
<br />
According to the narrative, there are two different sides of The Force: The Dark Side and the Light Side.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
It seems that The Force is strong in me.<br />
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</div>
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Success!! She sprung from the box and ran from the room.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Oh well, I shall continue to hone my Jedi skills.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I leave you with the Jedi motto: "Live long and use The Force in a prosperous manner". <br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-58560271844928290852015-11-08T19:55:00.001-08:002015-11-08T19:55:46.273-08:00The Case of The Curious Canine Clan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My Outer Kingdom has been invaded.<br />
<br />
Over the last week, I bore witness to no fewer than four dog thingies running and cavorting through my front yard.<br />
<br />
Obviously, this does not amuse me.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
So for the moment, I have decided to observe.........and plot.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<b>"Wut de ye want?"</b> he yapped.<br />
<br />
"I want you to leave my yard post-haste" I replied.<br />
<br />
<b>"Aye, I figured as mooch, boot me an me clan, dun wanna leeve jist yet, ye ken?"</b><br />
<br />
"Wait a sec, you're a chihuahua, aren't you supposed to be from Mexico?" I asked.<br />
<br />
<b>"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?"</b><br />
<br />
Letting that stand for a moment, I decided to learn more about his "clan".<br />
<b> </b><br />
<b>"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."</b><br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
"Well, since you're here, would you mind doing me a great service?" I asked.<br />
<br />
<b>"Suuure, if ye poot it dat way, I might be amenable." </b><br />
<br />
"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".<br />
<br />
<b>"Nae laddie, dis I kinna do. I'd be appy tae chase 'im around a bit, boot I willna keel him." <br /> </b><br />
"Why on earth not?" I asked.<br />
<b> </b><br />
<b>"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".</b><br />
<br />
"How could squirrel things <i>possibly<b> </b></i>be considered beneficial?!?"<br />
<br />
<b>"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."</b><br />
<br />
I found myself completely unable to refute his logic.<br />
<b> </b><br />
Angus was true to his word and for the next several days, Angus and Company generally made the squirrel's life hell.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I just wish I could figure out who they remind me of.....<br />
<i><b> </b></i><br />
<b> </b></div>
Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-41793845382865283932015-10-31T19:49:00.002-07:002015-10-31T19:49:36.335-07:00The Hunted House <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I was afraid that this Halloween is going to be somewhat uneventful.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
These rumors are simply not true. They are completely false and I take great offense.<br />
<br />
I revel in causing fear and chaos all year long.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
No, I fully intend to confirm their fears and if possible, reinforce them with bigger and better fears.<br />
<br />
It may even amuse me.........<br />
<br />
Now you may wonder how, if no one dares approach my door, can I possibly accomplish this?<br />
<br />
Simple.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Like a great jungle cat I lay in wait as the pimpled posse approaches...........<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
No, that won't do at all.<br />
<br />
Instead, I bide my time and wait.<br />
<br />
Patience always pays great dividends.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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!!!!!!"<br />
<br />
My driveway is approximately 50 meters long. The World Record thingy for the fastest 50 meter dash is 4.98 seconds.<br />
<br />
Tonight that record may have fallen.<br />
<br />
I believe that our reputation as the local THAAF is now secure forever more.<br />
<br />
Have a safe and happy Halloween! </div>
Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-49316576491124787402015-10-18T19:20:00.000-07:002015-10-18T19:20:34.337-07:00A Cutting Plan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Two leggers have a custom that I find extremely odd. Well, truth be told, I find <i>most </i>two legger customs odd. However, some are odder than others.<br />
<br />
The custom I speak of today occurs every year in late October.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Curious, last night I decided to research this custom.....<br />
<br />
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".<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I don't even need to borrow a knife. I have twenty knives literally at the tips of my paws.<br />
<br />
I also have two fresh pumpkins that the two leggers brought home last night...............<br />
<br />
As I began to carve, Ivan came wandering into the kitchen. "Watcha doin Boss?" he asked.<br />
<br />
"Making a Jack-O-Lantern" I replied.<br />
<br />
"I wanna make a jackolanter, Boss"<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
"<i><b> Really </b></i>scary?" he asked.<br />
<br />
"The scariest you can imagine."<br />
<br />
"Okay Boss".<br />
<br />
And so with Jaq serenading us from the dining room with "The Monster Mash", we commenced to carving.<b><i> </i></b> <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I then checked on Ivan........<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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...........<br />
<br />
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Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-873408156932928662015-10-06T20:37:00.001-07:002015-10-06T20:37:12.901-07:00Bad & Breakfast<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
To say that my two leggers are not "morning people" is understatement in the extreme.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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...........<br />
<br />
I am a cat. Cruel and unsportsmanlike behavior are kinda my thing.<br />
<br />
I'm not saying I take advantage of his diminished capacity<i> every</i> 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. <br />
<br />
This morning, it was VERY effective.<br />
<br />
I had been planning this nugget of naughtiness for weeks.<br />
<br />
Shortly before 7:45 this AM, we all took our places.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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!!!!".<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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...<br />
<br />
BEEP BEEP BEEP<br />
<br />
The male looked around for the offending sound......<br />
<br />
BEEP BEEP BEEP<br />
<br />
He turned and smacked the door of the fridge thing.......<br />
<br />
BEEP BEEP BEEP<br />
<br />
He turned, opened the door of the fridge thingy, closed it and returned to his vigil.<br />
<br />
BEEP BEEP BEEP<br />
<br />
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......<br />
<br />
BEEP BEEP BEEP<br />
<br />
In utter frustration, he reached behind the fridge thingy and yanked the power cord from the wall......<br />
<br />
BEEP BEEP BLOOPITY BLOOP<br />
<br />
This totally confused both of his functioning brain cells, so he grabbed his half-filled coffee mug and fled back to his bedroom.<br />
<br />
As he placed his coffee mug on the bathroom cabinet to cool while he shaved, he failed to notice me hiding behind the lamp.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
This is the one law I feel compelled to obey.<br />
<br />
It is often said that one shouldn't cry over spilled milk.<br />
<br />
Apparently this axiom does not apply to coffee. </div>
Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-68858500685870492512015-09-26T19:21:00.000-07:002015-09-26T19:21:52.350-07:00Asmackalypse Now<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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.<br />
<br />
Now for a little madness....<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
This post thingy applies to the latter.<br />
<br />
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!!!!!!!"<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
All of these predictions have one common denominator...............<br />
<br />
They were <i><b><u>all</u></b></i> wrong. (check it out folks, italics, I used bold type and underline for emphasis!)<br />
<br />
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!".<br />
<br />
In this instance (as in all instances) two leggers should learn to emulate their feline superiors.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
One should never stress about something that they have absolutely no control over.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
We cower at nothing!!!<br />
<br />
Okay, Ivan freaks out at SIUPs. (Socks In Unusual Places) But that's just Ivan.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Except Ivan.<br />
<br />
Ivan will still be worrying about that sock.</div>
Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-49194786080119927952015-09-01T21:20:00.000-07:002015-09-01T21:20:19.240-07:00Social Diseased<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have never been known to complain about anything.<br />
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However, on occasion, I have been known to rant.<br />
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This is just such an occasion.<br />
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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).<br />
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This all came to a screeching halt last Thursday.........<br />
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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.<br />
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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 <i>prove</i> 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.<br />
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So, I did............<br />
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The computer was still not satisfied and once again rejected my appeal.<br />
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Suddenly, it occurred to me.........The irony left me dumbstruck! For the last five days, I have been arguing with a <b><i>computer</i></b> over whether or not <b><i>I </i></b>was a real person! If I wasn't so annoyed, I might be amused and impressed by the chaos they have caused.<br />
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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.<br />
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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: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/cujocat1?ref=hl" target="_blank">Cujo Cat </a>. 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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At least that's what they'll think.............<br />
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Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1406405157801914259.post-32893762490055996872015-08-12T00:51:00.000-07:002015-08-12T00:51:26.298-07:00Biting Remarks<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The first rule of Bite Club is you don't talk about Bite Club.<br />
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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.<br />
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Anyone who has had the honor to subjugated by a feline can tell you that cats have two primary weapons systems.<br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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It has been my experience that individual cats each have their own preferences according to their temperament and body type.<br />
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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 <i>Tyrannosaurus Rex </i>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 <i>Mybutthatlooksyummyopathy </i>that causes him to consider any threat as a potential food source.<br />
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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.<br />
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The Paw is a wonderful implement during ambushes, knock knack destruction, boogitation and whiny gray tabby smackdowns. <br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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If at this point the bleeding two legger has not<i> gotten the point </i>(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. <i> </i><br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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I chomped her.<br />
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Squiggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067491037323581314noreply@blogger.com6