Unintelligent Falling Object

Two leggers never fail to amaze me.

Just when I think that they have reached the apex of the pyramid of folly, they build another level and continue their climb.

Their most recent attempt at summiting Mt. Duh came this weekend. The entire population of two leggers watched as one of their own climbed into a balloon thingy that was then released. This balloon thingy rose until it reached the approximate altitude of Jupiter at which point the two legger in question let go of the balloon thingy and.........get this............

Fell.

And fell.

And just when you thought it couldn't get any better........

He fell some more.

 Oh yeah, he pulled a string thingy which deployed a sheet that brought him gently to the ground. And the world gave a collective gasp and applauded him.

My male two legger jumped up and yelled "This guy is incredible!"

I disagree. He was not incredible. He was simply a law abiding citizen.

He was obeying the Law of Gravity.

Big fat hairy whoop.

I admit, if he'd suddenly sprouted wings and performed a rendition of Swan Lake at 86,000 feet while simultaneously playing Beethoven's Ninth Symphony on the accordion, I may have been somewhat less nonplussed, but he didn't, and I wasn't.

Once the balloon thingy was released, the bravest step of his stunt was over. From that moment on, his options were somewhat limited. He could either fall, or he could float around the stratosphere until he was shot down over an Arkansas trailer park by a guy with a high powered rifle fearing that another UFO was attempting to abduct his dog thingy again.

Was this done for the gain of scientific knowledge? If so, what did he learn? We already knew that if taken to a great altitude and then released......things fall. If taken even higher, they fall....faster. Cats on knock knack shelves have proven this time and time again. Two leggers have launched themselves higher and fallen further and faster. So we can rule out "science".

 The two legger in question has jumped from many high places and must have already reached the same conclusions.

Did he do it because no one had ever reached that altitude? No. Two leggers have been going higher and  faster for over 50 years. So we can rule out "exploration".

Did he do it for fun? Perhaps. Two leggers often put their lives in mortal peril for kicks. They jump off bridges with rubber bands wrapped around their legs, go over waterfalls in barrels and the bravest have even been known to bathe cats.

But, I have a theory.

I believe that this particular two legger is inflicted with a certain Ivanish logic. I'll explain:

Last Winter, I began noticing that the lights in my kingdom would suddenly flicker at odd times during the day. This flickering was often accompanied by a zzzzzzzzzzzzzztt sound and the odor of singed hair. This phenomenon remained a mystery until one day when I caught Ivan licking an electrical outlet thingy in the hallway.

After he regained consciousness, I asked Ivan "Why are you licking the electrical outlet thingy in the hallway? "

"Because all the ones in the bedroom taste the same." He replied.

"Why should you care how they taste?" I inquired.

"Ummm, because they might taste different."

I considered this and reached the conclusion that it was time for a nap.

This theoretically suicidal two legger seems to use the same philosophy in his hobby of testing gravity.

A couple of days after the two leggers caught Ivan licking the electrical outlet thingies, they installed little plastic guard thingies. This put an end to Ivan's "power naps".

 The fuses were becoming expensive.

Ivan's Hobby

Ivan needs a hobby.

Now that my subjugation of the two leggers is complete, his talents as an enforcer are being greatly under-utilized. Though he wakes every day at the crack of noon, bright-tailed and bushy-eyed, eager to chomp the insolent ankle or smack the sassy six legger. He often finds himself at loose ends with nothing to occupy his day.

Make no mistake, this idleness does not bother Ivan in the least. On the contrary, it allows him more time to devote to his other occupation, namely that of being a large, stinky orange rug that the two leggers often mistake for a large, stinky orange bathmat.

However, I find that Ivan is setting a new standard for lethargy. At times he is so relaxed that he would require five shots of espresso to rise to a level of consciousness where he'd be considered "comatose".

Granted, he is not completely insensate, within .692 seconds of the sound of the cupboard door opening, Ivan instantly appears next to his food bowl. As a matter of fact, two legger scientists who are trying to construct a teleportation device thingy have been studying Ivan in an attempt to discover how he is able to accomplish this.

He still participates in our nightly chaos causing escapades, but I sometimes get the feeling that his heart just isn't in it. He can still break a lamp or chew a pillow into submission with the best of them, but he seems to lack purpose.

He needs a hobby. A way to stimulate all three of his brain cell thingies.

So I promoted him.

Ivan is now the Official President of The North Whidbey Island Wild Elephant and Wild Giraffe Spotters Association (Oak Harbor Chapter). As President of the NWIWE&GSA it is Ivan's duty to spend at least 7.2 hours a day watching for any wild elephant or wild giraffe that may wander into my yard. Tame elephants and giraffes do not count. He is then to observe and report their behavior to me at once.

Those of you familiar with the Pacific Northwest may be aware of the fact that wild elephants and giraffes are exceedingly rare in these parts. They are so rare that the Washington Department of Unnatural Resources has declared them "endangered and ludicrous".

And so Ivan now has a hobby. He spends most daylight hours sitting in the bay window peering through his binocular thingies, (actually, he has no binocular thingies, but he thinks that if he cups his paws around his eyes and squints, it works just as well) keeping constant vigil.

So far he has yet to spot one. He got excited yesterday when he was sure he spotted a wild giraffe.

But alas, it was tame.

The High Life

Today I tackled my Mt. Everest

Anyone who has ever been subjugated by cats is well aware that we will always seek the highest vantage point within our kingdom. There are many theories explaining why we do this. Some believe that we feel less vulnerable, in effect "taking the high ground". Some assert that it enables us a better view of our kingdom. Many are convinced that it is a physical manifestation of our natural tendency to philosophically look down our noses at all creatures we feel are inferior to us.

Basically, everyone.

All of these theories are completely inaccurately accurate.

They are so totally wrong that they verge on being right.

Wrap your head thingy around that one. I dare you.

While it is true that I prefer the higher altitudes within my kingdom for napping, observing and bushwacking unsuspecting gray, whiny, large-faced girl tabbies, that is not the whole story.

Two years ago, at my request, my two leggers completely gutted the back half of my house. They doubled the size of their sleeping quarters as well as the bathroom where they keep their porcelain litter box. At my direction they installed heated floors suitable for napping and all new wooden cabinets suitable for the sharpening of my claws. They generally frown upon my marring the wood, but as always, their opinion matters not. They also installed a new vanity. Next to the vanity, they built a tall cabinet to hold their bottles of stinkum, medicines, grooming implements, (why they don't use their tongues for grooming is beyond me and I will probably address this in another post) and various other arcane objects.

Now we come to the point of this post thingy.

The cabinet which I just described presents a unique challenge. The cabinet rises approximately four tailspans from the surface of the vanity. Between the top of the cabinet and the ceiling is a space that measures .75 tailspans.

Now we come to the point of this post thingy. I must reach this space.

I have spent the last two years studying it. Every night while the female two legger takes her nightly bath, I sit upon the vanity and ponder this space. It is not the height that concerns me, four tailspans is nothing compared to some of the jumps I have made. The Great Refrigerator Leap of August 2011 was at least six tailspans. It is not the small landing area that gives me pause, Last December I stuck a landing on the shower rod from the cabinet. (This jump caused the bathing two legger to have a mild cardiac event.) It is the awkwardness of the transitory area between the top of the cabinet and the ceiling which is causing me trepidation.

     The vanity and sink negate the possibility of a running start. Therefore I must begin this feat standing at the base of the cabinet, jump vertically four tailspans, judging my altitude and momentum perfectly and moving horizontally .278 tailspans, clearing the crown molding at the apex, and stick the landing.

I have worked this out mathematically:

.429(4ts-39%)+(ó*325y)[429837-9x]=(SUCCESS)

Unless there is a stray crosswind over the shower curtain and then my calculation would have to be altered to:

2+2-7=(SUCCESS)

After much pondering, it is time to make the attempt.

Like any good leader, I decided to ask my "team" for any advice they may offer before I take my life into my own paws.

Ivan asked me to look for noms while I was up there.

Tiger Lily claimed dibs on my catnip mousie thingy after I fall to my death. (I'll smack her later)

I found Jaq sitting inside the box that the new satellite receiver arrived in, softly singing the soundtrack from the Broadway musical "Rent" and decided not to bother her.

The time had come. The female two legger was bathing. The male was sitting on the bench next to the tub thingy talking to her. I assumed my usual position next to the cabinet, gazing at my goal. All the conditions were right. Two years of planning had boiled down to this moment. My muscle thingies tightened......... my tail adjusted just so........ a quick check of the wind....and to the accompaniment of my two leggers screaming "CUJO NOOOO!!!" I leapt.

Finding myself atop the cabinet, completely unscathed, I surveyed my new perch. Other than a single small dust bunny whose growth had been obviously stunted by the thinner air at this extreme altitude, the space was completely empty. Though the view was magnificent, the two leggers looked like.....well I can't honestly say ants, they certainly looked shorter from such a lofty height, I quickly realized that the opportunities for amusement were somewhat meager. Though my forepaws are longer than most, they are not long enough to lay a smack upon any minions from up there. (Unless the male two legger is standing while using his litter box) The best I could hope to do was glare at the two leggers from on high when they go to use the porcelain litter box.

I can do that just as easily from the vanity.

Do not misunderstand me, I consider my day and all the planning that went into it to be an unqualified triumph. Not only did I claim the last undiscovered territory within my kingdom, I showed my minions what I am capable of.

Plus, now the male two legger will never be totally at ease on the porcelain litter box knowing that I may be lurking just above his head.  

Curiosity Killed The Two Legger

My male two legger watches many programs on the talking box thingy. The topics of these programs vary widely: sports, history, drama, comedy, bad science fiction and even a little Disney Channel when he thinks no one is looking.

But the one topic he seems to gravitate to (pardon the pun thingy) is science.

Mostly I am indifferent to his choices, but last night he watched a couple of programs that peaked my interest.

The first program was about "Schrodinger's Cat". According to some egg-headed two legger named Schrodinger, if you place a cat in a box and seal it up, the cat could be considered both "dead" and "alive" at the same time due to the fact that the two legger conducting the experiment would be unable to observe the state of the cat.

Stupid.

No, I take that back, what I meant to say was: "STOOOOOOPPPPIIIDDD!!!" (with a tail twitch at the end)

First of all, it has been proven beyond reasonable doubt that no two legger ever born is capable of forcibly placing the smallest kitten or even most geriatric cat inside a box.

However, for argument's sake, let us suppose that Schrodinger realized this before beginning his experiment and instead placed a box in the middle of a room and then told his resident feline that under no circumstances were they to be allowed inside the box. This of course would result in the aforementioned resident feline immediately jumping into the box.

Okay, now we have a cat in a box.

Now the cat must be sealed inside the box. This would take at least six lab assistants as well as a syringe of industrial strength tranquilizer stuffs. After Schrodinger sleeps off the tranquilizer stuffs that was inadvertently injected into his own thigh during the melee, Schrodinger is now free to observe the theoretical cat in a box.

What Schrodinger would observe at this point is a box that has suddenly become animated. It is bouncing across the floor while emitting a great squawling and hissing sound that would make any squirrel thingy within a five mile radius drop dead in fright. Within two minutes, a claw would appear along one of the seams of the box, quickly followed by a ripping sound that would herald the "releasing of the beast".

This would not end well for Schrodinger.

So what has Schrodinger learned?

While one may not be able to determine whether a cat sealed inside a box is alive or dead, one can safely assume that it is highly miffed.

The next show the two legger watched was about a Russian two legged scientist named Pavlov.

Pavlov figured out that if he rang a bell every time he fed his dog thingy, the dog thingy would begin to associate the ringing of the bell with being fed. He "proved" his theory by ringing the bell and observing that his dog salivated.

Apparently, Russian science had yet to discover one basic fact.

DOGS DROOL!

It is what they do. It is the one thing that they excel at. Pavlov's dog didn't drool because he heard a bell ringing, he drooled because he's a dog. Pavlov could have just as easily played a minuet on the bongos and the dog would have still drooled.

However, this particular show had a happy ending.

Pavlov was later eaten by a polar bear while attempting to ring a bell at it. It seems that bells make polar bears hungry too.

Knowledge In The Air

I receive around 30-40 email thingies per day from minions requesting my advice, knowledge or help in dealing with unruly minions. Most of these I answer privately, but on occasion I feel compelled to post my answer in my blog thingy.

Sometimes I do this because I believe my answer will serve the greater good. Sometimes I do this because it may cause embarrassment to the two leggers of the writer. Mostly, I do this because it amuses me.

What follows is one such piece of correspondence.

"Dearest Cujo, High Poobah of All Universes, (both known and unknown) Grand Pawed Potentate, Sheik of Shredding, Master of Mayhem and Crown Prince of Chaos,
    You have often described how felines communicate through the use of body language, vocalizations and liberal use of hairball thingies. However, I once read on the interwebs that some animals are able to communicate through their sense of smell. Do cats use this form of non-verbal communication as well?
    Thank you in advance for any words of wisdom you may choose to impart upon my lowly brain thingy.
                          Sincerely, your loyal minion,
                                                 Ching Pao O'Rielly-Martinez"

Dear Ching Pao O'Rielly-Martinez,
       First of all, your name is too long, so I will call you "Barb".
Barb, you bring up a very good question. As a matter of fact, a large part of inter-cat communication is indeed accomplished by use of olfactory processes. Our nose thingies are acutely tuned to pick up and interpret various scents emitted and spread by other felines.

These scents are called hairymones. Very subtle differences in the chemical make-up of the hairymones can convey different messages and are known by several different names according to the message they are intended to convey. Here are just a few:

If a cat wishes to communicate his displeasure, he will emit scare-amones. This is intended as a warning to others to bother him at their peril.

The annoying party is then expected to produce fear-amones and skedaddle immediately.

If he suspects that his scare-amones are being ignored, he may begin to give off don't-you-dare-amones.

If this warning fails to get your attention, the smell of your blood will be infused with the scent of tear-amones.

As the source of his annoyance lays there bleeding, he will saunter off reeking of I-don't-care-amones.

There are far too many hairy-mones to list here. From the common, everyday "how do ya do?" scents to the much more complex and scarcely known rare-amones.

However, there is one scent that those who love in close proximity to Ivan are all too familiar with. It is triggered by the sound of Ivan scritching in the litter box. It is commonly known as: Don't-breathe-the-air-amones.

Rated Arrrrrggg

I have been informed that today is International Talk Like A Pirate Day.

Never one to buck convention, I will therefore continue this post in a pirate themed manner.

Avast ye lubbers! Harken yer ear thingies and listen to me tale!

Today me mateys and me set sail upon a sea of chaos.

It began at four bells in the forenoon watch. Ivan (pirate name: Tabby McOrangebutt) awoke with a squall a-blowin from his stern and set a course for the litter box, but before he could beach himself upon the grainy shore, I crossed his bows, gave him a broadside, and distracted him from burying his bonny treasure. This set his hawse athwart and put him in a mood to pillage. He altered his course to starboard and set sail down the hallway.

With a prodigious following wind, he swept down the hallway where he encountered the HMS Whinetanic. Captained (sat upon) by Tiger Lily, (pirate name: Gray Squall) the HMS Whinetanic is actually a pillow thingy that was set adrift by the male two legger last night. Ivan immediately boarded her and after some paw-to-paw combat, forced her to strike her colors.

Like a corsair let loose amongst a Spanish treasure fleet, Ivan continued his marauding.

As the sun crossed the mizzen, Ivan came afoul of Jaq. (pirate name: Jack) The Scourge of The Hallway found himself facing a formidable foe. Though Jack be of smaller tonnage, her armament is not lacking in the least. Her speed and maneuverability allow her to sail circles around the larger, slower lubberly Ivan. Refusing the engagement, Jack set her sails aloft and alow and found refuge in waters unknown to Ivan. (under the bed in the guest bedroom, where she immediately began singing various sea shanties)

It was at this point that I felt it was high time for Commodore Cujo (pirate name:....duh, Blackbeard) to step in and bring him to a lee lurch.

I approached him under a flag of truce and requested a parley.

As soon as his defenses were down........I smacked him upside his buckin ears.

Veterinarian Affairs

As I mentioned in my FaceBook Fan Club, I went to see the vet thingy yesterday.

It was not my intention to write a post about it, but in retrospect, it was simply too amusing not to blog about.

For those Fan Club minions who are already aware of this, please consider it a review.

For those Fan Club members who are not aware of this, your inattention miffs me.

Anyway, I became aware that the two leggers were plotting behind my back when I received a post card from the vet thingy on Thursday. It was a picture of the vet thingy and his entire staff dressed in hockey pads, motorcycle helmets and welding gloves. They were also armed with tranquilizer darts and what appeared to be one of those "tazer" thingies. The card read: "We THINK we are ready for Cujo's appointment."

I found this somewhat surprising given the fact that I had never actually met this particular vet thingy, nor had I ever been a patient at his clinic. The mystery was soon solved when I overheard the two leggers talking about my former vet thingy referring me to this new clinic after my last visit.

Apparently my former vet thingy closed her practice after my last visit and chose to go back to the U.S. Army where she felt that her life would be safer and less chaotic serving in Afghanistan. However, before deploying, she felt it her duty to "advise" her successor on the best way to deal with small, unassuming tuxedo cats.

It was a slow day and I was curious, so I allowed myself to be placed in the kitty carrier and driven to my appointment. Ivan was worried, but I assured him that vet thingies do not intimidate me. Quite the opposite, I intimidate them. "Fear not my rotund, odiferous friend, I shall return and I assure you, I will never don the plastic funnel of recovery." I told him.

I arrived at the clinic and was immediately escorted into a private room. I felt that it was a bit excessive that they asked my two legger to bring me in through the back door, bypassing the waiting room completely, and quite frankly the SWAT team attempting to conceal themselves in the potted plants was just ludicrous, but if it made them feel better, who was I to question?

I quickly decided that a more subtle plan of attack was called for. They were obviously well prepared and a full frontal assault would only lead to massive bloodshed....

Again.

As my two legger carried me into the exam room, a voice came over a loudspeaker and said: "Put the carrier on the table, unzip the top and step away slowly."

My two legger did as he was told.

I instantly jumped out and proceeded to clean myself. This apparently startled one of the staff as evidenced by the tranquilizer dart that passed over my head and lodged in the wall behind me. I ignored the dart and continued my grooming. Finally, after fifteen minutes, I curled up on the table and pretended to nap. Another five minutes passes and I heard someone stealthily entering the room. Still "playing possum", I allowed the vet thingy to reach out and tentatively touch me.

I acted startled and stood up.

After spending 30 minutes under the exam table, I was able to coax the vet thingy out long enough to continue his examination.

I continued to play the part of "sweet wittle putty tat". (though it sickened me greatly) My strategy relied on convincing him that the rumors of my dangerous disposition were totally unfounded. Unfortunately, I may not have been as successful as I wished. I fear that he may have seen through my little charade.

As my two legger paid for my visit, I overheard the vet thingy referring him to another, ANY other, vet thingy.