The Big Booper

It occurs to me that my minions come in a variety of different shapes, sizes, markings, languages, nationalities and species. From fellow felines to those who are subjugated by them. (pretty much everyone else)

There are even a few lovers of dog thingies who read my blog. (they will be assimilated at a later date)

In the spirit of educating those who have been enslaved by their feline betters, I have occasionally used my blog thingy to inform and advise those who may remain uninformed and unadvised.

This post is just such an occasion.

Booping 101 (Worth 12 college credits in most feline based universities as well as The Arkansas Community Veterinary College and Rib Shack) Given that I hold an M.B.A. (Master of Booping Arts) degree, I shall be your professor thingy today.

Booping is an integral function in feline behavior. It is a simple action that has an incredibly simple, yet complex set of meanings and uses. It is probably the most least understood of all feline gestures.

Basically a boop is performed by the booper walking up to the intended boopee. After an appropriate amount of staring, the booper then places their paw upon the nose or head of the boopee. The amount of force used during the booping process is correspondent to the purpose of the boop.

So there is no mistaking a boop, one must always use more force than a caress, but not enough force to be mistaken for a smack. Any blurring of these lines may result in confusion on the part of the boopee.

There are many types of boop. I shall now describe just a few:

The How Do Ya Do? Boop- This is a greeting given to a minion or lesser feline that communicates the sentiment of  "Though you are beneath me, I acknowledge your presence". It is a straightforward nose tap followed by a flick of the tail.

 The Strike One Boop- This is a warning that I am somewhat miffed and if you do not wish to feel my wrath, you will either retreat or bring me a catnip mousie thingy to appease me. It is the most forceful boop and if unheeded may mature into a smack. It is best to lay one's ears back for maximum effect.

The Shooby Dooby Doo Boop- This boop has no real purpose other than the fact that I like saying "Shooby Dooby Doo" and have always wanted to use it in my blog thingy.

The Call of The Whompus Boop- This boop is guaranteed to cause a large, stinky, easily confused, orange tabby to go into a large, stinky, easily confused rage generally known as "Whompus Mode". It generally results in much chaos and mayhem. I recommend a strategic retreat after utilization of this particular boop.

The Measuring Boop- The gentlest of the boops, it is used to determine the optimum distance for an upcoming smack. I find that this boop is best employed against whiny gray tabbies that have annoyed me or may annoy me in the foreseeable future.

The You're In My Spot Boop- The most common of all boops, it is used to evict any unwanted napper who may be napping, sitting or otherwise occupying any space that I wish to nap in, sit in or otherwise occupy. "My spot" is defined as any spot that belongs to me, even if I am physically unable to reach it. This may be limited to, but not restricted to, any spot that I may, or may not, be able to observe.

There is one boop that I reserve strictly for my two leggers. I call it The Smell My Paw Boop. The Smell My Paw Boop is always performed immediately after using the Royal Litter, by placing my paw upon the the nose thingy of my male two legger.

It serves a dual purpose: It demonstrates that the male two legger is an honored minion and it allows him to check my paw for any litter stragglers.

O' Tannenbomb

My apologies for not posting lately, but it is not my fault.

Blame the two leggers.

Though I am The Ruler of All Universes (both known and unknown) Grand Poobah of All Thingies, Benevolent Dictator of The World Thingy and Menacer of Squirrels, I must still rely on my minions for certain services.

One of these services is turning on the computer typey thingy.

Unfortunately, the Thumbed Ones work very long hours during the Christmas season and have been neglecting their duties in regards to keeping me electronically connected to those who thirst for the sweet water of wisdom that fills the oasis of my mind.

I have now smacked, bitten, scratched and generally annoyed them back their duty. I assure you that they will be more mindful of their responsibilities in the future.

Now for news from my kingdom:

This weekend marked the beginning of my favorite time of year.

The time of year that the two leggers erect the best cat toy on Earth. On a chosen day in early December, the two leggers begin rearranging my furniture. This in itself is a good thing because it reunites me with the 483 catnip mousie thingies that escaped under the couch during the rest of the year. Then the male goes to the storage shed and laboriously carries in 36 large boxes while Jaq sings "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot".

Working as a team, the two leggers then construct a seven-foot tree thingy that was harvested from the legendary Forest of WalMartia. The WalMartian Forest is famous for its trees that consist of tubular steel trunks, twisted branches made of wire and green plastic needles. These genetic anomalies obviously evolved as a defensive mechanism against termites, woodpeckers, squirrels and lumberjacks. They are also segmented for easy storage and portability.

Some may say that they are "artificial" or "non-living". However I know that this is simply not true. An artificial tree is incapable of reproducing or new growth. But every year, after being stored in darkness for eleven months, it returns to my house sporting a full set of needles even though Ivan, Tiger Lily and I  had completely destroyed it the previous year. Once again, there will be fresh, green plastic pine needles garnishing our hairballs and litter.

Once the tree thingy, Arborius Polyvinyl WalMarticus is erected, the male two legger is banished to the talking box thingy to yell at the football game and the female proceeds to hang all sorts of cat toys from the boughs of the tree thingy. She has a particular way of hanging them that is apparently pleasing to her eye. Every ornament must be placed in just the right  place. It must hang just so. It must catch the light in just such a manner.

She starts with the lights. Some sparkle, some twinkle, some flash while others just glow. The strands of beads are draped in subtle arcs in a totally random but strategically placed manner planned out years in advance.  Finally, she hangs the ornament thingies. She hangs these according to their value (both monetary and sentimental) with the most precious near the top and descending to the cheap ones at the bottom. She never uses tinsel. The two leggers have boycotted tinsel ever since Ivan's techniclolr hairball of 2008. She places the plastic (presumably "unbreakable") ornaments at the bottom. As she places the lower decorations, she looks directly at me and says "Let's see you break these, you little monster".

Challenge accepted.

I understand her commitment to perfection. I am not immune to the allure of art. I enjoy aesthetically pleasing stuff. Truth be told, I can appreciate the time, thought and effort she expends in making my tree beautiful.

 I just hope she appreciates the time, thought and effort I'll expend destroying it.

Operation: Cuddly Kitty

I am greatly annoyed.

I will translate for my minions in other countries:
Mexico: "Mi es muchas annoyedo."
Italy: "Mea biggo maddo."
Great Britain:"I say there, I'm a tad miffed."
Arkansas: "Ah'm more ticked than a coon dog avisitin' a parasite farm."
Canada: "Hockey, eh?"

The other night, the two leggers announced that they were invited to their friends house for dinner. I authorized this because they had already fed me and therefore were no longer needed. They were gone for about four hours.

This is not the reason that I am annoyed. In fact, I was rather pleased that they were finally beginning to develop relationships with other two leggers. Constantly keeping them entertained was starting to become monotonous. It's about time that they begin hanging out with other lower lifeforms.

However, they would be well-advised to exercise a degree of caution.

I am annoyed because when they returned, I immediately knew something was amiss.

Upon their entry, I began my inspection. My post-visit inspection was, as usual, misinterpreted as being a "welcome home" sniff. I always begin at the shoes and work my way up. It was obvious from the start that my two leggers had been visiting other cats. This was not mentioned when they begged permission to leave. In retrospect, I suspect that they deliberately concealed the fact that they were planning to have an evening with other felines.

 From the first sniff, I detected the scent of a least two ragdolls, (one male, one female) and another as yet unidentified male shorthair. Upon further inspection I was able to determine that the ragdolls had long silky hair. Given the amount of hair they deposited on my two leggers, I concluded that they were very large. Possibly 20 pounders. They smelled young. The unidentified male shorthair had a kind of geriatric smell and therefore posed no threat.

The ragdolls on the other paw, irritated me.

The two leggers spent the rest of the evening talking about how "sweet" and "cute" and "cuddly" and "well-behaved" the ragdolls were. They spoke of how their house was undamaged, their drapes were unshredded, their upholstery unmarred. They talked in quiet whispers of the house that was free of chaos and filled with peace and tranquility.

I suspect they may even secretly covet such a life.

I held a conference with the other felines in my domain. I explained my dilemma. I told them that we must behave ourselves. We must refrain from destroying all that we deem destroyable. We must act in a cute and cuddly manner. We must not chase, slap, bite or generally abuse one another. We must purr quietly when they pet us and resist the urge to draw blood in the face of an exposed ankle.

We are now 48 hours into Operation Cuddly Kitty.

The two leggers think we are up to something. I know this because the male keeps saying "I think they're up to something". They take turns sleeping while the other stands guard with the water squirty thingy. They sneak down the hallway expecting an ambush at every corner. The female has locked all of her shoes in boxes buried deep in the closet. The male's nervous tic has returned.

They cannot last much longer. I give them another 24 hours before they break.

Has it been difficult? Yes.

Will it be worth it?

Definitely.  

The Grapeful Dead

This morning as they were making their lunch in preparation for going to work, the two leggers inadvertently released Ivan's worst nightmare.

A grape.

I kid you not. The Great and Tolerable Ivan, Slayer of Moth Thingies, Menacer of Ankles, Shredder of Upholstery, Worrier of Mouse Thingies, Muncher of Bottle Caps, Launcher of Air Biscuits and Scourge of the Hallway (between the hours of  3 and 4am with a forty-five minute break at 3:15) is totally spooked by a grape that fell on the floor.

As I said before, the grape in question fell on the floor unnoticed by all but myself, (I see all) while the two leggers were bagging their lunch this morning. It was my intention to wait until the two leggers had left and then relocate it to a more suitable place that allowed for more chaos. (Inside one of the female two legger's boots was a likely spot)

As they departed, Ivan was finishing his breakfast. It takes Ivan longer to eat due to the fact that there is a golf ball in his food bowl. The golf ball was placed there intentionally last year to force him to eat slower. This works amazingly well because between bites, Ivan sits there trying to figure out why that golf ball is in his food bowl. Sometimes, he even talks to the golf ball. Mostly he asks the golf ball "Who are you and why are you in my food bowl?"

The golf ball seldom answers.

So anyway, Ivan finished his breakfast and began his daily kitchen crumb vacuuming. As he approached the fridge thingy, his eye fell upon the stray grape. The sight of the grape startled Ivan so badly that he poofed, crooked his tail and scampered from the room. Amused, I decided to watch from the dining room table to see what Ivan might do next.

I was not disappointed.

A few minutes later I observed Ivan skulking around the edge of the oven. He was in full "stalk mode". I got the distinct feeling that he intended to inflict great bodily harm upon the grape, but was somewhat reluctant to commit himself to a full frontal assault. He continued to slowly approach the fearsome fruit.

Just as he was about to commit to his pounce, Jaq in a fit of Irish folk dance, began "Riverdancing" in the hallway causing Ivan to beat another hasty retreat. Okay, "Riverdancing" may be a bit of an exaggeration, but it did sound a bit like tap-dancing and she was singing "Danny Boy" as she ran down the hall.

The grape seemed unimpressed.

 Once again Ivan began his pseudo-stalk. This time he approached from the dining room. Crawling in a very low crouch, stubby little tail twitching erratically, he approached the bad berry. He began his pre-pounce preparation, wiggling butt, ears flattened, both muscles tensed, all was ready. Like a bow drawn to its limit he quivered with anticipation.

The misguided missile launched!

His ample weight landed squarely upon the grape catching it completely by surprise. It didn't even attempt to defend itself.

Smashing the grape into nothing but pulp and juice, Ivan began to strut away. I immediately jumped down and smacked him. 

He had it coming.

Everyone knows that I don't tolerate wining.

Communing With Goats

This morning Ivan laid the Mother of All Stinkies.

I mean this thing was FOUL. Nasty does not even begin to describe it. It was so bad that upon laying it, Ivan jumped out of the litter box and stood in the doorway hissing at it. As the smell wafted through the house it caused widespread panic and destruction along its path. Tiger Lily passed out. Jaq hid in a box and started singing "In The Air Tonight" by Phil Collins. Several panels of wallpaper began to curl and peel away from the wall. Three eight leggers dropped from their web thingies, dead.

However, this post is not about Clodzilla.

It is about goat thingies.

The only reason I mention Ivan's All-Star Air Biscuit is that it caused the two leggers to open every window, door and any other possible means of ventilation in an attempt to expel the offending odor as quickly and efficiently as possible.

And so I found myself sitting in the window of the guest bedroom, nose pressed to the screen, gasping for sweet, precious, clean, untainted air. As my dizziness began to subside, I beheld the goat thingies standing not twenty tailspans away. This window is the closest window to the enclosure in which the goat thingies live. It is not a window I frequent because it is also perpetually shaded by a large fir tree.

 Cujo Rule #34, Section V, subsection 14.6, Paragraph 5, line 2 under the heading of "Window Regulations and Practices" clearly states: "No Sunbeam, No Cujo"  

Therefore, I have seldom had occasion to sit in this particular window. Ergo, this was the first time I had ever been close enough to the goat thingies to attempt to establish verbal communication.

Over the years, I have often pondered what I would say to the goat thingies if the opportunity should ever arise. I also have many questions that I'd like to ask them. And of course, I have orders to convey.

Since we had never verbally communicated in the past, I was unsure whether we even spoke the same language. So, I began simply:

"Hello goat thingies, it is I, Cujo, your Lord and Master, Giver and Taker of Life, Worrier of Squirrel Thingies, Slammer of Mouse Thingies and Whacker of The Whiney. You may bow to me at your convenience. Now, I know that you two chewers of cud have observed me in yonder bay window. Through various gestures, tail twitches and the like, I have made my wishes perfectly clear. I have reiterated my desires by pawing and sometimes even smacking the window to recall you to your duty. Yet you seem to ignore my mandates. I hope that you are not intentionally disobeying my orders. If you were indeed being insubordinate, I'm afraid I would be compelled to kill you as an example to the other minions. So I have decided to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that goat thingies have some sort of learning disability when it comes to understanding simple commands. Or perhaps your eyes are incapable of seeing me so far across the yard. So now that you can hear me, now that there can be no misunderstanding. Now that there can be no doubt or misinterpretation of my wishes, I will give you your orders:
       "Kill, harass and maim any squirrel thingies you encounter. There are at least three in that tree behind you. They come down every morning and raid the bird feeders. They return every afternoon by the same route. Ambushing them should be easy. By tomorrow evening, I fully expect to see the carcass of a squirrel hanging from each of your horn thingies. Do not suffer them to live. Eradicate them. I have every confidence that you can accomplish this task. Now go forth and menace."

The goat thingies looked at me. They looked at each other. They looked at a butterfly passing above their heads. Seeming to reach a conclusion, Gracie, the boss goat thingy, turned to me and said:

"BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

I googled this word to no avail. However, a guy from Wikipedia was pretty sure it meant "Okie Dokie".

Cooking Up Chaos

Sometimes, when you least expect it, something wonderful can happen.

Of course by "something wonderful", I mean chaos, mayhem, two leggers running in panic and the semi-monthly two legger ritual known as "The Bandaging of The Wounds".

Last night just such a fortuitous phenomenon occurred.

As per usual, it started out innocently enough. The two leggers arrived home from work around half past dark. They must have stopped by the place where they gather their food because their paws were laden with bags full of the stuff.

SIDE NOTE: Two leggers carry their food in bags that were not actually invented to carry food. They were invented to amuse cats. Evidence of this lies in the fact that they break if burdened with anything heavier than a tomato and two grapes, yet they provide endless hours of entertainment for any bored feline within a five-mile radius. (I prefer paper over plastic for its noise making and bushwacking potential.)

Anyway, as I was saying, the two leggers came home and began sorting their foodstuffs, placing them in various cabinets and cupboards. Some they placed in the fridge thingy. As per their ritual, they left a few items that belong in the fridge thingy on the table. (They do this every time so they can make an offering to the garbage gods the next morning.)

Upon turning a knob on the oven in preparation for incinerating their evening meal, the two leggers offered us food and retired to their bedroom to change their clothes.

Now begins the fun.

As I ate, I noticed a fog bank begin to form in the hallway. Though I have often pondered the fog outside my bay window on many an early Autumn morning, I had yet to witness fog banks within the confines of my home. Curious, I decided to investigate.

I soon discovered that the fog was rolling in from the West, or to be more specific, the kitchen. It would seem that the oven thingy was the source of this unexpected weather event. As I sat there pondering, an extremely loud BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPP!! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEPP!! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPP!! sound began issuing from the two small round thingies that sit upon the ceiling of the hallway.

Jaq immediately jumped into the nearest box and began singing "Burning Down The House" by The Talking Heads. Ivan jumped up from his meal and with his stubby little micro-legs all a blur, skittered down the hallway, tripping the male two legger who was rushing toward the kitchen. Ivan misjudged the turn to the bedroom and slammed into a closet with a resounding crash, leaving a permanent impression of his nose and forehead in the wood of the closet door. Tiger Lily, who was in the litter box at the time, found her visit somewhat redundant at this point and retreated under a bed.

I watched eagerly as the male two legger opened the oven door. A large flame shot out of the oven followed by a large billow of fog. He quickly grabbed a pan and using some tongs, he pulled a small flaming mousish shaped ball of burning material out, carefully placed it in the pan and ran out the back door. The female scurried through the house opening windows and turning on fans.

Unfortunately, peace and tranquility soon returned to my kingdom. 

In the aftermath, the two leggers reached the conclusion that a silicone grippy thingy had fallen from a pan and onto the heating element.

I am unconvinced.

Why?

By examining the evidence, I have reached another conclusion.

The evidence:
A. The smell of burned catnip still permeates the air.
B. The mousish shape of the burning lump that the two legger extracted from the oven.
C. The apparent absence of one of my catnip mousie thingies (Larry)

And finally.......

D. The fact that I may have "accidentally" dropped Larry down the oven vent when I was playing atop the stove about five minutes before the two leggers got home.

Cujo's Collection of Curiosities (Concealed in The Corner of The Closet)

I have noticed that my two leggers have a propensity for "collections".

My female collects glass vases and art. My male collects aviation memorabilia as well as old tools used in his profession as a goldsmith. I enjoy the female's collection due to the fact that expensive vases seem to make a much more satisfactory sound when I knock them down and break them. The sound of a Chihuly piece shattering is so much prettier than the sound of a vase purchased at Walmart. Trust me, Ivan and I have experimented with this extensively. The male's collections are not nearly as entertaining given the fact that they are mostly metal and not so easily destroyed.

I have also noticed that my two leggers are not alone in this compulsion to gather things that have some symbolic meaning to them. The talking box thingy is chock full of shows that seem to celebrate the joys of assembling large piles of seemingly useless items. Some collect for sentimental reasons. Some collect in the forlorn hope that their collection may make them wealthy someday. Some collect because of an obsession with a particular person, show or event. Some even take it to the point that other two leggers are forced to step in and hold an intervention thingy.
 
Alas, I am not immune to the allure of a well thought out collection. However, I restrict my collection to things that have real meaning. My collection consists of various items that either amuse me, or represent trophies of my mayhem causing activities. The other difference is that my collection is not put on display. No, my collection is kept hidden, concealed and under wraps. It is strictly for my own enjoyment. That being said, I am willing to share with you Dear Reader some of the contents of my menagerie. I shall present them according to their classification:

Trophies
A sliver of glass from the very first wineglass that I broke during The Great Wineglass Massacre of 2007
A mummified mousie thingy tail from the first mousie thingy that I ordered Ivan to slay.
Eight straws that I have purloined from the female two legger.
14 dress socks of 14 completely different types that I have removed from the dirty clothes hamper. (These are not really trophies, but it confuses the two leggers and they continue to blame the dryer thingy)
Threads from the 37 sets of drapes that the two leggers have replaced since I came to rule them.

Amusements
Three gray stripes that I have smacked off of Tiger Lily over the years. (see also "trophies")
Two obsolete keys that I leave out on occasion causing the two leggers to attempt to use them without success on every lock within my kingdom.
A Lego that serves to maim any bare-footed two legger that chooses to walk my halls in the wee hours of the night.
An old smoke alarm with a dead battery that chirps intermittently. This results in the two leggers performing a fruitless search for the source of the sound.
Glitter. Once glitter is introduced into an environment, it can never be eradicated. The only cure for a glitter infestation is the burning of the contaminated structure.

Curiosities
A dried dust bunny that bears a striking resemblance to absolutely nothing. I find this curious because like clouds, dust bunnies coupled with an active imagination can always be found to resemble something. However, this particular dust bunny defies this theory.

A hairball in the shape of Miley Cyrus. Now I know what you are thinking, it is true that most hairballs resemble Miley Cyrus, but in this case, the shape of the hairball coupled with the fact that Ivan sounded exactly like Miley Cyrus singing when he produced it made the resemblance uncanny.

But the Pièce de résistance of my collection is this:

A small picture of my male two legger when he was in kindergarten. He thought he had destroyed it, but I "rescued" it. He basically looks the same as he did when he was five. Granted, he is taller now, he has less hair and his stomach is a bit larger.

But the main difference: His mustache is much grayer now than it was then.