The Clawedfather

Most of you are aware that my male two legger enjoys nothing more than watching really poorly made science fiction movies. I have mocked him at length on FaceBook and in my fan club.

What you may not be aware of, is that he is also a huge fan of "The Godfather Saga". Unlike bad science fiction, he does not watch "The Godfather" movies to mock them, he watches them because he believes them to be perhaps the best examples of American cinema ever produced.

Once or twice a year, something snaps in his head thingy and he decides that it is time for "Godfather Weekend".

A "Godfather Weekend" involves the female cooking up a large pot of spaghetti, the consumption of several bottles of red wine, watching all three "Godfather" movies back-to-back, and the male incessantly speaking in what he believes is an authentic Sicilian accent, but actually sounds more like a drunken Irish sailor who is trying to speak German after watching a French movie that is subtitled in Japanese.

During previous Godfather weekends, I have taken the opportunity to catch up on some sleep and left orders with Ivan to wake me when it was over.

However this time I decided in the spirit of intellectual curiosity, that I would watch these movies and perhaps discover the reason for the male's fascination with them.

Well, perhaps "intellectual curiosity" is too strong a term. Actually, it was really just a cold weekend and the firebox thingy was blazing in the same room that the two leggers were watching the movies. So I decided to observe.

I must admit that I am impressed.

The story revolves around a family of two leggers that build a criminal empire by using extortion, coercion, larceny, smuggling, assault, murder and many other illegal activities. Not only that, they convince other minion types to perform these illegal acts for them, thereby keeping their paws clean and not open to prosecution.

I respect that.

In fact, I respect it so much, I have decided to restructure my Kingdom to emulate Don Corleone's example.

From now on, I will be known as Don Cujo Felini.

Today, I sent my consigliere, Ivan the Chomp, to make the two leggers an offer they can't refuse. He told them, and I quote: "The Boss wants tuna tonight. You don't give him tuna, and mebbe your lamp don't feel so good in the morning. Capiche?" He also hacked up a hairball in the female's boot just to let them know that I'm serious.

Don Vito has taught me much. He says at one point: "Keep your friends close, your enemies even closer." Taking his advice to heart, I sent Jaq the Canary to offer a peace treaty thingy to Don Nutmuncher of the Squirrel Cartel. I have offered him Tiger Lily's head as a sign of my sincerity. They have yet to respond to my offer, but I have it on good authority that they hate whining even more than I, so I am optimistic. Once we are "friends", I will invite them into my home in the spirit of fellowship and cooperation. Perhaps once we pool our resources, my brains and muscle and their marvelously agile little hands, we can accomplish great things together.

Nah, who am I kidding?

I'm gonna whack them.

 

Wild Turkey

It is late November.

The two leggers are busily preparing for their annual Thanksgiving feast.

Normally this annoy me greatly.

They scrub my Kingdom from top to bottom. They clean out my hidey holes and harvest my latest crop of dust bunnies. They re-organize everything that they deem disorganized. They even go so far as to replace the drapes that I have spent many hours shredding in a most artistic manner.

On the positive side however, they also bring in massive amounts of foodstuffs and leave them in places that any motivated felonious feline can easily access  and abscond with. On the actual day of the feast, a wide variety of food can be found scattered throughout my Kingdom simply waiting for me and my fellow felines to sample and contaminate.

However, I have learned that this year will be different. The two leggers have been invited to spend the day elsewhere. Therefore the manic mopping and desperate dusting has not occurred this year. But thankfully, they will still be providing food and have stocked my larders accordingly.

Now make no mistake, gluttony is not my goal here. Well, not my ONLY goal. It is just a happy by-product of the holiday.

The introduction of so much yummy stuff in my house provides many opportunities for chaos and mayhem. The arrival of twenty grocery bags filled with a veritable cornucopia of munchies immediately warms the heart of every furred denizen. But we must be careful. With so much food laying around, the two leggers have become extremely vigilant. They are constantly alert for the sounds of a cat stealthily stalking a frozen turkey thingy left out overnight to thaw. They conduct hourly security tours in order to avoid a repeat of The Great Pumpkin Pie Pouncing of 2011.

I even heard the female two legger tell the male to put the "yams" in the cupboard so that I would be unable to destroy them.

I don't even know what a "yam" looks like. However, I am fairly certain that I would like to kill one.

And so we wait. I have faith that the two leggers will sleep eventually.

As the night slowly progresses, I notice the two leggers beginning to show signs of fatigue. The female is yawning. The male's eyelids are beginning to droop. It is only a matter of time. (and perhaps the sleep aid I slipped into their wine during dinner)

The excitement is becoming infectious. For Thanksgiving this year, Jaq has written a new song for the occasion. She has replaced the lyrics of Bruce Springsteen's "Born In The USA" using nothing but the word "Turkey". So now instead of singing:

"Born down in a dead man's town
The first kick I took was when I hit the ground
You end up like a dog that's been beat too much
Till you spend half your life just covering up
Born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
Born in the U.S.A."

She sings:

"Turkey turkey turkey turkey turkey turky!
Turkey turkey turkey turkey turkey turkey turkey turkey,
Turkey turkey turkey turkey turkey turkey.
Turkey turkey turkey turkey turkey !
Turkey turkey turkey
Turkey turkey turkey
Turkey turkey turkey!"

Her talent for impression is amazing. I know of no one else that can take a Springsteen song and make it sound so eerily like Barry Manilow's "Weekend in New England".

Now that the two leggers have finally groggily headed to bed, it is time for a little fun.......  

Ivan has already claimed the thawing turkey. Curious about the large opening at one end of the bird, he has just invented the Turkey Hat. It seems that the opening was just large enough for him to get his head in, but not quite large enough to withdraw it afterwards. He is presently flopping around the counter attempting to escape. As his best friend, I know I should help him, but only after I get a few pictures and post them on FaceBook.

Tiger Lily is currently fulfilling her dream of becoming a jungle cat and is hiding behind the large head of lettuce. She already walked across the grapes that were set aside for the fruit salad and once again, I smacked her for "wining".

As for myself, I have placed my mark on all the dinner rolls that were in the process of rising. I find that a paw print on every roll makes for a festive table.

By morning our work should be complete. The salad will be tossed, the rolls will be pawed and the turkey will be de-Ivaned.

This may be the first turkey in history that will need to be de-furred before serving.

To all my minions in America, I wish you a very happy Thanksgiving.

To all those in other countries, I wish you a very happy November 28th.

Except those in New Zealand and Australia where due to the time difference, it is already April 31st. 

The Mystery of The Stynx

This morning I awoke to the sounds of two leggers sniffing.

Not sniffling, as when they have a cold and their brains begin to melt and drip out of their nose thingies.

This was a definite sniffing, as when they catch a whiff of an odor they either don't like or cannot identify.

They were moving through my house, nose thingies quivering like a bunny on recreational pharmaceuticals, heads bobbing up and down, searching for the elusive aroma. They thought that they had solved the problem when they discovered a cache of ancient grapes that had somehow rolled (or possibly been batted) beneath the fridge.

This activity peaked my curiosity so I decided I should observe them on the chance that it may prove amusing. And so I watched.......

As they moved from room to room, practically hyperventilating in their quest to locate their odiferous objective, Jaq was sitting in a shoebox quietly singing "Something in The Air" by Phil Collins. Every time that they thought they had tracked the offending odor to a particular room, they would conduct a thoroughly fruitless search for its source. After completing the search, they would discover that the scent had miraculously migrated to an entirely different room.

In their mission to locate the source of the stink, they failed to notice one thing:

Every time they entered a room from which the odor seemed to be emanating, a large orange ball of badness would silently slink through the door, quietly chuckling as it passed.  This continued for most of the day. The two leggers would search for a while, and then give up and go on about their business until suddenly one of them would catch a hint of the scent and the search would begin anew.

I have to give Ivan credit. He has surpassed my low expectations. His plan for causing chaos while simple, has proven to be gloriously effective. It has also resulted in the added benefit of causing the two leggers to clean beneath both the fridge and the oven, thus returning two foil balls, four feather thingies and a catnip mousy thingy to my toy box.

I decided to congratulate Ivan on his accomplishment. Following my nose, I found him napping on the floor in the bathroom.

But Ivan was not alone......

As I entered the bathroom, I discovered Tiger Lily busily rubbing the slumbering buffoon with a piece of moldy cheese that she had "liberated" from the trash can.

I guess whine and cheese really do go well together.

Fired Up

I have taken the next step in my quest for Universal Domination.....

MWAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!  (evil laugh)

After much studying, observation, pondering, and the consumption of large quantities of catnip, I have discovered the secret of the ancient art of making fire.

Until now, only two leggers possessed the ability to create fire. They have kept this ability a very closely guarded secret since their prehistoric ancestors discovered it back in the 1980's.

Before I disclose the secret to this holiest of holies, I will first give a brief synopsis of the history of fire:

Back in the Pre-Cujolithic Age, between seven and 52,000,000,028.39 years ago, two leggers were incapable of making fire. Fire existed, but was only known as "big glowy hot stuff" and only occurred when natural disasters such as forest fires and volcano thingies happened. Back then, the cave dwelling two leggers would sit around on rocks outside their caves (the beds they had meticulously constructed from animal skins stuffed with hay inside the caves were occupied by prehistoric felines) and would pray for some such cataclysm to occur. Vigilantly scanning the horizon for the tell-tale signs of smoke, lightning or exploding mountains, they patiently waited.  At the first whiff of smoke in the air, they would grab their cats and rush to the site of the impending inferno. Once there, they would construct small wooden structures covered in carpet called "thrones". Only after placing their cats upon their "thrones" next to the edge of the fire, would the two leggers utilize the fire for such trivial matters as cooking and insurance fraud.

This was all well and good for the cats, but terribly inconvenient for the two leggers. So one day a two legger named Harvey Firestein came up with the idea of constructing a large stone box. Once the box was built, and after removing the cats that seemed to instantly appear in the aforementioned box, Harvey filled the box with wood and by striking two rocks together was able ignite the wood within.

In honor of his ingenuity, Harvey's fellow prehistoric cat lovers started calling the big glowy hot stuff "firestein". Later this would be shortened to "fire" by an American rock band who felt that "C'mon Baby Light My Firestein" didn't sound quite right.

Now to return to the present. Two leggers have perfected the art of making fire to the point that firebox thingies can be found in almost every house on Earth. In front of every firebox thingy will be found a throne occupied by at least one cat and in some instances, a dog thingy laying passed out on a rug. However, one problem remained: The occupants of the thrones and rugs were still forced to rely upon the two leggers to light the frebox thingy which they seem loathe to do whenever they are not currently at home.

Most annoying.

So, in the quest for knowledge and the ability to keep the Royal Hiney warm, I have been watching the motions of the two leggers. I feign sleep, and I watch. I hide in the artificial flowers, and I watch. I conceal myself in the comforter, and I watch.  I have observed that whenever the two leggers pick up a small gray box with buttons on the surface, the firebox thingy ignites. When they pick it up again, it extinguishes the flame.

It became obvious to me that the buttons on the small gray box are the key.

So the other day, after the two leggers left for work, I stalked the small gray box with buttons.

I pounced upon it........no result.

I trod upon it........no result.

I bit it........tasted like chicken.

Finally, I smacked it......

FIRE!!!!!  Sweet, bright, flickering, bun-warming fire!!

Suddenly Ivan, Jaq and Tiger Lily were bowing, grovelling and worshiping the Bringer of Fire.

As I was basking in the warmth of the fire and their adoration, one thing slipped my mind.

Now that it was on, how do I turn it off?

Once again, I pounced upon the small gray box with buttons. Once again, I trod upon it. Once again, I bit it. Once again, I smacked it.

No results.

Ivan even tried blowing on the fire, but it only singed his whiskers.

Seven hours later, the two leggers returned home.

As they entered through the front door, I stood proudly in front of my triumph. I assumed they too would bow to my resourcefulness. They would be overwhelmed by the fact that I had warmed the house to a balmy 97 degrees in anticipation of their return from a cold day at work.

I was mistaken.

Instead, the female immediately grabbed the little gray box with buttons, and through some complex series of button pushing, turned the firebox thingy off while the male stood glaring at me and tapping his foot.

Since that fateful day, the two leggers invariably hide the little gray box with buttons whenever they leave my house.

It is only a matter of time before I discover where they hide it.

And then, once again, all will sweat.

Poetic Injustice (Halloween Version)

In honor of Halloween, I have decided to do honor to one of my favorite authors. 

Edgar Allen Poe. 

Poe was a very creepy two legger who loved cats and wore really cool clothes. 

I respect that. 

And now I give you.....

 The Craven

 

Once upon a late night rainy, my mind was tired, my eyes were grainy,
I worked on my blog thingy, tired and weary to my core.
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently slapping, slapping at my sliding door.
`'Tis some vermin,' I muttered, `slapping at my sliding door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak November,
And each separate dust bunny wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my blog surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Beebo -
For the greatest catnip mousie thingy, whom the two leggers name Beebo -
Nameless here for evermo’.

And the silken sad uncertain shredding of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic friskiness never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my mousie, I stood repeating
`'Tis some vermin entreating entrance at my sliding door -
A soon to be  late vermin entreating entrance at my sliding door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my annoyance grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Squirrel thingy’ said I, `or Raccoon, truly your existence I abhor;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came slapping,
And so bravely you came slapping, slapping at my sliding door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I peered through the sliding door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that glass I was gazing, thinking my reflection looks amazing ,
Gazing, dreaming dreams no housecat ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was ceaseless, as I dreamed of squirrels in pieces,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Beebo!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Beebo!'
Merely this and nothing mo’.

Back into the dining room turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a slapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `that squirrel has guts; And soon he will hang from his nuts.
Let me at him then, I’ll eat him, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'And then the squirrel thingy will live no more!'

Open here I flung the sash, prepared to knock him on his……butt,
In there stepped a gray tabby of the whiny days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made she; not a minute stopped or stayed she;
But, in a clumsy, clawless slide, she slid across my floor-
Jumped and sat upon a pillow just above my hardwood floor -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this gray tabby beguiling my annoyed fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of her large face she wore,
`Though thy face be large, and should be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no raven.
Ghastly whiny and annoying tabby wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy cursed name lest you become a bore!'
Quoth the tabby, `Nevermore.'

Much I fumed, this ungainly cat to hear whining so plainly,
Though its answer angered me more – and  little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living being
Ever yet was cursed with seeing a whiny gray tabby upon his bedroom floor.
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the whiner, sitting lonely on the bedroom floor, spoke only,
That one word, as if her soul in that one word she did outpour.
Nothing further then she uttered - her mangy gray hair then she fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other enemies have fled before -
On the morrow I will smack her once more, I will smack her as before.'
Then the whiner whined, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the silliness broken by reply so wrongly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it whines is its only stock and store,
Deciding I shall ignore the whinestress, I turned once more

To the ebon darkness beyond the sliding door.

But once again I heard a slapping slapping slapping.

But this time, from the bathroom floor.

Yea, this slapping slapping slapping, came from the bathroom floor.

What further torment be this? What irritant can it be?

With smacking paw a-twitching, I went bathward for to see.
Twas naught but an orange tabby, in the throes of a dim-witted dream.

He was thrashing upon a bath towel, and soon began to scream!

His scream doth shook my spirit, unto my very core,

As he convulsed in mortal terror and shouted ‘Ummm, nevermore?’

I pounced upon the dreamer, I batted at the screamer.

I finally woke the tabby and he wakened rather crabby.

He tried to bite, he tried to fight, he tried to claw and much much more.

And so I subdued him by smack smack smacking his head

Against the bathroom floor.

Smack smack smacking, against the bathroom floor.

Once more I heard a slapping slapping slapping.This time from the Hall.

It didn’t sound very large, it sounded rather small.

Figuring this night could not get more whack,

I entered the hallway at a run and encountered Jaq.

She was tapping out the drum solo from Inna Godda Davida,

Upon the hallway floor.

I flew into a fury and hissed at her ‘No more!’

 I unleashed my rage upon all that I surveyed.

My spirit demanded vengeance, my spirit I obeyed.

Vengeance for the sleep I lost, my slumber interrupted.

Vengeance for my stolen rest and my dreams now corrupted.

Into those who disturbed me, I slashed, I bit I tore.

Until their pain-riddled bodies lay strewn across the floor.

Suddenly I wakened, raised my head, to my dismay I saw

No crimson entrails scattered down my hall.

The other four leggers were fine, they still retained their heads.

They were peacefully sleeping and snoring in their beds.

And so my saga ends. My lesson it is learned.

Into my soul a new commandment, indelibly is burned. 

The next time a postman comes tapping tapping tapping at my door,

And offers me New Zealand catnip,

I will tell him 'Nevermore'.

The Orange Oddity

Ivan has been acting a bit........odd.

Yes, I know that this is a somewhat ambiguous statement. Ivan always acts a bit.......odd.

However, he is now acting odd even for Ivan.

Normally, Ivan acts odd in a fairly predictable and easily explained manner. His strange activities can usually be attributed to his lack of brain cell thingies. When he suddenly takes an intense dislike to a spot on the floor in the hallway and attempts to smack it into submission, we just smile and shake our heads and say "Well, that's just Ivan." When he violently awakens from a midday nap, poofs, crooks his tail and runs headlong into the nearest door, we roll our eyes, check for a pulse on his unconscious form and say "There he goes again." When he inexplicably gets spooked by a stray sock on the bathroom floor and slays the offending hosiery, we simply smirk and say "Oh Ivan, you nutball." It is all fairly normal for such an abnormal individual.

This is a different species of odd.

He has been acting not only odd, but spooky odd.

In spite of his pudgy, malformed and just plain strange physique, Ivan is capable of amazing stealth. In the past he has shown an incredible ability to sneak up on any number of things. Q-Tips never see him coming until they are in the depths of his maw. Dust bunnies are slain with absolutely no warning of their impending doom. I once witnessed him stalking and slaying a milk carton ring thingy that was lying next to a sleeping two legger and he accomplished this without disturbing the slumber of the napping two legger.

Now, he seems to be utilizing his supernatural stealth for more nefarious purposes.

For the last week or so, Ivan has been suddenly appearing in the strangest of places. I leave him napping on the bed, walk into the bathroom and there's Ivan sitting in the tub thingy, staring at me. Later, I notice that he is sprawled on the heated bathroom floor, I head to the litter box and when I arrive, there he is sitting behind the box, softly snickering to himself. Why just yesterday, I swear I saw him in the bay window, in a full on sunbeam-induced coma, yet when I turned to jump up to my throne in front of the firebox thingy, I discovered that he was already there, warming his ample buns in front of MY firebox thingy.

I am unsure of his intentions. Is he attempting to give me a case of heebie-jeebies? Is he trying to showcase his prowess in a bid for a promotion? Is he being manipulated by Tiger Lily in order to get revenge for her daily smackings?

Just to be careful, I have decided to cover all my bases.

First of all, I have informed him that I have been inoculated against the heebie-jeebies, I have promoted him to the rank of Chief of Hallway Spot Menacing, and finally I have decided that I will no longer smack Tiger Lily on a daily basis.

I will now smack her on an hourly basis. 

Scents and Sensibilities

Time to answer some Minion Mail.

Due to privacy concerns, I usually answer Minion Mail in private messages. However, it sometimes happens that I receive a question that the answer of which benefits the entire Universe thingy. What follows is an example of just such a question.

Dear Most Wise and Wonderful Cujo, Supreme Ruler and Grand Poobah Thingy of All Universes, Both Known and Unknown, Smacker of All Things Gray and Whiny, Slayer of Squirrel Thingies, Menacer of Mice, Tormentor of Two leggers and Slayer of Stupidity.
      As an avid reader of your blog thingy, I have often been the beneficiary of your words of wisdom. Your advice and knowledge have helped me immeasurably in my relationship with my feline mistress, Winky. Your post about feline body language was especially helpful.
    Now for my question: Winky seems to spend an inordinate amount of time rubbing against stuff. She rubs her cheeks over every piece of furniture, she rubs her face on my pillows and bedding, she rubs her entire body against my legs whenever I attempt to walk anywhere in my home. I have provided her with many scratching posts and combs to groom herself with, but this seems to go beyond simple self-grooming behavior. 
Is this another form of silent communication?
     I eagerly await your sage reply,
                           Marcy McAnoodle

Dear Marcy,
    First of all, I thank you for your kind and accurate praise.
Your presumption that Winky's behavior is another form of non-verbal communication is spot on. However, this behavior is not a case of body language, it is a case of chemical communication.

Many four leggers, especially felines, use chemicals that their bodies secrete to leave messages to themselves and others.

These chemicals are known as "Furrymones".   

Furrymones are excreted from a variety of locations within the feline anatomy. The furrymone utilized depends upon the message that the cat wishes to convey. These messages can range from the very simple, to the very complex.

The vast majority of feline furrymones are basically conveying one simple message: "This belongs to me. It does not belong to you. You may think it belongs to you, but you would be wrong, because it belongs to me. It may have belonged to you at one time, but it no longer belongs to you. It now belongs to me. I may never use it again, but make no mistake, it still belongs to me.". This particular furrymone is secreted from a gland thingy located on the cheeks. It is also known as a "Furry-mine" .

Another furrymone is excreted from the top of the head. A cat will apply this by ramming its head forcefully into anyone it recognizes as being part of its immediate family. This is commonly known as "Headbonking". Unlike other furrymones, this one is used exclusively on other individuals and never on inanimate objects. Ivan however, seems to consider walls and doors to be close friends and headbonks them often.

Other furrymones can serve as more specialized messages. Here are a few examples:

A cat may appear to be shredding your furniture, however it is actually utilizing the furrymones located in glands in its paws that tells other cats in the area that this couch is worthy of shredding and all are welcome to do so.

Outdoor cats will rub against tree trunks and other landmarks releasing furrymones that serve as chemical waypoints so that they are better able to find their way home after a night of catnip-fueled carousing (Ivan uses the same method to find his way back out of closets).

Females in estrus use furrymones to alert males in the area that they are open to mating and procreation. Much the same way that female two leggers use the phrase "Omigosh! I'm so drunk!".

I have even used a very specialized furrymone to convince Ivan that the male two legger was hiding a bacon sandwich in his sock. To this day the male still walks with a slight limp.

Finally, if you should witness a cat dragging its nether regions across a carpet or rug, it too is leaving a message. However in this case it is not a chemically-based communique.

 It is simply attempting to communicate what it thinks of your choice in floor dressing.