Computer Conundrum

As many of you are aware, my computer typey thingy bit the proverbial dust last week.

I was not amused.

I commanded the male two legger to repair the machine immediately.

I was unsure if he was up to the task. As far as I know, he hasn't mastered any computer thingy since learning Abacus 2.0, however, I was willing to give him a chance.

After several hours of unfruitful head-scratching, mumbling, cursing, a couple of exclamations of "EUREKA!" followed by more head-scratching and cursing, he informed me that we would soon be visited by something called "The Greek Squad".

I must admit to being somewhat excited at this prospect. Being a student of history, I have always been fascinated by the society that brought us Plato, Socrates and a pledge to honor pictures of African animals called "The Hippo-graphic Oath". And so the next day I eagerly awaited the arrival of the Greeks in all their bed sheet clad splendor. Perhaps while they repaired my computer typey thingy, I would share my own philosophical thoughts and thus add to their already legendary legacy.

So imagine my surprise when instead of a chariot being pulled by great white stallions, a little bitty SmartCar thingy pulled into my driveway. No gray-bearded, toga-clad two leggers climbed out of yon micromobile. Instead, two semi-adolescent male two leggers knocked upon my door wearing white shirts, black ties, and black trousers that if they had been six inches longer, would have still been eight inches too short. They had fastened to their shirts name tags that identified them as Rory and Jeremy. Beneath their names, was the title "GeekSquad Technician".

I now understood that my two legger had obviously been misinformed and had called in the wrong team to repair my computer. However, he seemed to not notice his mistake and spoke to them as though they were the people he expected. As he was greeting them, Ivan, Tiger Lily and Jaq had entered the room to observe. "Rory" immediately asked to see the naughty laptop. Laughing hysterically, my two legger turned and pointed to each of us and asked "Which naughty laptop do you wish to see?". (His wit is only surpassed by his ability to teleport)

Rory who seemed to be one of the other 99.9996% of humanity who do not understand my two legger's sense of humor, stared at him blankly. Somewhat deflated, my two legger handed over my laptop, and the two pushed their eyeglasses further up their noses, hiked up their britches and began assessing the issue.

For the next 45 minutes, they performed a procedure that is apparently taught at only the best computer repair schools. It is called the "Turn The Darned Thing Off and Then Turn It Back On Again Maneuver".

Approximately 90 minutes later, they reached the mind-boggling conclusion that my computer was indeed "non-functional". This came as a great surprise to me given the fact that I had been completely unable to make it "function" for the last three days. They declared that they needed to take it back to their nerd nest and attempt to repair it there.

Five days later, they returned my computer after having claimed victory and stated that the computer typey thingy is now "good as new". I must admit that they did not lie. My computer typey thingy is indeed as good as the day it was bought. They were even kind enough to wipe off all those pesky documents and pictures that I have written and collected over the last two years.

That being said, I am back online now. I appreciate your patience and understanding during this trying time.

Fortunately, the internet thingy managed to continue on even though there was one less cat last week.

Olympic Undertaking

Right now, in a land far, far away, a whole bunch of two leggers are competing against each other in something called The Winter Olympics.

After having watched and studied the Olympic thingies for a week now, I believe I have discovered the reason that two leggers train their entire lives in order to be chosen to represent their countries at the Winter Olympics:

They're freakin' nuts.

I have done some research and have discovered the origins of many winter sports. In the interest of educating my followers, I shall now chuck some snowballs of wisdom in your general direction.

The sport of  "skiing" began as a prank that a two legger from Austria pulled on a two legger from Britain. During the 18th and 19th centuries, the British Empire had spread across the entire globe. Since England has no geographic features whatsoever, the British quickly became fascinated with mountains and felt compelled to climb every single mountain they happened across. No matter how high, how cold or how dangerous, as soon as they saw a mountain in the distance, they would immediately grab their ropes, tighten their belts, shout "Jolly good!", and start their ascent. Upon reaching the summit, they would have a spot of tea while they tried to figure out how to get back down.

One Englishman, Sir Nigel Worrynaught, found himself in just such a situation. He sat atop one of the highest peaks in the Alps, sipping his tea and quietly pondering the huge crevasse that had just swallowed his favorite manservant Dunswaddle. Soon, Hans Von Fujimoko, a young Austrian Tae Kwan Do master happened by. Curious, he asked the Englishman what was amiss?

"My manservant Dunswaddle seems to have gone FDACWOL (Fallen Down A Crevasse Without Leave). The blighter didn't even give notice in order for me to hire a replacement and now I am stuck upon this mountain with no one to carry my kit. Why, it'll take me days to get back down."

Austrians, unlike their neighbors the Germans, had yet to prohibit the ownership of a sense of humor, and Hans saw an opportunity for a bit of fun at Sir Nigel's expense. He karate chopped two saplings and proceeded to tie them to Sir Nigel's feet. As Sir Nigel stood upon the saplings and turned to ask what to do next, Hans gave him a shove and down the mountain he slid.

Somehow Sir Nigel survived the trip down the mountain and after declaring it to be "great fun" cleaned his lederhosen and climbed back up the mountain.

Many years later, a pair of NASCAR fans decided to take up mountain climbing during the three weeks per year that NASCAR was not being shown on the "TeeVee Box". After spending several hours at the base of the mountain and having consumed several cases of beer, one of the NASCAR fans turned to the other and uttered the immortal words: "Well, hot dang Jimmy Joe Bob, I reckon if'n we toted one of them thar rusted-out Chevy Novas up that thar hill, take off the wheels and replace em with a coupla fence staves, we could purty much ride that bad boy back down that thar hill and we'd have a passle of fun. Heck, we might even break sumptin if'n we do it right."

Thus the sport of Jimmy Joe Bobsledding was born. The sport remains essentially the same to this day, the only differences being the shortening of the name to "Bobsledding" and the rule restricting the competitors to carrying only 24 empty beer cans in the back seat instead of the original 238.

Curling is another sport that began as a joke. Back in 1873, many Americans were passing through Canada on their way to the Yukon gold claims. Ever curious, the Americans were very interested in the Canadian's methods of dealing with the boredom of the 14 month Canadian winter. One enterprising Canadian who was tired of cleaning up the mud and snow tracked in on the American's dirty boots, told the Americans that they spent most days sliding large stones around their igloos and using brooms to guide them to a target placed just outside the doors of their igloos. The Americans were fascinated with this game and soon became extremely adept at sweeping the floors of their Canadian hosts.

Curling became an Olympic sport in 1960 at the request of sports enthusiasts who found the sport of "watching paint dry" just too darned exciting. 

With the exception of hockey, all other events at the Olympics essentially are derived from the three mentioned above.

Hockey is simply a reenactment of a typical Canadian family dinner that invariably ends in everyone grabbing sticks and fighting over the last biscuit.

Potty Animal

I find that the most amusing moments of my life occur in the waning hours of the night. It must have something to do with the cloaking darkness and muted sounds that pervade my Kingdom while the two leggers slumber.

Last night, just such an amusing moment presented itself. However, I found in this particular moment not just a chance for a little nocturnal naughtiness, but perhaps an opportunity to educate my devoted minions on a mystery that I am often asked to explain.

It was around 3am when I heard the familiar sound of the male two legger cursing and stumbling around in the darkness in search of the bathroom. The cursing was caused by the fact that his night vision is somewhat lacking and he had once again stubbed his toe on the frame of the door thingy once again proving his ineptitude at navigating in the dark.

I find this perplexing when I consider the fact that he has slept in the same bed, in the same room, nine feet from the same bathroom door for the last 11 years. Almost every night of those 11 years, he has awoken sometime after 2am with the dire need to visit the aforementioned bathroom and the same chain of events has transpired. He attempts to stealthily navigate his way to the bathroom, arms windmilling around his body in an attempt to find some form of recognizable bedroom landscape feature that he can use to orient himself and thus eventually arrive at his destination without waking his mate. Invariably, as he approaches the bathroom, his stub-seeking pinky toe arrives at the door frame about .382 seconds before he lets out a blood-curdling scream and falls to the floor, grasping his foot and squirming in hilarious agony.

Anyway, as I heard the results of his latest attempt at nighttime navigation, I realized that something was amiss. Tiger Lily was sleeping on her pillow next to the computer thingy, Jaq was burrowed deep in the comforter in her room and Ivan was sprawled in a smelly heap on the heating register in the kitchen. Since I was on my throne in front of the firebox thingy, that could only mean one thing:

A TWO LEGGER WAS IN THE BATHROOM WITH NO CAT IN ATTENDANCE!

Totally unacceptable! Completely unheard of! Simply not right! And probably illegal in all 50 states (and Arkansas).   

Now we come to the question that I am most often asked:

What is the deal with cats having to watch when two leggers attempt to use the bathroom?

There are many theories in regard to this mystery. Some believe we feel compelled to watch because we are simply curious. Some think it is that we know that as long as the two legger in question is doing his/her business, we have a captive audience, and being cats, we take full advantage of their captivity. Some have even theorized that we are fascinated by the variety of smells and odors that waft forth from the vicinity of the engaged two legger.

It is widely believed in Ireland that cats are simply stalking the "wee people".

In Arkansas, it is thought that the cats are setting an ambush for dog thingies. They wait by the toilet until the dog thingy gets thirsty and then strike when it comes for a drink.

All of these theories are exactly wrong.

The truth is actually much simpler than that.

We watch because you fascinate us.

The sounds you make in the bathroom, both voluntary and involuntary, are unlike any other sounds anywhere. The way you scrunch your faces when things become.......difficult. The way you must inspect and admire your leavings before pushing the flushy thingy.

It even fascinates us when you notice us staring at you and feel compelled to ask "What? What do you want? Why are you staring at me?" As if you expect us to suddenly say "So sorry to disturb you, I was just wondering what you were doing. Perhaps I could be of service to you while you are sitting there. Would you like a magazine or perhaps a glass of water?"

So there you have it. We watch you because it amuses us.

As far as last night was concerned, after realizing that the two legger was about to enter the bathroom unaccompanied, I quickly and silently bounded over his writhing body and assumed my position next to the sink. After he recovered from the pain of the puffy pinky toe, he slowly pulled himself up from the floor by gripping the sink. As he pulled himself up, he reached over and turned on the light only to find himself looking directly into the eyes of an amused tuxedo cat.

I suspect that he had no........difficulties "going" this time.

The Superdull

Judging by the antics and behavior of my two leggers, specifically the male, it appears that another important sporting event is imminent.

Considering the time of year and the sudden donning of blue, green and silver apparel, it would seem that the Seattle Seahawks are headed to the NFL Championship Game.

I am totally underwhelmed.

I am beyond underwhelmed.

In fact, after studying the sport, I feel I am incapable of being whelmed at all.

In the early days of my blog thingy, I once discussed the two legger sport of "football" and how we feline types play our own version. (See FFL-Feline Football league) But after pondering this topic further, I have decided that it is time to offer my expert advice to the two leggers on how to improve their sport and make it more desirable to a larger audience.

While the two leggers consider football to be an extremely violent sport, I find that by feline standards, it rates somewhere above a good tabby smack and slightly below a tea party with Miley Cyrus and Charlie Sheen.

Let us now examine a typical football play:

The two color-coordinated teams stand in a line facing each other. One of them then tosses the ball between his legs to another player who proceeds to run around avoiding the opposing team who is trying to knock him down. At this point, the player has a choice of either throwing the ball to another player, handing it to another player, or keeping it and running away with it. In the meantime, the opposing players are trying to prevent him from accomplishing any of these actions. Once they catch him or whoever he has transferred the ball thingy to, they throw or drag him bodily to the ground.

Now, all this is fine and good. However, after having "tackled" the guy with the ball thingy, they all jump up, slap each other on the hindquarters and then run back to their teammates and repeat the entire process.

First of all, if they must stand in a line facing each other, they should be allowed to hiss, spit and smack each other a few times before the action starts.

Any player that touches the ball thingy should be allowed at least ten seconds to bat it around, rub it on his cheeks and bite it if he so wishes.

All flags thrown by the referees should be pounced upon, chewed into submission and then barfed upon and then placed somewhere an unsuspecting two legger may step on the soggy mess in the middle of the night.

Finally, I find the entire conclusion of the play ridiculous. Once you take down an opponent, you do not jump up, pat them on the butt and send them on their way! Any player tackling another player must be allowed to grab their head thingy with both paws, bite their neck and kick them repeatedly with their hindpaws in an effort to eviscerate them. 

In the last few weeks I have written several emails to the NFL Rules Committee offering my services in improving their game. I have called them on the phone thingy and even attempted to "Skype" with them.

I am hopeful.

Though they have not responded to me directly, I believe the restraining order they just enacted shows that they are at least listening.

Mixed Nuts

Jaq intrigues me.

I find that she is unlike any other cat I have ever known.

Just when I begin to think I understand her, she does something that blows my judgement completely out of the water.

She is an enigma wrapped in a quandary, coated with mystery and liberally dusted with powdered what-the-heck-was that.

On the surface, she seems intelligent, mild-mannered and meek. But deep inside, there seems to flow a river of bug-eyed lunacy, running deep and swift through a valley of absolute tail-twitching, fur-poofing, wall-licking, drooly-mouthed insanity.

Now I could accept it if she was simply unbalanced, but at times I also detect a keen intellect lightly veiled by her cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs veneer.

And therein lies my dilemma. Is she a nut job that occasionally has periods of cognizance? Is she a total whacko that displays behavior that only seems relatively sane when compared with her normally abnormal behavior? Is she totally sane and only acts the looney in some strategy aimed at furthering some nefarious plot. Or perhaps she is even more ingenious than I first suspected and is acting like someone who is acting like they are nuts, but are totally sane, and yet exhibiting signs of some psychosis that causes them to appear completely rational even though they are incurably bonkers.

I shall explain.....

Other than her propensity for singing in tight spaces, Jaq often exhibits other questionable behavior. For instance, she will be deep in the throes of a nap when suddenly she will pop up, poof and scamper from the room in a blind panic. I am fully aware that all felines engage in this type of antic from time to time,  however, when Jaq performs this maneuver, she adds a pirouette at the end and delivers a two minute speech thanking the academy, her parents, her director and someone named Winifred before lying down to resume her nap.

Sometimes, she will stalk up to a lamp thingy, yell "You're not my cousin!" and knock it to the floor where it shatters into like a bajillion pieces.

And this is where I get suspicious.

For you see, if it was Yours Truly who murdered the lamp thingy, the walls would reverberate with the sounds of two leggers freaking out and screaming. The water squirty thingy would be drenching everything that moved and I would be banished to the computer room until further notice. But due to her reputation as being "touched in the head thingy", the two leggers make certain allowances for Jaq.

They even seem amused when she "has a moment" and destroys something. Heck, the other day, Jaq totally blitzed a wine glass. Did the two leggers get upset?

No.

The male even seemed a bit proud of the mess she made. He called back to the female "Hey Honey! Come see what widdle Miss Jaq did! She made a widdle mess! Awwww, she so cute. After I clean up her mess, I'll get her a widdle treat!".

I swear, as she was nibbling her reward for breaking a wine glass, she actually winked at me.

Allow me to repeat that for clarity....As she was nibbling her reward for breaking a wine glass, she winked at me.

Apparently, if they believe you are mentally disturbed, you are not held accountable for your actions.

Hmmmm........

I decided I should get in on the action. I began acting unpredictably. I started talking to walls, I engaged in several odd rituals. I even sat in the tub thingy and had a protracted conversation with the faucet. However, after several days of this ridiculous behavior, the two leggers remained unconvinced and continued to drench me at every transgression..

Jaq too, was not fooled. I woke last night to find her standing in the moonlight next to a knife, whispering "Knock it off Beard Boy, this is my gig".

Normally, any minion who threatened me would immediately feel the wrath of the Smackin Paw. However, I have decided to give her a pass.

Just in case she really is nuts.

The 300th Post Thingy: A Brief Hissstory of The Cujo Dynasty

I realized last month that I was quickly approaching my 300th post.

But I was undecided about what topic I should choose.

Over the last 299 posts, I have informed and educated my minions on a very wide range of subjects. I have invited you into my Kingdom, shared my escapades and even divulged previously classified feline secrets. I have answered your questions and even acquiesced to your requests.

When it suited my purposes.......

However, I felt that the 300th post should be something big. Something different. Something spectacular.

So I asked for assistance in choosing a topic. I decided to have a contest in my FaceBook fan club and offer a special prize to the minion that came up with the winning topic. I received many good ideas, and some may be addressed in the future, but the one that really caught my attention was submitted by Dana Sue Jagusch. She wanted  to know more about my predecessors and our affect on two legger evolution.

And so I present to you:

A Brief Hisstory of The Cujo Dynasty

First of all I should explain that my genetic bloodline is somewhat vague. Therefore I consider trying to trace it futile, impossible and furthermore, silly. However, after several minutes of research, I have discovered a thread passing throughout history of feline intervention in two legger development.

I call it my "Spiritual Bloodline".

We begin in ancient Egypt. The Egyptians were the first two leggers to be enslaved by cats. They were originally subjugated by a feline they named "Bast-et" which in ancient Egyptian translates to "Furry Little Slayer of Mice and Sandal Straps". Bast-et took up residence in the royal palace of the pharoah thingy and proceeded to destroy his furniture. The pharoah was so enamored by Bast-et's antics that he declared Bast-et a god and ordered his likeness to appear on all works of art and monuments. However, after several years of Bast-et destroying his stuff, the pharoah decided to build an edifice that was well and truly cat-proof. Thus he set his people to building pyramid thingies. Given the fact that Bast-et had not perfected the use of explosives, the pyramids stand to this day.

A few years later, the Romans met the Egyptians and were similarly subjugated. The Romans so enjoyed the antics of their feline masters that they built large arenas for them to play in and would cheer loudly whenever they would "play" with the two leggers that they were given to entertain them. The Roman Empire fell after cats made their armies ineffectual owing to the fact that they all dressed in sheets and found it difficult to defend themselves whilst covered in cats.

This led to a period called "The Dark Ages". It was so named because every time a two legger lit a candle, a cat would come along and knock it off the shelf. 

Our next stop is the court of King Henry VIII. By observing his Royal Feline, Henry realized that he could effectively rule his kingdom by doing nothing but eating, sleeping and treating his subjects with merciless obesity and stinkies...........Oops, nevermind. That was one of Ivan's ancestors. 

Napoleon Bounaparte was encouraged by his cat, Pounce de Leon, to attempt to conquer all of Europe. It all started because the Russian Czar thingy had invented a gizmo called the Openzy Kanski. The Openzy Kanski was used to facilitate the opening of cans (or Kanskis) that were used to preserve the shelf life of items such as sardines, caviar, tuna and twinkies. The invention of the Openzy Kanski was very fortuitous because for years the Russians had been collecting and storing the kanskis with no way to get at their contents. When Pounce awoke one morning in Paris to the sound of a can being opened in Moscow, he convinced Napoleon to send a letter to the Russians demanding that they share this new technology or else he would come and take it. The Czar's ill-fated response was "Oh yeahski? You and what armyski?". Historians say that Napoleon was defeated at the very gates of Moscow. What they don't record is the fact that upon reaching the gates of Moscow, his cat decided that the Kremlin had better curtains to climb and so defected to the Czar's court. Inconsolable, Napoleon turned and went back to Paris to pout.

Sometime between April 2, 1405 and July 23, 1785, my ancestors heard of a "New World" across the ocean. It was said to contain wide open spaces, new two leggers to subjugate and lots of trees. In 1492, we arrived with Christopher Columbus on board his lesser known fourth ship, The Bieber. The Bieber started the voyage as a very popular ship, but it didn't take long for everyone to realize that its compass was defective and it continuously ran aground no matter how many times it tried to steer a proper course.   

Since our arrival in the New World, we have continued to shape it to our purposes. My ancestors have influenced such notables as Mark Twain, Edgar Allen Poe and every single villain in the James Bond series of movies.

In the late 1970's a large-mouthed tabby named "Megabite" adopted an up and coming nerd and convinced him to use his nerdiness to invent a new medium where we could coordinate our efforts at world domination. Where all who visited would be bound to eternal servitude and worship for all things feline.

You, my minions, are simply carrying on a great and ancient tradition of servitude to your feline masters.

I thank you for your continued service.

A Tiger Lily By The Tail

When I started this blog thingy over three years ago, I promised you one thing.

Honesty.

Complete, total, unadulterated honesty.

I tell you my thoughts. I tell you my ambitions. I tell you about the chaos and mayhem I cause on a daily basis in a completely open and unvarnished manner.

However, when one is as open as I am, one opens themselves up to criticism.

By far, the most consistent criticism I have received is in regards to my treatment of a certain whiny gray tabby known as Tiger Lily. Apparently, Whiny The Pooh has many admirers among those who follow my blog thingy. Whiny McWhinington has developed quite the fan base. The Queen of Complaint has become quite popular.

Though I find them as annoying as an unknocked knock knack, I read each and every critique I receive.

After having pondered the criticism and spending several minutes analyzing my own behavior in regards to Madame Monochrome, I have reached the conclusion that my treatment of The Gray Ghoul has been somewhat lacking.

She deserves better.

I don't terrorize her nearly enough. 

Oh sure, smacking her is both fun and gratifying, but I feel that lately I have been just "phoning it in". I need to add some variety to her abuse.

So, I am determined to correct this shortcoming.

So today I set out to mix it up a bit. As soon as the two leggers left this morning, I implemented my plan. I began with a basic intimidation strategy. Wherever she went, I was there. If she attempted to eat, I suddenly got hungry. If she tried to drink, I was instantly parched. Wherever she chose to nap, I decided that I was tired and she was in my spot.

I drew the line at following her into the litter box. However, that didn't stop me from slapping the hood of the litter box while she was using it.

After several hours of this non-contact terrorism, the two leggers returned home. Tiger Lily of course immediately launched into reporting to them every single act of intimidation I had incurred upon her during the day. For an entire hour, she regaled them with all my activities. They very quickly tired of her whining and banished her to the living room.

Where I happened to be.......

Whenever one of the two leggers would come out to check on us, they would find me sitting right next to her, staring at her while she whined about me sitting right next to her, staring at her.

Finally, the male was fed up with the constant complaining. He came out yelled "CUJO! Can't you shut her up?"

Now I have a quandary. It goes completely against my morals and philosophy to do anything that would please the two leggers. On the other paw, I really wanted to smack her.

In the end, I smacked her so hard that she tumbled across the couch and knocked over the lamp on the end table, causing it to fall and break the bulb thingy.

Mission accomplished on both counts.

Anyone got a problem with that?