Psychic Disabilities

Two leggers are fascinated with anyone that appears to have powers beyond the norm. They are constantly searching for those who can read minds, foresee the future or communicate with the dead. In their constant quest to find the answers to their supernatural inquiries, they are perfectly willing to spend enormous amounts of money. They seem unaware that they should be spending their hard earned money on more important things.

Like cat toys.

Cat food.

Catnip.

Cat treats.

Farm raised squirrels.

However, even given this vital information, I am sure that some two leggers will continue to throw their money at any charlatan that professes to know the unknowable. So I have decided to kill two bird thingies with one claw.

I am now a psychic.

Send me your money and I will perform the supernatural act of your choice.

My mind reading ability is now telling me that you doubt the veracity of my psychic talent. It tells me that you are skeptical and require proof of my gift. I am even picking up vibe thingies that you believe that I am simply trying to trick you out of your life's savings.

See how good I am?

But for those of you who may still retain some suspicion in regards to my legitimacy, I will now offer undeniable proof. 

I will now read Ivan's mind.......

Okay, that was an ill-conceived idea. I got nothing except a sudden craving for cheese doodles.

Perhaps I should read the male two legger's mind........

Great, now I am craving cheese doodles and beer.

I would attempt to read the female two legger's mind, but I fear that cheese doodles, beer and new shoes would be a bad combination.

So I shall resort to predicting the future.

By reading my catnip leaves, I can with confidence predict that several events will take place in the very near future:
#1- A whiny gray tabby will be smacked repeatedly by an unknown assailant.
#2- At exactly 2:33 AM, a vase in a seemingly empty hallway will suddenly decide that life is not worth living and leap to its death.
#3- At exactly 2:34 AM, Ivan will be blamed for the death of the suicidal pottery and become the recipient of a massive wetting by the water squirty thingy.
#4- Arkansas will be voted the "weakest link" and sold to Yugoslavia for two pigs and a goat.
#5- Scientists will discover that Keith Richards died seven years ago and has only continued to perform as lead guitarist of The Rolling Stones due to a clever contraption involving a series of wires, pulleys and five hamsters.
#6-Scientists will also discover that stepping in a hairball on a daily basis prevents Athlete's Foot.
#7- The female two legger, in a fit of unwarranted optimism and trust, will allow the male to assist her in painting the exterior of my house green.
#8- The male two legger, while covered in green paint, gets hired by the Disney Corporation to perform as their newest character "Snuffy the Seasick Smurf".

I feel that some of you may still have doubts. I know that some of my predictions seem far-fetched.

But trust me, that Keith Richards thing is totally gonna happen.

Music of The Night

I have an announcement.

I am getting the band back together.

Early on in my blogging career, I started a band called "K-Oss  Theory". I even wrote a blog thingy about it called "Band For Life". (Click here to view.)

Unbelievably we received very few offers for lucrative record contracts, so I tabled the idea.

However, lately I have been re-pondering the subject and I have reached the conclusion that I am ready to try again. There are several factors that have gone into my decision to try again:

1. I have had two years of watching American Idol and America's Got Talent and these shows have made me realize that if the contestants on these programs are considered "talented", there is absolutely no way they can deny my gift for music.
2. The addition of Jaq provides our band with new musical depth.
3. I'm kinda bored and foresee an opportunity for music-based mayhem.

We will retain our original name of "K-Oss Theory" because "Hootie and The Blowfish" is still taken.

Tiger Lily will still play the role of Back-up Whiner and Artist Who Dies Too Young.

We have all been busy learning new instruments. Ivan has been teaching himself to play the "Cat Box Kazoo". He has become quite proficient, especially after burrito night. Jaq has turned out to be a prodigy at playing the keyboard (not the piano thingy, I am referring to the rack that holds keys by the front door). Tiger Lily plays smacksaphone. I have taken over playing brass. Brass candlesticks, the brass doorknocker and the brass springy thingy that keeps the door from hitting the wall all make beautiful music when played by a master such as myself.

With the addition of Jaq's voice, we have been able to expand our repertoire. I have taken several songs that my two leggers enjoy and re-written them in a more feline fashion. Here are a few examples:

Dust Bunnies in The Wind
Maul Me Maybe
Who Let The Squirrels Out?
Whiny Days and Mondays
Stalk Around The Clock
Shake Rattle and Stroll
I Will (lie in) Wait For You

I have also written a few original pieces:

Die Smurfs Die
Knock Knack Polka
Requiem for an Ex-Moth
The Boogitation Boogie
Sofa Slamdance

Of course, we'll be bringing back some of our old favorites like "Doug, Shut Those Damned Cats Up Before I Lose My Mind And Buy A Gun And Start Shooting Every Furred Thing In The Immediate Vicinity!" and "Doug, Tell Me Why We Have Cats Again!".  And let's not forget my personal favorite "The Mouse Munch Mambo".

Tickets to our first concert will be on sale as soon as I can figure out how to hack my two legger's PayPal account.

Unbearable

For any of you out there that may question my Tomhood, I will now put your doubts to rest.

I am the furry little angel of destruction that lays waste to all who cross me. Nothing that annoys me can be suffered to live. There is no irritant that can withstand my wrath.

All my enemies should justifiably quake with fear. All squirrel thingies should sleep lightly with one beady little eye open. Dog thingies should give my yard a wide berth. Any two leggers planning to break into my Kingdom with nefarious thoughts of larcenous intentions should give it another think.

I am the two-toned death that stalks the night. 

Last night I killed a bear.

That's right, you read correctly, I killed a bear.

Now I realize that many of my readers are very sensitive when it comes to the mistreatment of animals. Many of you are very active in different animal rescue agencies as well as proponents of anti-cruelty legislation. I have often read your protests regarding the way I treat Tiger Lily. I choose to ignore those protests, however, I assure you, I read them.

Just like Tiger Lily, the bear had it coming.

The bear in question was brought into my kingdom by the male two legger. It was a present for the female who had been feeling ill. I do not purport to understand this two legger custom of giving vicious carnivores to loved ones who are suffering, but there is much about two legger behavior that I find confusing.

This bear, named "Sniffles", was immediately adopted by the female and has held a place of honor in their bedroom ever since.

From the moment I saw Sniffles, I knew he had to die. His black lifeless eyes hid a soul so dark that it threatened to drain the spirit out of all those he encountered. Beneath the plush fuzzy belly beat a heart so black that the crucifix in the hallway kept falling in the middle of the night. Okay, that mighta been caused by Ivan slamming into the closet door, but I'm gonna blame the bear.

Every time I entered the bedroom, I could feel it watching me.

I suspected that when I was not in the bedroom, it mocked me and whispered in the female's ear, casting aspersions upon my character and blaming me for things I may or may not have destroyed. 

But mostly, Sniffles watched me. 

This posed a dilemma. How could I be expected to perform my mayhem causing activities under the constant scrutiny of "Sniffles the Snitch?"

I decided the bear must die.

It must die soon.

It must die cruelly and without mercy. 

I ordered Ivan to bring me the head of Sniffles. Ivan puffed himself up and entered the bedroom. And so I waited....... And waited........ And waited. Failing to hear any hissing or screeching, I peeked around the door only to find that Ivan was curled up next to Sniffles and taking an unauthorized nap. This was intolerable. I smacked Ivan and ordered him from the room. 

I ordered Tiger Lily to go whine at Sniffles in the hope that he would be driven to running away. However, after several minutes, I realized that she was sitting next to Sniffles swapping stories about Yours Truly. I smacked her so hard that she lost three whiskers and bolted from the room.

And Sniffles watched...

Finally, I realized that I must slay the bear myself. As the male prepared for bed, I was able to slink unobserved to the edge of the bed. Silently slipping under the bed, I cautiously crept to the other side, taking a few moments to wreak havoc on a nest of dust bunnies that had previously escaped slaughter. Lurking under the bed until the lights were extinguished, I patiently waited and suppressed the giggles of anticipation that threatened to betray my hidey hole.

Finally, the lights went out and it was time to make my move. Emerging from beneath the bed like a demon escaping the depths of Hades, I pounced upon the interloper. Wrapping one paw around his face to stifle his screams of terror, I punched the back of his head with my free forepaw while simultaneously eviscerating him with the repeated kicks of my hindpaws. After tearing out his fluffy white innards, I chewed on his face until I was sure that he was well and truly deceased.

All of this was accomplished in total silence only four or five tailspans from the peacefully slumbering two leggers. 

This morning, the two leggers awoke to a scene of great gore and carnage. The male cleaned up the mess. The female said not a word. Her cool attitude towards me leads me to believe that she suspects that I had a paw in the death of her bear.

That is fine with me. Perhaps after seeing what I am capable of, she will think twice before threatening me with the water squirty thingy.

Blown Away

Every year, from about the 2nd of July to around the 6th of July, the two leggers that live in the vicinity of my Kingdom lose their minds.

Normally they are conscientious, polite, and reasonably sane (my two leggers excepted). For the most part, there are few loud parties and very little yelling or fighting. From what I have observed on the talking box thingy, I live in what could safely be called a "quiet" neighborhood.

However, come July, these normally sedate individuals suddenly get the urge to go out and buy massive quantities of explosives and proceed to turn their backyards into war zones.

I have always been curious about this disturbing behavior. So, I decided to do some research.

I am now an expert on the history of firework thingies.

A very long time ago, (around the time my male two legger was born) a group of two leggers that wore pointy hats and ate rice with sticks, discovered that if they mixed a bunch of powdery stuff together, shoved it in old toilet paper rolls, put a string in one end, and then set the string on fire, it would blow up and annoy their neighbors.

Over the following centuries, they developed ever more creative recipes for the powdery stuff that made it explode with different colors and patterns. Some shot very high in the air and burst in flashy flowery displays, some simply made a big bang and shook their neighbor's house like Ivan jumping down from a cabinet top.

Around two hundred years ago, a two legger Native American named Jimmy Tenfingers went to the land of the pointy-hatted two leggers and was awestruck by their propensity for annoying their neighbors. However, in typical American fashion, Jimmy felt that the formula could be improved upon. Upon his return to America, he declared that the firework thingies were the most patriotic way of celebrating the birthday of our great nation.

At first his fellow Americans were skeptical. But after Jimmy (now known as Jimmy Eightfingers) made it clear that the firework thingies were best enjoyed with copious amounts of beer and other alcoholic beverages, the Americans saw the genius in his logic and took to the new tradition like Ivan to a cheese doodle.

Soon, Americans everywhere were blowing up their backyards and annoying their neighbors.

Jimmy Sixfinger's fame grew. Before long, he began to sell his firework thingies not just to celebrate Independence Day, it also became traditional to annoy your neighbors on New Years Eve as well. So now, twice a year, two leggers all over the world attempt to outdo each other by seeing who can make the loudest bang or the biggest boom.

By the time of his death, Jimmy Onefinger's legacy had reached every corner of the Earth.

In fact, it is in tribute to Jimmy that whenever one neighbor annoys another, they are invariably saluted by holding up a single finger.

The Great Moth Massacre (2013)

June is one of my favorite months.

I can't say that it is my most favorite month, but I definitely rank it in the top 12.

Sunbeams sprout in every window sill, no more chilly evenings, and there are outdoor critters aplenty for me to berate from windows left open.

But there is a reason above all these that causes me to look forward to June with gleeful anticipation.

The annual moth thingy harvest.

Every year in mid to late June, for reasons only known to scientific type two leggers, moth thingies suddenly decide that their flittery little lives are no longer worth living and they decide to end it all by entering my kingdom. Like those overgrown hamster thingies in England called "lemmings" or fans of Miley Cyrus, they rush headlong and unthinkingly to their doom.

It is unknown how they enter my house. Even when every door is locked, every window closed with screen intact they get in somehow. At first I thought that they originated somewhere within these walls, but the fact that I often see them circling the porch light in warm Summer evenings proves this theory false. I now suspect that they are brought in by hitching a ride in my male two legger's mustache.

Be that as it may, they enter my abode and carnage ensues.

According to the dictionary wordy thingy, the definition of a moth thingy is as follows:
Moth thingy: [mawth theengy] plural: moth thingies- Any of a sub-genus of winged six leggers known for flittery/fluttery behavior. Also known as  "redneck butterflies", their sole reason for existence is to serve as both amusement and dietary supplement to domestic housecats. See also: Mouse thingy, eight legger, housefly and designer shoe.

The moth harvest generally begins in mid-June and lasts until the last moth is either digested or beaten into submission.

We all have our own individual methods and styles for moth thingy eradication:

Ivan prefers a passive approach. He waits until a potential victim lands within reach of his paw, he stares at it with a confused expression and then softly bats at it. This soon gives the moth thingy a false sense of security, thinking that the large, orange, stinky mass is relatively harmless. It begins to buzz around on the floor in small circles which confuses Ivan further. In keeping with his philosophy of "That which is not understood must be eaten" Ivan promptly munches it.

Jaq uses the "Zen Master Meditation Method". She sits upon the couch next to a lamp, eyes closed, seemingly in a deep trance. The moth thingies flit around the lamp (as part of their suicidal tendencies, they are always trying to "go into the light"). Softly humming "Spirit in The Sky", she sits until just the right moment and suddenly springs with her micro-paws whipping through the air, snagging up to a half dozen in a single swat.

Tiger Lily puts on such a theatrical display of ineffectual waving paws and impotent viciousness that the moth thingies drop to the floor in a fit of laughter and are quickly dispatched.

I employ the "Frightening Lightning" strategy. A flash of black and white streaks across the room and suddenly the moth population is reduced by 30%. Another flash and several more go missing. Just as the moth thingies begin to notice that several members of their excursion are missing and start to suspect that something is amiss, I finish off the survivors in a flurry of teeth and claws.

In the morning, the two leggers walk through a hallway strewn with broken wings and bits of moth-matter. They enter the livingroom to find four cats, sated on the blood of their enemies and languidly licking their dusty paws.

Monday marks the beginning of  July, another of my favorite months.

Bring on the pill bugs.

Vintage Whine

Since starting my blog thingy almost three years ago, I have on occasion allowed, or in some instances, forced my minions to write in my stead. Ivan, Jaq and even the male two legger have taken over for me when it amused me.

However, it has been brought to my attention that one minion in particular has never been allowed to voice her opinions.....

Tiger Lily

There are two reasons I have kept her muted until now:
1. I was worried about liability issues involving my readers uncontrollably smacking their monitors once they read her words.
2. I always believed that post #264 would be the perfect time to allow it. Granted, I once considered post #262 to be the perfect time, but I was heavily into catnip back then and fortunately sobered up before making such a drastic mistake.

Before I turn the keyboard over to Whiney The Pooh, I just want to say that I reserve the right to smack her at any time and for any or no purpose whatsoever.

Without further ceremony, I present her Royal Whineness: Tiger Lily

Thank you Cujo    *SMACK!*

Aw! C'mon! I was only gonna *SMACKITY-SMACK!*

Okay! If you're not gonna let *SMACK!*

Cujo here again, in the interest of getting this over with, I will now retire to the Royal Litter while she continues her post. However, I will return immediately if I hear her keystrokes sounding even slightly whiny.

Now that he is gone, maybe I can finally speak my mind! 

I know that from his blog and his books, many people have gotten the impression that Cujo is a total tyrant and is completely evil and vile in all his methods. 

Well, I am here to set you all straight.

You don't know the half of it!

But I am not here to complain about all the things he does to make my life a living purgatory. I will not speak of the way he likes to slap the top of the litter box whenever I try to make potty. I won't tell you how he always licks all the food in MY food bowl before I can eat. I refuse to tattle about how he is always popping out of nooks and crannies in order to startle me. I promise I won't tell about the time that he hid under my bed until 2am and then jumped up and smacked me just when I was finally asleep.

No, I am no snitch. I would never attempt to get him in trouble by talking about how he keeps trying to lace the two legger's coffee with stool softener. I wouldn't dream of letting everyone know that he has set up a PetCo credit account in the two legger's name. Or that he watches "Animal Planet After Dark" which comes on at 1am and features R-rated nature videos.

I am going to use this time to talk about me.

I am seven years old and Cujo has been smacking me around for the last five of those years. I never quite know when or why he is going to smack me. I have luxuriant silver/ gray fur that can often be found lodged between Cujo's claws. I spend most of my day staring at walls, laying on the female two legger's head and getting smacked by Cujo.

I know that Cujo justifies his treatment of me by telling everyone that I whine too much, but this is a misconception. 

I do not whine.

I state my objections vociferously on the rare occasion that something displeases me. The only things that I object to are:
Cujo sitting too close to me.
Cujo walking by me.
Any other cat in my vicinity.
My food bowl being empty.
My food bowl being too full.
My litter box having clumps.
Clean litter.
Open windows.
Closed windows.
My water bowl being dirty.
My water bowl being taken away to be cleaned.
Noises in the dark.
Silence.
Jaq singing.
Two leggers sleeping past 4:30am.
Two leggers going to bed before 2am.
Two leggers having visitors.
Two leggers leaving.
Two leggers coming home.
Two leggers in the tub.
Bob in the yard.
Deer thingies in the yard.
Eight leggers.
Six leggers.
Ivan.

Other than that, I am pretty "happy-go-lucky" all the time.

 *SMACK*
I have returned. 

Now that I have allowed her to speak, I trust that after that bit of unpleasantness, no one will accuse me of unwarranted smacking ever again. 

In fact, I just received an email from PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) regarding my treatment of Tiger Lily. It was just five words long:

"Dear Cujo,
           Go for it."

Night of The Stalking Dead

I have often spoken of my male two legger's affinity for bad science fiction movies. I have also spoken often of the female's long suffering acceptance of the male's affinity for bad science fiction movies.

What I have not mentioned before, is their mutual enjoyment of another type of movie.

 Scary movies.

I am not referring to the type of movie where some former child star hangs out at a summer camp, slashing, axing and chainsawing his way through a cast of buxom young starlets who obviously landed their roles because of their acting skills.

 ** For those of my minions who are unfamiliar with or unaccustomed to extreme sarcasm, please refer to the last portion of the preceding sentence as an example.**

No brainless zombies prancing around causing havoc across this great land. (Can you believe American Idol is still on the air?)

They prefer the more subtle, eerie imaginative form of villain thingy. The type that uses suspense and imagination to scare the litter nuggets out of the viewer. The type that sneaks around, quietly rearranging  your sock drawer and leaves empty egg cartons in the fridge so that the two leggers don't realize they are out of eggs until the next time they crave an omelet and then spend the rest of the day in an unfulfilled omelet funk. The kind of psychopathic creeper that one always suspects of watching from the shadows, making odd faces and occasionally cracking his knuckles. The type that always stays just out of sight and just when you start to relax, jumps out of the closet and yells "BOOGERS!" before taking your first-born off to the land of Faerie.

Last night, they watched just such a show.

From the shadows, I was watching as well......

Being the ever thoughtful and benevolent master that I am, I deduced that if they enjoyed watching this type of show, they would enjoy living it even more.

As the two leggers prepared for bed, I called a meeting of my fellow felines. I informed them that tonight we shall give the two leggers some truly first class entertainment.

Once the two leggers settled into their bed and turned off the lights, Jaq stealthily snuck under their bed and began to softly sing the most eerily terrifying song ever written: "Teddy Bear Picnic".  Sung in such a soft whispery voice, even the bravest soul would find their knee thingies knocking. Ivan could take no more and bolted from the room.

The monochromatic Tiger Lily silently darted from shadow to shadow, like a phantom in their peripheral vision, pausing each time the two leggers sat up to investigate. Almost wraith-like, she slipped along the edges of the room, careful to provide only fleeting glimpses of her ghostly presence.

Having found Ivan cowering under the hallway table, quivering like Justin Beiber at a biker rally, I told him that it was his turn to add his voice to the symphony of spookiness I was conducting. I gave him his orders and sent him into the bedroom. Every 30 seconds or so, Ivan was to find a suitable piece of woodwork (i.e. baseboard, table leg, bedpost....etc) and drag one claw upon its surface, making a long "scriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch" sound. This worked extraordinarily well, except for the part about counting to 30 between scritches. Ivan kept losing count after counting to two.  I solved this dilemma by telling him to scritch every time he thought about food.

I played my part by simply sitting on the night stand and staring intently at them while they attempted to sleep. Whenever I saw their eyelids beginning to droop, I would shift my stance ever so slightly, causing their eyes to pop back open.

Finally, when it seemed that their exhaustion was beginning to overcome their wariness, I gave the signal and we all gathered in front of the glass door thingy that looks out onto the back deck. On cue, all four of us arched our backs, poofed and began hissing at the darkness. Then, in a flurry of skittering claws, we all fled from the room and disappeared into the murky depths of the hallway.

The darkness did not last long. Soon every light in my kingdom was turned on as the two leggers searched every inch of my Kingdom. By the time they entered the living room, Jaq was curled up in the laundry basket, softly humming a lullaby, Tiger Lily was sprawled on the back of the couch whining about the lights. Ivan, having startled himself again, was hiding under the hallway table, and I was resting peacefully upon my throne.

With a confused scratch of his head, the male returned to his bedroom where he and his mate spent the rest of the night with the lights on.

While it provided much amusement, surprisingly, I don't believe the two leggers were entertained.

Perhaps next time, we should provide popcorn.