Saturday, July 23, 2011

The FNG (Freakin New Guy)

I am annoyed.

No, I am amused..

Perhaps I am annoyed in an amusing way.

Or maybe, I am amusingly annoyed.

I'll get back to you on that.

Anyway, the reason that I have such conflicting feelings is that in a fit of uncharacteristic charity, I have decided to hire a new minion.

A few days ago, while I was surveying my domain, I noticed an interloper in my yard. A small orange tabby had wandered into my kingdom.  This in itself is not that unusual, transient felines often drop by to offer their respects to me. However, this individual was different. He came seeking employment. Though I had no job openings at the moment, I felt I should at least grant him an audience.

I interviewed him through the sliding screen thingy that looks out upon my back deck. I asked him his qualifications for employment.

He replied that he was hungry.

I asked him why I should grant him full minionship.

He replied that he was hungry.

I inquired about his background.

He replied he was hungry.

Detecting a pattern, I decided to move on.

I asked him what special talents he possessed.

He replied that he was really good at being hungry.

Seeing that this was getting us nowhere, I ordered my two leggers to feed him. Which they did. The unintended affect of this being that they immediately fell in love with the little waif. This should not have surprised me. One thing that I have not mentioned about the female two legger is the fact that she immediately falls in love with any four legger that appears to be in need. I find this trait endearing, however, it was somewhat presumptuous of her to adopt him without my express permission.

I explained in no uncertain terms that this was unacceptable. I patiently told her that if she simply repented and sent the interloper packing, all would be forgiven.

She, of course, ignored me.

Her shoes will pay the price for her temerity.

Just as I was working myself into a full blown snit, something totally unexpected occurred. Tiger Lily spotted the new guy and went completely poofy tailed, owl faced, catnip crazed, monkey jumpin, squirrel huggin crazy.

I was amused.

I instantly realized that he could be useful. With my busy schedule, I do not always have the time to irritate her as much as she so richly deserves. Sometimes, we all could use a designated hitter.

I have named him "Jack". He shall be my apprentice.

Now I just have to teach him the evils of squirrel thingies.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Anniversary Thingy

One year ago today, the two leggers talked me into starting this blog thingy. To tell the truth, I never thought that it would amount to much, nor last very long. One year later, I have discovered that the world has been hungering for truth, reason, honesty and humility.

I have no idea where that can be found, but I suspect it may have been stolen by squirrels and hidden in some dark, dank hole in the middle of the squirrel homeland. 

Probably in a tree.

Tonight, I'd like to start by thanking all of my loyal minions. All of you have made this journey enjoyable and amusing. The comments that I have received have both shaped and influenced my ongoing philosophy. Though I may not reply to every comment, I assure you, I read and enjoy every one of them.

This last year, I have gotten to know and appreciate countless numbers of people across the world. I now have minions on every continent save Antartica, and I am currently working on networking with penguin thingies. On a daily basis, I chat with minions in 14 different time zones.

I find this absolutely amazing.

I also find in this an opportunity...... 

This year I have spread my musings world wide. Now I plan to spread them further.

Oh sure, there are those who shall attempt to stop me. NASA has even canceled the shuttle program thingy in an effort to keep me earthbound. There is a movement in the Southeast United States that worships squirrel thingies and wishes to see me overthrown. Their leader, the Right Honorable Nicholas McNuttjob, says I spread hate and discontent regarding his "flock".

Okay, I can't dispute that, but it is hurtful. If he and I ever meet in person, I will offer him an olive branch....and then beat him about the head thingy with it.

Finally, please allow me to express my deepest appreciation for each and every one of you who take a few minutes from your busy day to read the musings of a tyrannical, smack happy housecat.

Tonight, in honor of this, I give my solemn vow that I will not raise a paw against Tiger Lily.

I'll let Ivan have a go at her.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Sleep Disorder

Last night I received an e-mail thingy from a two legger. It reads:

"Dear Cujo, Supreme Ruler of The Universe and All Alternate Universes Either Known or Unknown, Keeper of All Useful Knowledge, Bane of Squirrel Thingies, Guru of Mischief, Master Smacker of All Things Annoying.

If you would be so charitable as to see fit to answer such a lowly two legger as myself, I have a dilemma:

The feline I have the honor of sharing an apartment with seems to have become nocturnal. He sleeps all day, only rising to eat and play while I am trying to sleep. Is this normal?

                                            I Have The Honor To Be Your Humble Minion,
                                                                       Rupert P. Floop"

My Dear Mr. Floop,
Having read your letter, I can only conclude that this is the first time that you have been graced by servitude to a cat. I assume you have spent too much time in the company of dog thingies. Since I feel a duty to your Lord and Master to educate you, I shall attempt to do so now.

First a few basics:
1. He is a cat.
2. He is not a dog thingy.
3. If you do not understand this, go back to points #1 & 2, and re-read them until you do.

Next I will answer your primary question:

The cat you live with, (you did not provide his name, so for now I will call him "Greg") is not "nocturnal". He is "Knockturnal" All cats are knockturnal. It amuses us. We have discovered after eons of research and experimentation that the hours between 12:47 am and 4:33 am are the optimal time for knocking stuff over and causing chaos. This is the time of night that most two leggers sleep, and also the darkness decreases their ability to locate the water squirty thingy in a timely manner. These "wee hours" also provide the best acoustics due to the fact that the talking box thingy is generally dormant after 11:00 pm. and therefore does not interfere with the sounds of glass breaking.

Just an example: My two leggers have switched to drinking from glasses that are usually reserved for beer. These "pint" glasses are made of thicker glass and do not shatter when striking the floor at terminal velocity. When they hit the floor they make a very unsatisfying "Thunk". Last night I was finally able to break one only by positioning Ivan's head between the glass and the floor. The sound of the glass shattering upon impact with Ivan's noggin carried very well due to the prevailing silence at 3:31 am.

As far as Greg sleeping all day, I recently read a study that alleged that cats sleep an average of 19 hours per day. This surprised me because that implies that we are awake for an unbelievable five hours per day. The study obviously did not count the hours we spend napping. Ivan is a world class napper. He once napped for 37 hours in a single 24 hour period. Napping is obviously different than sleeping though scientists have never been able to determine the intricacies of feline slumber.

I understand your desire to spend more time with a fully alert feline, (be careful what you wish for) but do not expect Greg to engage in such canine behavior as adjusting his sleep schedule to suit your needs.

While I applaud your decision to enrich your life with servitude to a cat, you are the party expected to adjust your schedule.

To paraphrase: Greg is a cat, deal with it.

Friday, July 8, 2011

Deep Thoughts

Today, I was watching a program on the talking box thingy. The show was about a creature that is indeed worthy of my respect and admiration. The show was called "JAWS". The star of the show was HUGE.

It is called a "shark".

Sharks are a type of fish thingy. They are large, gray, tooth filled, cold blooded munch machines. 

It seems to me that their primary purpose in life is turning two leggers into no leggers.

I have a theory that they also possess hypnotic powers. This can be the only explanation for the two leggers obsession with them. Allow me to elaborate:

If I am aware that something in my vicinity has both the ability and the desire to eat me, I endeavor to avoid meeting it. One could even say that I vacate the area. If I know that this theoretical something resides in places that I have no business being in, I do not go into those places. I may send Ivan, but personally, I prefer to keep my own legs in their current undigested state.

Two leggers on the other paw, see this creature that is twice their size, has more teeth than most used car salesmen and desires nothing more than to leave little bits of scuba diver thingies in their fecal matter, and make a conscious decision that they will jump in the water with them. They wish to "study" them. They want to pet them. They want to convince other two leggers that sharks are simply "misunderstood".

What do they misunderstand?

Sharks like to eat. They like to eat two leggers. They do not eat two leggers because they were weaned too young, or because they did not receive enough attention from their mothers. They did not fall into the "wrong crowd.".

They eat two leggers because they taste better than seaweed and swim slower than fish thingies.

Ivan and I have decided that we should strive to be more shark-like. I am doubtful that given our size we could consume an entire two legger, but we have something that sharks do not.

A refrigerator.

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Ivan Versus The Moth

Well, he's at it again.

Ivan is stalking a moth.

This may not sound newsworthy, but there is something you do not know.

The moth is dead. Not just dead, really really really dead.

How do I know this?

Simple. This is the same moth that Ivan has stalked and killed every night for the last nine days.

It is actually kind of sad.
Every night after the two leggers go to bed, Ivan and I go on our nightly patrol. Every night as we approach the sliding door thingy, Ivan spots the little winged corpse lying in the track of the sliding door thingy. Not recognizing his previous nights' victim, he suddenly crouches, his gelatinous hindquarters begin to quiver, his sad excuse for a tail begins to twitch and he feels the compunction to chitter.

In a low voice he says: "Ummm.....I'm gonna get you, you hairy little, flying, not quite a butterfly thingy."

Now, either the moth is paralyzed with fear, or possibly, and I know this is a stretch, it could be, I don't know............ DEAD?

I attempt to inform Ivan that the moth is deceased, but he does not believe it. He believes that it is simply "playing possum". He doesn't know what a "possum" is, but is convinced that if he knew what a possum looked like, it would look just like a dead moth. He informs me that the moths' identical twin attempted the same ruse last night.

I ask him about the previous eight nights. He uses this as an example of just how dedicated they are to "playing possum".

After thoroughly re-slaying the moth, Ivan gives me a smug look and walks away in total contentment.

Tomorrow, I think I'll get him a fresh moth.

Monday, July 4, 2011

A History Lesson

Today is the fourth day of July.

Every year on this date, the two leggers decide to celebrate by cooking their meal outside on my deck. They consume food and drink and socialize into the wee hours. Generally fire and loud noises are involved.

I find this behavior curious.

So once again, I decided to ponder this two legged tradition. This is what I have discovered:

It seems that about  235 two legger years ago, (approximately 80.347 bajillion cat years) the two leggers that lived in North America decided that they no longer cared to be associated with the two leggers that lived across the ocean thingy. So they told them off and decided that from that day forth, they would be self-governing. (unless they had cats)

What many of you may be unaware of, is the fact that without cats, none of this would have been possible.

Back in 1776, the Founding Two Leggers were suffering under the oppression of being ruled by a government that took the fruit of their labors and gave them little in return. The British cared little for their American minions except as a source of food, catnip and reality television programs. The Americans one day woke up and said "We do not need a King thingy to eat our food, use our catnip, steal our ideas for television programming, and generally treat us like litter. We have cats!"

So a group of two leggers led by George Jefferson, Washington DeeCee, Old MacDonald and Bud Wiser wrote a nastygram to the Burger King and demanded a tea party. The Burger King was annoyed and sent some lobsters and a squid or two to America to show his displeasure.

This deployment of seafood did not impress the two leggers and annoyed their cats who were expecting tuna. So in a fit of pique, the two leggers wrote another nastygram called "The Declaration  Bill of Independent Rights Constitutional Thingy". This really put the Burger King's Royal Pantaloons in a twist and so he sent more lobsters. I do not understand the British strategy of seafood warfare, but then again, they are British.

Long story short, the American two leggers shot and ate the all the lobsters that the British sent.Eventually the Burger King lost interest and started shipping his seafood elsewhere.

To this day, American two leggers celebrate  the Fourth of July by eating hotdogs, hamburgers and apple pie.

Anything but lobster.