Monday, November 19, 2012

Operation: Cuddly Kitty

I am greatly annoyed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The ragdolls on the other paw, irritated me.

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

I suspect they may even secretly covet such a life.

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

We are now 48 hours into Operation Cuddly Kitty.

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

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

Has it been difficult? Yes.

Will it be worth it?


Thursday, November 15, 2012

The Grapeful Dead

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

A grape.

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

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

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

The golf ball seldom answers.

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

I was not disappointed.

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

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

The grape seemed unimpressed.

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

The misguided missile launched!

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

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

He had it coming.

Everyone knows that I don't tolerate wining.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

Communing With Goats

This morning Ivan laid the Mother of All Stinkies.

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

However, this post is not about Clodzilla.

It is about goat thingies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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