Thursday, December 27, 2012


I am well aware that I have been neglecting my minions for the last week or so.

It is not my fault.

I shall explain:

The two leggers have decided that my reign should be documented through photography, and so they sent for The Royal Photographer, Erica. Oh, they will say that since Erica is one of their offspring and she and her mate, Kelly were only visiting for the holidays, but it is a ruse. They simply told me that so that I would "relax and act naturally".

The members of my FaceBook fan club are already familiar with Erica and her talent for taking picture thingies, but for those of you who are not, allow me to tell you about her.

Erica and her mate live in a place called North Pole, Alaska. The United States Air Force banished them there just over a year ago. Alaska is a place in the farthest region of the North American Continent that is home to bears, mooses, eskimos and other assorted wildlife. It is cold, dark and it snows 425 days a year.Within a few weeks of her arrival, she was bitten by a parisite that is common in those parts and as yet incurable: Gottitakus Picturus. Otherwise known as the "shutterbug". This parasite causes its host to go out and buy photography equipment and take pictures of all they see. It is a relatively harmless condition and can actually become beneficial if the patient is exposed to a subject worth taking pictures of. (such as myself).

Since being infected, Erica has spent most of her free time wandering the great wilds of the north snapping away like a woman possessed. She has photos of stars, auroras, moose, eagles and various other subjects. She has even been able to document the behavior of Alaska's native tribe of aboriginal hockey players. (Homo Erectus Puckien) These natives are very shy and reclusive. One must be very careful when studying them. Often, if they suspect that they are being observed, they will suddenly throw off their gloves and begin fighting among themselves. Some have been semi-domesticated and can be identified by the dents in their heads and the utter lack of teeth. Erica's mate, Kelly, has attempted to "go native" and has been accepted by them and is often allowed to participate in their rituals.

So anyway, for the last week, Erica has been happily snapping away. Every time I raise my head, she is there. Every time I wake from a nap, she is there. She is there when I am eating, she is there when I am bathing. She is there when I am preparing to smack Tiger Lily (this falls under the heading of "evidence" and will be destroyed at my earliest convenience).

And it's not just me, she has been taking pictures of everyone. Tiger Lily, Jaq, Ivan, even the deer thingies have fallen victim to clicky-click of the shutter and the flashy-flash of the ....well,...flash.

 Jaq has been working it. She struts around acting all sweet and demure while singing "Eye in The Sky" under her breath. Tiger Lily has been whining about it non-stop because she soon realized that I will not smack her with all this surveillance equipment laying about (she'll pay later, trust me) Ivan is confused. This led to some amusement after I convinced him that Erica hid a camera thingy in the litter box and made him too paranoid to potty.

In the meantime, I have decided to make lemonade from the lemons that this has handed me. I have invented a new game. I call it: "Mission Imposeable". Basically, I strike a regal pose, wait for Erica to grab her camera, focus..... wait for it........and using my keen feline senses, a nanosecond before she takes the picture, I turn away. This is followed by a great wailing and gnashing of teeth, (hers, not mine) and then I resume the pose. I could play this for hours. I mix it up at times, laying in an unusual manner, feigning sleep, listening as she attempts to stalk me, and then when all is in place, I jump up, lift a leg and clean my nether regions. I suspect she curses me and cries when I am out of the room.

I have nothing against my picture being taken, so occasionally I will allow her to take a usable photograph. It gives her encouragement to continue amusing me.

If you would like to see Erica's amazing talent as well as The Royal Portaiture, please feel free to visit and "like" her FaceBook photography page: Erica Jansen Photography.

She leaves my Kingdom tomorrow, so I must now go and cause as much mayhem as I can before she and her mate depart.

I wish all my minions a very happy and blessed New Year! I assure you that my quest for Universal Domination continues.

One last thingy: If Ivan should ask, the CIA has developed surveillance cameras that resemble litter nuggets.
All pictures courtesy of Erica Jansen Photography

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

The Stench That Stole Christmas

Up in the vast rainy region
Of the Pacific Northwest,
There lived Ivan The Tolerable,
An orange, stinky pest.

He was constantly grumpy.
Always wearing a scowl.
If anyone dared pet him,
He'd give them a growl.

Ivan hated everything
For no apparent reason.
But the thing he hated most
Was the Christmas Season.

He hated the decorations.
He hated the lights.
The fat guy in red,
His elves wearing tights.

The sounds of two leggers
Enjoying their party,
Would turn Ivan's stomach
And make him all farty.

What made Ivan so surly?
I'd often stop and wonder.
What had taken Ivan's spirit?
And torn it asunder?

Was it a lack of heart?
That gave him such disdain?
No, I felt it went much deeper.
Perhaps his lack of brain.

Change confuses Ivan,
Confusion makes him mean.
And during this time of year,
 Many changes can be seen.

Two leggers treat each other nicer.
A smile on every face.
They greet each other with handshakes
Or a warm, heartfelt embrace.

They decorate their houses,
They fill the rooms with glee.
All of this goodwill
Makes Ivan want to flee.

Since I am Ivan's boss,
I knew what must be done,
We'll have an intervention,
And restore his sense of fun.

I said "Hey Ivan, lookit me"
As I tore a Christmas stocking.
"Christmas can be so much fun!"
As I set the tree to rocking.

"Try smacking a shepherd!,
 Let's eat an elf!
We'll knock all those fairies
 Right off of that shelf!"

I knew I was making progress
When Ivan started to grin.
He poofed his tail, began to trill,
And then he jumped in.

He bit, he chomped,
He kicked and he slashed.
And when he was finished,
My whole house was trashed.

Finally exhausted,
He lay gently and napped.
Laying upon a tree branch
He'd recently snapped.

As I sat watching him,
I knew I'd done well.
As I looked at the carnage,
I felt my heart swell.

My eyes have been opened.
At last I can see.
The true meaning behind
Those lights and that tree.

It is not about stuff,
Not about a game or a toy
It is about doing all those things
That give your heart joy.

To all my minions: Have a very merry and safe Christmas. I hope all your Christmas wishes come true. (Especially if your Christmas wish is for me to finally attain my goal of Universal Domination)

Sunday, December 16, 2012

The Sum of All Fears

Once again, it is time for me to dig deep into the mineshaft of my wisdom and present to you yet another shiny nugget of knowledge.

Tonight, after many requests, I shall share with you the secret of one of the many mysteries that continue to confound two leggers and amuse their feline superiors.

Scientist thingies over the years have reached the conclusion that the average house cat weighs between 12 and 15 pounds, stands approximately .85 tailspans in height and is around 1.68 tailspans in length. Given these measurements, a cat that is fully sprawled, completely relaxed and totally spread out, should cover no more than 2.4 square feet of real estate on any given surface.

Any two legger that has ever been enslaved by cats knows that though the math may be correct, the result is erroneous. In reality, a cat of the above mentioned size and weight is actually capable of covering 80-90% of any bed, chair, couch or kitchen counter.  The area of the surface does not matter. If a two legger has need of the surface, whether it be for sleeping, sitting, lounging or cooking, the resident cat is occupy as much of the surface as is suitable in order to disrupt the activity that the two legger wishes to accomplish.

We do this through the simple application of Cathmatics. Cathmatics is the feline ability to flatten and spread oneself out in order to maximize coverage. We implement a series of very scientific formulas to figure out optimum sprawlage. I could tell you the exact cathmatic calculations we use, but I choose not to. Suffice it to say that it has a lot of numbers, letters and little squiggly signs that professors put on chalk boards at major universities because they look cool and confuse the janitors.

I will however, let you in on one of the secrets of maximum sprawlage.

We do not actually cover as much area as we appear to. We also take advantage of The Corona of Claws and Effect. The CCE is an region of space extending approximately six inches beyond the tip of an outstretched paw. Anything entering the CCE is capable of being slain, mutilated or smacked without warning. The two legger brain thingy subconsciously perceives this region and causes the two legger to see us as being larger than we actually are. This is a self preservation trait that has evolved in the two legger brain thingy over eons of living with cats.

I sincerely hope that this answers some of your questions.

If you find it confusing, well, that's just a bonus.

Monday, December 10, 2012

The Big Booper

It occurs to me that my minions come in a variety of different shapes, sizes, markings, languages, nationalities and species. From fellow felines to those who are subjugated by them. (pretty much everyone else)

There are even a few lovers of dog thingies who read my blog. (they will be assimilated at a later date)

In the spirit of educating those who have been enslaved by their feline betters, I have occasionally used my blog thingy to inform and advise those who may remain uninformed and unadvised.

This post is just such an occasion.

Booping 101 (Worth 12 college credits in most feline based universities as well as The Arkansas Community Veterinary College and Rib Shack) Given that I hold an M.B.A. (Master of Booping Arts) degree, I shall be your professor thingy today.

Booping is an integral function in feline behavior. It is a simple action that has an incredibly simple, yet complex set of meanings and uses. It is probably the most least understood of all feline gestures.

Basically a boop is performed by the booper walking up to the intended boopee. After an appropriate amount of staring, the booper then places their paw upon the nose or head of the boopee. The amount of force used during the booping process is correspondent to the purpose of the boop.

So there is no mistaking a boop, one must always use more force than a caress, but not enough force to be mistaken for a smack. Any blurring of these lines may result in confusion on the part of the boopee.

There are many types of boop. I shall now describe just a few:

The How Do Ya Do? Boop- This is a greeting given to a minion or lesser feline that communicates the sentiment of  "Though you are beneath me, I acknowledge your presence". It is a straightforward nose tap followed by a flick of the tail.

 The Strike One Boop- This is a warning that I am somewhat miffed and if you do not wish to feel my wrath, you will either retreat or bring me a catnip mousie thingy to appease me. It is the most forceful boop and if unheeded may mature into a smack. It is best to lay one's ears back for maximum effect.

The Shooby Dooby Doo Boop- This boop has no real purpose other than the fact that I like saying "Shooby Dooby Doo" and have always wanted to use it in my blog thingy.

The Call of The Whompus Boop- This boop is guaranteed to cause a large, stinky, easily confused, orange tabby to go into a large, stinky, easily confused rage generally known as "Whompus Mode". It generally results in much chaos and mayhem. I recommend a strategic retreat after utilization of this particular boop.

The Measuring Boop- The gentlest of the boops, it is used to determine the optimum distance for an upcoming smack. I find that this boop is best employed against whiny gray tabbies that have annoyed me or may annoy me in the foreseeable future.

The You're In My Spot Boop- The most common of all boops, it is used to evict any unwanted napper who may be napping, sitting or otherwise occupying any space that I wish to nap in, sit in or otherwise occupy. "My spot" is defined as any spot that belongs to me, even if I am physically unable to reach it. This may be limited to, but not restricted to, any spot that I may, or may not, be able to observe.

There is one boop that I reserve strictly for my two leggers. I call it The Smell My Paw Boop. The Smell My Paw Boop is always performed immediately after using the Royal Litter, by placing my paw upon the the nose thingy of my male two legger.

It serves a dual purpose: It demonstrates that the male two legger is an honored minion and it allows him to check my paw for any litter stragglers.

Monday, December 3, 2012

O' Tannenbomb

My apologies for not posting lately, but it is not my fault.

Blame the two leggers.

Though I am The Ruler of All Universes (both known and unknown) Grand Poobah of All Thingies, Benevolent Dictator of The World Thingy and Menacer of Squirrels, I must still rely on my minions for certain services.

One of these services is turning on the computer typey thingy.

Unfortunately, the Thumbed Ones work very long hours during the Christmas season and have been neglecting their duties in regards to keeping me electronically connected to those who thirst for the sweet water of wisdom that fills the oasis of my mind.

I have now smacked, bitten, scratched and generally annoyed them back their duty. I assure you that they will be more mindful of their responsibilities in the future.

Now for news from my kingdom:

This weekend marked the beginning of my favorite time of year.

The time of year that the two leggers erect the best cat toy on Earth. On a chosen day in early December, the two leggers begin rearranging my furniture. This in itself is a good thing because it reunites me with the 483 catnip mousie thingies that escaped under the couch during the rest of the year. Then the male goes to the storage shed and laboriously carries in 36 large boxes while Jaq sings "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot".

Working as a team, the two leggers then construct a seven-foot tree thingy that was harvested from the legendary Forest of WalMartia. The WalMartian Forest is famous for its trees that consist of tubular steel trunks, twisted branches made of wire and green plastic needles. These genetic anomalies obviously evolved as a defensive mechanism against termites, woodpeckers, squirrels and lumberjacks. They are also segmented for easy storage and portability.

Some may say that they are "artificial" or "non-living". However I know that this is simply not true. An artificial tree is incapable of reproducing or new growth. But every year, after being stored in darkness for eleven months, it returns to my house sporting a full set of needles even though Ivan, Tiger Lily and I  had completely destroyed it the previous year. Once again, there will be fresh, green plastic pine needles garnishing our hairballs and litter.

Once the tree thingy, Arborius Polyvinyl WalMarticus is erected, the male two legger is banished to the talking box thingy to yell at the football game and the female proceeds to hang all sorts of cat toys from the boughs of the tree thingy. She has a particular way of hanging them that is apparently pleasing to her eye. Every ornament must be placed in just the right  place. It must hang just so. It must catch the light in just such a manner.

She starts with the lights. Some sparkle, some twinkle, some flash while others just glow. The strands of beads are draped in subtle arcs in a totally random but strategically placed manner planned out years in advance.  Finally, she hangs the ornament thingies. She hangs these according to their value (both monetary and sentimental) with the most precious near the top and descending to the cheap ones at the bottom. She never uses tinsel. The two leggers have boycotted tinsel ever since Ivan's techniclolr hairball of 2008. She places the plastic (presumably "unbreakable") ornaments at the bottom. As she places the lower decorations, she looks directly at me and says "Let's see you break these, you little monster".

Challenge accepted.

I understand her commitment to perfection. I am not immune to the allure of art. I enjoy aesthetically pleasing stuff. Truth be told, I can appreciate the time, thought and effort she expends in making my tree beautiful.

 I just hope she appreciates the time, thought and effort I'll expend destroying it.