The Origin of The Cujo Dynasty

Lately, my two leggers have become somewhat nostalgic, telling stories about how they came to be graced with my presence. As usual, their stories have inaccuracies that portray the two leggers in a better light than they deserve.

If one was to hear the story of my "adoption" as they relay it, you would be led to believe that they rescued me from a dank, dark dungeon full of flea bitten prisoners with no chance of liberty. They found me, half starved, living off my own fur balls, sleeping on the cold, hard floor without even the bare comfort of a catnip mousie thingy.

Drivel.

I was born, the oldest kitten of eight, to an unwed female who lived with a single female two legger who spent a lot of time away from home. My mother was allowed to roam the neighborhood often, thus resulting in a midnight rendezvous that led to my glorious conception. Unable to support so many new dependants, I and my siblings were taken to the Vet's office where we were informed that we would be soon assigned new two leggers.

Subjected to a week long indoctrination process that involved a bath, several injections and humiliating examinations, we were instructed in how to behave in order to increase our chances of reassignment. Our instructor was an old tomcat that resided within the Vet's office, named Reggie.

My first question was why, if Reggie was so good at this, hadn't he been reassigned?

But I digress.

During the indoctrination process, I decided that I would inflict more pain on the Vet and her assistants than they inflicted on me. In this endeavor, I was remarkably successful. I was placed in a large cage with fourteen other kittens to wait for my new two leggers. The other kittens were instructed to act "cute and adorable". Having known me for a week, Reggie simply asked me to refrain from bloodshed. I assured him I would try.

After spending several days watching two leggers come to the cage and select one kitten after another, I saw my opportunity. A male two legger approached the cage. I knew immediately that this was a two legger that could be easily tamed. He was tall, fairly thin with graying fur. Other than a clueless look in his eyes, what stood out most was the strange growth of fur between his upper lip and nose. It looked like he tried to swallow a squirrel, but couldn't quite finish the job.

I immediately climbed to the top of the cage and stuck my paw through the wire successfully managing to sink a claw into his leg in order to gain his attention. I informed him that he was to look no further, his master was at hand. I ordered him to sign the paperwork and get me outta there.

He of course complied.

He brought me into my new house in the "kitty carrier" thingy. Upon placing me on the floor, he opened the door on the kitty carrier and I entered my kingdom.

The first thing I beheld was a large, obviously mentally challenged orange tabby. Ivan at that time was approximately three times my size (I was only 12 weeks old) and twenty times my weight. I instantly decided that he would be my chief minion and so I poofed and promptly smacked him. Ivan fled down the hallway like a furry orange bowling ball, presumably to assure that the rest of my house would be properly prepared for me. My new house was full of toys and breakable stuff. After making a full examination, I informed the two legger that my new abode was acceptable.

About an hour later, the mate of the the male two legger arrived. The male tried to warn her that the house had changed ownership, but she told him that he was exaggerating. She picked me up, cooing and stroking me in a very gentle manner. The male stood aghast as she petted the "sweet wittle putty cat". When he spoke of returning the "little hellbeast" to the place from whence it came, she told him that this was my home now.

Truer words never spoken.

A Day At The Races

The two leggers screwed up today.

They screwed up big-time.

I'm talkin a big, big, big and furthermore big mistake.

I am not complaining, not at all. In fact, it made for an amazingly amusing day.

What could they possibly have done to warrant a post on my blog thingy?

They left a door open, and then left us alone with the open door for nine hours. But the door is not the star of this particular story. It is what lay behind the door that caused the chaos that ensued. They left the door to the cupboard open. Still unaware of the fortuitous nature of their stupidity? Allow me to elaborate:

The cupboard that lies behind this door is none other than the cupboard in which the two leggers store our entire hoard of both food and.......wait for it............CATNIP!

Okay, let us pause to consider a moment. We are left alone. We have a 30lb bag of food (conveniently left uncovered). We have a LARGE bag of catnip. And finally, we have a house chock full of breakable Christmas thingies strewn about the place. What could possibly go wrong?

Of course, the first thing we did was tear into the nip. There was enough for all of us, and even Tiger Lily stopped whining for a while. Then we satisfied our monstrous case of the munchies.

Now came the time to address the tree. In a very rare instance of tri-feline unity, we all agreed that the tree must be "defoliated". However, it must not be simply attacked, that would be crude and unsophisticated, beneath us. It must be dismantled with malice of forethought. We needed to invent a game in which the tree would become the unfortunate bystander that gets whacked by the flying tire at all NASCAR events.

Contemplating NASCAR, (for my international followers, NASCAR is a sport here in my country where two leggers drive their cars in circles for several hours while being cheered on by other two leggers who are required to be inebriated, wear hats, and live in trailers) I decided a racing game was in order.

At my signal, we ran through my house at top speed. This may sound boring, but given the fact that the floors in my house are made of hardwood and thereby provide little traction, much chaos ensued. Just like in NASCAR, the wrecks provided the most entertainment. Tiger Lily took out the nativity scene in the very first lap, proving that the angel wasn't the only one that could fly. Tiger Lily truly was the straw that broke the camels back.

I wiped out halfway through the third turn on the fifth lap. This sent me sprawling into the packages that had been placed under the tree. Not sure what's in those boxes, but I am fairly certain at least one of them will need some "re-assembly"

Ivan, possibly due to his stubby little legs, seemed to hold the track better than us. Though not as fast as Tiger Lily and I, he still managed a respectable speed in the straightaways. But on the final lap, Ivan the Lumberingjack lost control. Hitting a slick spot on the track, he flipped end over end and slammed into the trunk of the tree knocking it over and causing it to lean precariously against the wall. Sweet.

Deciding that there was no way we could top this epic exhibition of mindless destruction, I decided a nap was in order.

I awoke several hours later to the sound of the front door opening. I surveyed the room. Broken glass, shattered ornaments and plastic pine needles lay strewn about the living room. Remnants of food wrappings and an empty catnip bag littered the hallway. I was reminded of the talking box thingy when they show the tornado ravaged homes of NASCAR fans.

The gasps of delight that issued from the two leggers when they entered was priceless.

A Christmas Tail

This is a little poem I wrote about what happened last Christmas.

Twas the night before Christmas,
And all through my house,
Came the thump, thump, thumping,
Of Ivan punching a mouse.

The two leggers were sleeping,
All snug in their beds.
Oblivious to the world,
They had taken their meds.

I lay on my throne,
And started to snooze.
I dreamed of smacking squirrels,
And barfing in shoes.

Suddenly something woke me,
A noise on the roof.
Yanking me from slumber
Causing me to poof.

Standing by the firebox,
What did I behold?
A big fat two legger,
Who looked rather old.

He was big, fat and bearded.
He was dressed all in red.
I ordered Mr. Ivan,
To bring me his head.

But, Ivan refused.
He wouldn't even budge.
Because Ivan suspected,
This guy carried fudge.

Ivan begged me to chill,
As I reached for a stick,
"This bozo is none other,
Than good ole St. Nick."

Ivan's determination,
Caused me to pause.
Could this obese vagrant,
Be Santa Claus?

He gives people presents,
He is a merry soul.
But all he ever brings for me,
Is a big old lump of coal.

And so I swore, then and there,
By my jingle balls.
Next time I see him,
I'm giving Santa claws.

The Stranger

I am miffed. I am annoyed. Angry, irritated, P.O.'ed, and furthermore agitated. One could almost say that I am upset. Now, you folks all know how slow to anger and easy going I am, so to say that something has gotten under my skin must come as a mental head smack for you. What has got my hairballs in a bunch?

A stray.

Not just some poor little waif of a vagabond kitty searching for handouts at the gates of my kingdom, but a true feral, bad attitude, bunny munchin, bird stalking, squirrel lover. `

This morning, shortly after consuming my breakfast and giving Tiger Lily her "top o' the mornin to ye" smack, I happened to glance out the sliding door and beheld the largest feline I had ever seen. This thing was not just big, it was like something that one sees munching Tokyo on the talking box thingy. It had the same markings as Ivan, but was much poofier. Paws the size of my food bowl and the mangiest coat seen this side of Kmart. Its' tail had seen better days and I only counted three teeth when it yawned.

My first reaction was to go get Ivan. I considered Ivan, being the big dumb brute that he is, to be better equipped to handle this interloper. However, when Ivan looked out of the window, he mistakenly took the stranger to be his own reflection and immediately grabbed his stash of catnip and flushed it down the toilet.

I was left no choice but to deal with the trespasser myself.

I arched my back in the "Halloween cat" position. I poofed. I twitched my incredible tail. I bared my perfect and complete set of teeth. I hissed and cursed and questioned his lineage. I even told him that he smelled of dog.

It is unfortunate that the two leggers installed insulated windows last year because the stranger was completely unaware of the superior tongue lashing he was receiving.

Finally, out of frustration, I body slammed Tiger Lily into the window causing her cry in her whiny, glass penetrating voice. This annoyed the stranger so much that he left for greener (and less irritating) pastures.

This was of course my strategy all along.

I would also like to give a quick shoutout to my new friend Rumble-Bum. He is a Maine Coon with a great blog. You'll find a link to his blog to the right of my page.

Trials and Tribulations

The bathroom spider is busted.

Longtime followers of my blog thingy may recall that the bathroom spider and I have had a long standing agreement. He is allowed to live in my bathroom under two conditions.

1. He continues to creep out the male two legger.

2. He does not stray from the confines of the bathroom.

A couple of months ago, he violated this agreement by entering the two leggers bedroom and I sent Ivan to "remind" him of the terms of the aforementioned agreement. After Ivan broke several of his numerous kneecaps, the eight legger seemed to have learned his lesson.

However, today while I was touring my kingdom, what should I behold but the bathroom spider scurrying across the carpet obviously on his way to do spidery deeds in the two leggers closet. Clearly he had crossed the line and such behavior cannot be tolerated. He was immediately taken into custody to await his fate.

Now, my two leggers often accuse me of being a tyrant. This is simply not so. I prefer to think of myself as a benevolent dictator. So to prove my point, I decided to grant the eight legger a trial by a jury of his peers.

The only peer I could find was Ivan, (he drinks a LOT of water) and so I appointed him to be the jury. Tiger Lily served as the defense attorney, while I served as both prosecutor and judge. What could be more fair than this?

The trial began with the prosecutor (me) reading the charges. This being done the judge (also me) asked if there were any witnesses for the defense. Tiger Lily immediately produced two other spiders who swore that the bathroom spider was in the bathroom the entire time that he was accused of being seen near the closet. As prosecutor, I immediately ate both defense witnesses and excused them from further testimony.

Tiger Lily jumped up and objected. As judge, I over-ruled her objection and ordered her to be smacked. Lacking a bailiff, I carried this out myself.

Tiger Lily then said that she would like to testify on behalf of her client. Though unusual, I decided to allow this. She launched into a drawn out diatribe about how the poor eight legger was the youngest of 3,000 children and never knew his father. His mother sent him out into the cold cruel world to fend for himself and he ended up settling in the bathroom where he lived out his solitary existence far from his homeland and bereft of fellow eight legger company. How could he help but become a fugitive from the law? He is actually the victim here and should be released immediately.

As prosecutor, I objected on the grounds that this was stupid. As judge, I sustained the objection and ordered the defense attorney to be smacked again. After the acting bailiff (me again) carried this out, I asked if the defense rests. From beneath the entertainment center, she said yes, the defense rests.

The prosecutor then testified that the spider was caught red handed (all eight of them) and that there could be no other verdict than "guilty". The judge heartily agreed, and the case was given to the jury.

The jury was out for two hours, but after the bailiff managed to wake him, he pronounced the accused as guilty. The judge retired to his chambers to ponder the eight legger's sentence and use the royal litter box.

Upon the judge's return, he found that the jury had eaten the defendant in his absence.

Justice has been served.

I Be Trippin

I have heard several two leggers complain that their feline masters are trying to kill them. This is ridiculous, We would never attempt to kill you. If we killed our two leggers, who would provide us food and catnip mousie thingies? Plus, I've yet to learn how to turn on the firebox thingy.

Killing you is totally out of the question.

We wish to maim you. If you are maimed, you will have more time to worship us. You will be unable to leave our house. You will have to spend more time in bed, thereby keeping it at an agreeably warm temperature. I would lay money that you may even come to thank us for crippling you for life.

That being said, there is a gray area here that requires clarification. We do not wish you to end up in a wheelchair. Wheelchairs are not tail friendly. Walkers and canes are preferable. They enable you remain ambulatory (for feeding us and cleaning the royal litter) and the sound they make has the added benefit of providing us with early warning of your approach. Also, you need both hands to operate a walker, leaving no room to carry a water squirty thingy.

Now allow me to address my fellow felines. When trying to maim your two leggers, do be careful. If you trip them, make sure that they are not carrying a firearm. (One-Eyed Petie will attest to this.) If you are planning on sending them down a set of steps, make sure the steps are not too high or steep as this may cause more damage to the two legger than you wish. If at all possible, try to trip your two legger while their hands are full. This has the dual advantages of not allowing them to catch themselves, as well as making a huge mess when whatever they are carrying breaks upon impact with the floor.

As always, after successfully accomplishing your goal, destroy all the evidence and bury all the witnesses.

Solitary

I'm back. Ivan has once again slunk back to the land of the illiterate. It is where he is happiest. He is not comfortable when someone asks him to think. He was so stressed, it caused him to slip into a semi-comatose state. Of course, this appears to be normal for him, and he still responds to the sound of the food closet opening, so no one but me noticed.

Well, it has been almost a week since I have posted and much is happening around my house. The two leggers are away most of the time, this being a very hectic time of year for them. Thus, we are left to our own devices in order to keep ourselves amused. While some may see this as a detriment, I see only opportunity.

In the morning before they leave, the two leggers invariably lock me up in one part of my house, and Ivan and Tiger Lily are left in another part of my house. They seem to be under the mistaken belief that this will minimize the damage.

For one thing, I've invented a new game. I call it:"Britches Button Bingo". While the two leggers are absent, I find any pants I can, and chew through the threads that hold the button thingies. How can that be amusing? The key is not chewing completely through the threads, but just mostly through the threads. If this task is performed correctly, the button thingy should not fall off until around 8am when the two leggers are getting ready to leave for the day. Or if you are a true master, the button thingy will fall off later in the day while the two leggers are far from the safe haven of their closet. As always, points are awarded according to the amount of chaos caused.

Ivan spends much of his day glaring at his food bowl. He feels that if he gives it the hairy eyeball long enough, it will magically refill itself out of fear. I have tried many times to explain food bowl physics to him, but once he gets something in his head........well, actually once he gets something in his head, it usually dies of loneliness, but I digress. Let's just say he's stubborn.

Tiger Lily spends most of her day attempting to avoid me. Being locked in a different room, one would think this would be easy, not so. You see, in order to reach the litter box, she must pass by my door. So, I wait. There is a gap between the bottom of the door and the floor. This gap is just large enough that a determined paw can reach out and slap someone. Ivan of course assists in this by standing in the hallway and forcing her to come near the door as she passes.

I'm sure that some of you may see this as mean spirited, however, please be assured, we do this for her own good. I find that a good scare and smacking assists in the litter making process.