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.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Band For Life
I have begun a new endeavor.
I am starting a band.
The idea for this came to me the other night while the male two legger was watching the talking box thingy. It seems that there are entire channels that are dedicated to various two leggers attempting to sing, dance, play string thingies, bang on drums and tear up hotel rooms.
I realized that I am imminently qualified to do all these things.
The two leggers featured on these channels are worshiped and idolized by adolescent two leggers world wide. The louder and more obnoxious they act, the more they are emulated. They do things that would result in my getting soaked by the water squirty thingy if I should attempt them.
It was this behavior that brought me to the conclusion that I MUST start a band.
The first thing that I needed was a cool name for my new band. I considered several options:
1. Mousemunch
2. Slaphead
3. The Litterbox Braintrust
4. Hairball Harmony
5. Smackenscurry
6. Mange
7. Litterclump
8. Hootie and The Blowfish.
I finally settled on "K-Oss Theory". For some reason, this name appealed to me.
Next, I needed some members for my new band. I would be lead vocals as well as playing hair guitar and knock knacks. The sound of things striking the floor at terminal velocity can be quite musical as well as amusing.
Ivan will play repercussion. Though he is just a whisker shy of being declared brain dead, he is very talented at turning random noises into a masterpiece of torturous sounds. He reminds me of a fat orange Justin Bieber.
Tiger Lily is our back up whiner and designated "Artist That Dies Too Young". Every successful band is required to have an expendable member that passes away just as the band begins to achieve mainstream success. She is none too pleased at this assignment, but she should feel happy that we included her at all.
I have attempted to hold auditions for an eight legger to play keyboards, but Ivan keeps munching the talent pool.
I have noticed that there many different labels that two leggers place on their music in order to differentiate the channel on which they are played. Our band will probably be somewhat difficult to categorize in this respect. After our first practice, I have come to the realization that the nearest thing to a genre that our music fits into is:
"Heavyrockabillybluegrassmetalbanjopickinhiphopchamberoperacontemporarybluesjazz."
Tiger Lily suggested "Scat", but that is more of a response than a genre.
I have decided that all rehearsals will begin promptly at two in the morning and be concluded once the two leggers have rushed the stage screaming like the rabid fans that I am confident they will soon become.
Our first album, titled "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!", should be available on iTunes and in record stores everywhere soon.
I am starting a band.
The idea for this came to me the other night while the male two legger was watching the talking box thingy. It seems that there are entire channels that are dedicated to various two leggers attempting to sing, dance, play string thingies, bang on drums and tear up hotel rooms.
I realized that I am imminently qualified to do all these things.
The two leggers featured on these channels are worshiped and idolized by adolescent two leggers world wide. The louder and more obnoxious they act, the more they are emulated. They do things that would result in my getting soaked by the water squirty thingy if I should attempt them.
It was this behavior that brought me to the conclusion that I MUST start a band.
The first thing that I needed was a cool name for my new band. I considered several options:
1. Mousemunch
2. Slaphead
3. The Litterbox Braintrust
4. Hairball Harmony
5. Smackenscurry
6. Mange
7. Litterclump
8. Hootie and The Blowfish.
I finally settled on "K-Oss Theory". For some reason, this name appealed to me.
Next, I needed some members for my new band. I would be lead vocals as well as playing hair guitar and knock knacks. The sound of things striking the floor at terminal velocity can be quite musical as well as amusing.
Ivan will play repercussion. Though he is just a whisker shy of being declared brain dead, he is very talented at turning random noises into a masterpiece of torturous sounds. He reminds me of a fat orange Justin Bieber.
Tiger Lily is our back up whiner and designated "Artist That Dies Too Young". Every successful band is required to have an expendable member that passes away just as the band begins to achieve mainstream success. She is none too pleased at this assignment, but she should feel happy that we included her at all.
I have attempted to hold auditions for an eight legger to play keyboards, but Ivan keeps munching the talent pool.
I have noticed that there many different labels that two leggers place on their music in order to differentiate the channel on which they are played. Our band will probably be somewhat difficult to categorize in this respect. After our first practice, I have come to the realization that the nearest thing to a genre that our music fits into is:
"Heavyrockabillybluegrassmetalbanjopickinhiphopchamberoperacontemporarybluesjazz."
Tiger Lily suggested "Scat", but that is more of a response than a genre.
I have decided that all rehearsals will begin promptly at two in the morning and be concluded once the two leggers have rushed the stage screaming like the rabid fans that I am confident they will soon become.
Our first album, titled "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!", should be available on iTunes and in record stores everywhere soon.
Monday, June 27, 2011
The Gathering
We are NOT amused.
No, I am not speaking of the "Royal We", I am speaking of the four legged denizens of my kingdom. From myself, right down the slapping order to Tiger Lily.
As a matter of fact, we have been pushed beyond "not amused". We have been driven past Annoyedville and are within spitting distance of Pissedburgh.
The two leggers have surpassed themselves in the area of insubordination. Allow me to explain:
First of all, let's jump into our "way back machine thingy" and go back to last Thursday.
Thursday is one of the days that the two leggers do not wake up and go to work. Sometimes, they hardly wake at all on Thursday. But on this particular Thursday, they woke up early and commenced to scrubbing everything in sight. They dusted, cleaned the kitchen, and corralled every dust bunny they could find. They even found some of their possessions that I had carefully concealed in my numerous hidey holes. This furious activity aroused my curiosity, but had not crossed the line at which I become annoyed.
Having observed all this, the realization suddenly struck me. The two leggers were planning a gathering.
It is not often that my two leggers host a gathering. Frankly, I am not sure why two leggers gather in the first place. When they gather, they usually eat, drink things that make them act doglike and then they sit around and talk. There is no hissing. No poofing or raising of hackles. Blood is seldom shed, and there is very little smacking involved. The purpose of theses gatherings escapes me.
Having surmised the reason for the all the cleaning, I immediately called Ivan and Tiger Lily into a council of chaos plotting.
I ordered Ivan to conserve his gaseous emissions. I told him to save it all for a single gargantuan blast to be released seconds prior to the main course of the two leggers' dinner. I also gave him the duty of shredding any decorations the two leggers may put up in advance.
I gave Tiger Lily the responsibility of providing the "Whine du Jour". I told her she should practice her whining between the hours of two and five AM. so as to determine which vintage would cause the most desirable response. Tiger Lily has no claw thingies and is totally useless when it comes to physical destruction. I smacked her for this shortcoming and sent her to her room to ponder her lack of weaponry.
As for myself, I began working up the largest, nastiest, and slimiest hairball imaginable. This, I planned to release in a most dramatic fashion during dessert. This would be a true masterpiece of gastric recollection.
Friday came and the hectic preparations (two legged as well as four legged) continued. My lawn was mowed, my back deck swept, and all manner of things prepared. Ivan and I did our best to interfere, but since the preparations had moved outside, our efforts were limited at best.
On Saturday, the two leggers began to cook. We knew the day was at hand. We practiced our timing, and perfected our plan. We had retained much of the fur we would have shed earlier
in order to deposit it on the coats of the two legged guests.
Everything was in readiness.
We waited in anticipation.
A car thingy approached my house.
And suddenly it happened. In an obviously pre-planned strategic maneuver, the two leggers grabbed us and tossed us unceremoniously into the spare bedroom. They told us it was "for our own good", but I doubt their veracity.
Ivan scratched at the door, I threatened them vehemently and questioned their pedigree. Finally finding a good use for Tiger Lily, I repeatedly slapped her against the window, almost managing to crack one pane. But it was to no avail. We suffered our banishment while the two leggers enjoyed their feast. We were finally released only after the last two leggers had departed.
My two leggers feel smug now. They believe they have won. They are convinced that all is well.
They are mistaken.
I still have a hairball that has their new comforters' name written in big bold letters across it.
And let us not forget Ivan. Eventually he is going to explode, or shoot through the house like a released balloon thingy.
That should amuse me.
No, I am not speaking of the "Royal We", I am speaking of the four legged denizens of my kingdom. From myself, right down the slapping order to Tiger Lily.
As a matter of fact, we have been pushed beyond "not amused". We have been driven past Annoyedville and are within spitting distance of Pissedburgh.
The two leggers have surpassed themselves in the area of insubordination. Allow me to explain:
First of all, let's jump into our "way back machine thingy" and go back to last Thursday.
Thursday is one of the days that the two leggers do not wake up and go to work. Sometimes, they hardly wake at all on Thursday. But on this particular Thursday, they woke up early and commenced to scrubbing everything in sight. They dusted, cleaned the kitchen, and corralled every dust bunny they could find. They even found some of their possessions that I had carefully concealed in my numerous hidey holes. This furious activity aroused my curiosity, but had not crossed the line at which I become annoyed.
Having observed all this, the realization suddenly struck me. The two leggers were planning a gathering.
It is not often that my two leggers host a gathering. Frankly, I am not sure why two leggers gather in the first place. When they gather, they usually eat, drink things that make them act doglike and then they sit around and talk. There is no hissing. No poofing or raising of hackles. Blood is seldom shed, and there is very little smacking involved. The purpose of theses gatherings escapes me.
Having surmised the reason for the all the cleaning, I immediately called Ivan and Tiger Lily into a council of chaos plotting.
I ordered Ivan to conserve his gaseous emissions. I told him to save it all for a single gargantuan blast to be released seconds prior to the main course of the two leggers' dinner. I also gave him the duty of shredding any decorations the two leggers may put up in advance.
I gave Tiger Lily the responsibility of providing the "Whine du Jour". I told her she should practice her whining between the hours of two and five AM. so as to determine which vintage would cause the most desirable response. Tiger Lily has no claw thingies and is totally useless when it comes to physical destruction. I smacked her for this shortcoming and sent her to her room to ponder her lack of weaponry.
As for myself, I began working up the largest, nastiest, and slimiest hairball imaginable. This, I planned to release in a most dramatic fashion during dessert. This would be a true masterpiece of gastric recollection.
Friday came and the hectic preparations (two legged as well as four legged) continued. My lawn was mowed, my back deck swept, and all manner of things prepared. Ivan and I did our best to interfere, but since the preparations had moved outside, our efforts were limited at best.
On Saturday, the two leggers began to cook. We knew the day was at hand. We practiced our timing, and perfected our plan. We had retained much of the fur we would have shed earlier
in order to deposit it on the coats of the two legged guests.
Everything was in readiness.
We waited in anticipation.
A car thingy approached my house.
And suddenly it happened. In an obviously pre-planned strategic maneuver, the two leggers grabbed us and tossed us unceremoniously into the spare bedroom. They told us it was "for our own good", but I doubt their veracity.
Ivan scratched at the door, I threatened them vehemently and questioned their pedigree. Finally finding a good use for Tiger Lily, I repeatedly slapped her against the window, almost managing to crack one pane. But it was to no avail. We suffered our banishment while the two leggers enjoyed their feast. We were finally released only after the last two leggers had departed.
My two leggers feel smug now. They believe they have won. They are convinced that all is well.
They are mistaken.
I still have a hairball that has their new comforters' name written in big bold letters across it.
And let us not forget Ivan. Eventually he is going to explode, or shoot through the house like a released balloon thingy.
That should amuse me.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Check Matey
Today, I am pondering the two leggers.
As many of you may know, my two leggers are what one would call "history buffs". They read all kinds of book thingies about two legger history. But one area in particular seems to hold their interest more than others. This area is what they call "The Royal Navy in The Napoleonic Wars".
They have two series of book thingies that they read over and over again. The "Horatio Hornblower" series and the "Master and Commander" series. It is curious to me why they would read the same book thingies multiple times.
Do they suspect that something has changed while the book thingies lay dormant on the shelf?
Be that as it may, I decided to covertly begin to read these book thingies as well. The fact that I am opposable thumb challenged, forced me to satisfy my curiosity by reading over their shoulders. Some of you may think this behavior rude, but once again, allow me to reiterate that I am a cat. Courtesy is not one of my strong suits. And anyway, it amuses me to sit upon their shoulders while they try to read. It invariably makes them nervous knowing that my smacking paw is mere inches away from their brain thingies.
After reading several of the Hornblower book thingies, I began to see the allure of them. These books are obviously written by cat worshipers.
Take the ship thingies:
Basically the ship thingies are incredibly large habitable scratching posts. They have large curtains all over the top, perfectly suited for climbing, hanging upon and swinging from. They have string in plenty to chase and bat around. They have woodwork everywhere for scratching and marring.
It doesn't end there. They are filled with two leggers who only live to do the bidding of the one in command. Once all this is assembled, they even go so far as to fill the entire ship thingy with rats!
They then sail out and fight with other ship thingies. Sometimes they sneak up on other ship thingies, sometimes they just approach them and say "Let's do this". Cat like behavior at it's finest.
This is truly a feline Valhalla.
Given this inspiration, I have decided to instill naval discipline into my minions. I decided to rename my kingdom The HMS Mayhem. From now on, I will be addressed as Admiral Sir Cujo, Ruler of the Sea, the Land, and the Bathtub Thingy. Lieutenant Ivan will be my Second in Command, Boatswain, Gunnery Officer and Official Seagull Smacker. Tiger Lily will be relegated to the hold as Bilge Licker.
All two leggers will henceforth be known as scrubs, scalliwags and lubbers.
So, on the morning tide, at two bells in the forenoon watch, we will weigh anchor, clew up the starboard lines, set the mainsail, and set a course for chaos. We will sink any lubber that crosses our hawse, and give em grapeshot until they strike their colors.
Then we'll find a sunbeam and have a nap.
As many of you may know, my two leggers are what one would call "history buffs". They read all kinds of book thingies about two legger history. But one area in particular seems to hold their interest more than others. This area is what they call "The Royal Navy in The Napoleonic Wars".
They have two series of book thingies that they read over and over again. The "Horatio Hornblower" series and the "Master and Commander" series. It is curious to me why they would read the same book thingies multiple times.
Do they suspect that something has changed while the book thingies lay dormant on the shelf?
Be that as it may, I decided to covertly begin to read these book thingies as well. The fact that I am opposable thumb challenged, forced me to satisfy my curiosity by reading over their shoulders. Some of you may think this behavior rude, but once again, allow me to reiterate that I am a cat. Courtesy is not one of my strong suits. And anyway, it amuses me to sit upon their shoulders while they try to read. It invariably makes them nervous knowing that my smacking paw is mere inches away from their brain thingies.
After reading several of the Hornblower book thingies, I began to see the allure of them. These books are obviously written by cat worshipers.
Take the ship thingies:
Basically the ship thingies are incredibly large habitable scratching posts. They have large curtains all over the top, perfectly suited for climbing, hanging upon and swinging from. They have string in plenty to chase and bat around. They have woodwork everywhere for scratching and marring.
It doesn't end there. They are filled with two leggers who only live to do the bidding of the one in command. Once all this is assembled, they even go so far as to fill the entire ship thingy with rats!
They then sail out and fight with other ship thingies. Sometimes they sneak up on other ship thingies, sometimes they just approach them and say "Let's do this". Cat like behavior at it's finest.
This is truly a feline Valhalla.
Given this inspiration, I have decided to instill naval discipline into my minions. I decided to rename my kingdom The HMS Mayhem. From now on, I will be addressed as Admiral Sir Cujo, Ruler of the Sea, the Land, and the Bathtub Thingy. Lieutenant Ivan will be my Second in Command, Boatswain, Gunnery Officer and Official Seagull Smacker. Tiger Lily will be relegated to the hold as Bilge Licker.
All two leggers will henceforth be known as scrubs, scalliwags and lubbers.
So, on the morning tide, at two bells in the forenoon watch, we will weigh anchor, clew up the starboard lines, set the mainsail, and set a course for chaos. We will sink any lubber that crosses our hawse, and give em grapeshot until they strike their colors.
Then we'll find a sunbeam and have a nap.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Sole Food
Sometimes persistence is its' own reward.
I had a plan.
It was a good plan.
It was in theory, a simple plan.
But, sometimes, in practice, the simplest of plans prove to be the most complex.
The plan was to cause chaos by the simple act of making the male two legger step on a piece of my food.
Why would this be the cause of chaos?
I'm glad you asked.
You see, I am not fed just any food, the two leggers insist on feeding me "Hills Science Diet Hairball Control Light". Each little morsel of the aforementioned food is scientifically engineered not only to provide low fat, hairball controlling nourishment, it also provides the added benefit of being the perfect shape and hardness to inflict maximum damage upon the unshod feet of unsuspecting two leggers.
Shaped like tiny pyramid thingies, no matter how they are placed on a flat surface they always have a spiky point sticking straight up. They rank a nine on the Ivans' Cranial Hardness Scale. (ICHS) The ICHS rates the hardness of inanimate objects from one to ten, relative to Ivans' head. One is somewhere in the neighborhood of a fresh hairball. Ten, obviously, is Ivans' noggin. Most rocks fall in the six to seven range.
Back to my plan. Firstly, the male two legger seldom wears shoes while at home. Secondly, the tiny morsels are the same color as the floor. Now seemingly the only thing left to do was introduce foot to food. Should be elementary. However, there is one variable that I failed to consider.
This variable goes by the name "Ivan".
The name Ivan is derived from a Russian word meaning "Food Thingy Vacuum".
You see my problem.
I spent hours studying the two legger traffic patterns to obtain the Optimum Spot For Morsel Placement. (Coincidentally very similar to the Optimum Spot For Hairball Placement) Then, in the wee hours of the morning, I placed the nutritious nugget in the perfect spot, and waited. No sooner had I set the trap, than I saw an orange flash and the food had vanished. This was unacceptable. I pulled Ivan aside and explained my intentions. He said he understood and agreed to abstain from munching my mayhem material. So I reset my trap........with the same results.
Truly annoyed, I pondered my problem.
I finally decided to attempt a technique I saw on a two legger talking box thingy program called "COPS". I waited in concealment until the two legger was approaching and at the last possible second, I batted the nugget under his foot.
This actually worked better than expected. Not only did the nugget maim the two legger, Ivan in his blind dash to claim the food tripped the two legger causing him to bang his knee thingy on a table.
I highly endorse Hills Science Diet Hairball Control Light.
I had a plan.
It was a good plan.
It was in theory, a simple plan.
But, sometimes, in practice, the simplest of plans prove to be the most complex.
The plan was to cause chaos by the simple act of making the male two legger step on a piece of my food.
Why would this be the cause of chaos?
I'm glad you asked.
You see, I am not fed just any food, the two leggers insist on feeding me "Hills Science Diet Hairball Control Light". Each little morsel of the aforementioned food is scientifically engineered not only to provide low fat, hairball controlling nourishment, it also provides the added benefit of being the perfect shape and hardness to inflict maximum damage upon the unshod feet of unsuspecting two leggers.
Shaped like tiny pyramid thingies, no matter how they are placed on a flat surface they always have a spiky point sticking straight up. They rank a nine on the Ivans' Cranial Hardness Scale. (ICHS) The ICHS rates the hardness of inanimate objects from one to ten, relative to Ivans' head. One is somewhere in the neighborhood of a fresh hairball. Ten, obviously, is Ivans' noggin. Most rocks fall in the six to seven range.
Back to my plan. Firstly, the male two legger seldom wears shoes while at home. Secondly, the tiny morsels are the same color as the floor. Now seemingly the only thing left to do was introduce foot to food. Should be elementary. However, there is one variable that I failed to consider.
This variable goes by the name "Ivan".
The name Ivan is derived from a Russian word meaning "Food Thingy Vacuum".
You see my problem.
I spent hours studying the two legger traffic patterns to obtain the Optimum Spot For Morsel Placement. (Coincidentally very similar to the Optimum Spot For Hairball Placement) Then, in the wee hours of the morning, I placed the nutritious nugget in the perfect spot, and waited. No sooner had I set the trap, than I saw an orange flash and the food had vanished. This was unacceptable. I pulled Ivan aside and explained my intentions. He said he understood and agreed to abstain from munching my mayhem material. So I reset my trap........with the same results.
Truly annoyed, I pondered my problem.
I finally decided to attempt a technique I saw on a two legger talking box thingy program called "COPS". I waited in concealment until the two legger was approaching and at the last possible second, I batted the nugget under his foot.
This actually worked better than expected. Not only did the nugget maim the two legger, Ivan in his blind dash to claim the food tripped the two legger causing him to bang his knee thingy on a table.
I highly endorse Hills Science Diet Hairball Control Light.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Blood Bath
I knew something was amiss.
For the last two days the two leggers have been giving me furtive glances. Whispering in hushed voices. Using code words. Sneaking packages into the bathroom when they thought I was napping.
I could tell that they were plotting something devious. Something risky. By their general demeanor, I could also tell that their plot made them nervous, edgy, even fearful.
I decided to uncover their dastardly plans. I started by investigating the mysterious package that they had stashed in the bathroom. Carefully opening the package, I discovered a plastic bottle thingy filled with a thick orange fluid. The label on the bottle thingy read: "Happy Kitty Moisturizing Shampoo"
My first reaction was to laugh. Talk about false advertising, "Happy Kitty Shampoo"?
In the history of Earth, has there ever been an instance of a kitty being "happy" whilst being shampooed? They even had the temerity to put a picture of a smiling feline on the label! The people who came up with this marketing gem have obviously never been acquainted with cats of any shape or form. In fact, I suspect that they probably fraternize with dog thingies. Possibly even squirrels.
The thought that the two leggers were considering making an attempt to bathe my royal personage is laughable. Confusing, but laughable. Confusing because they spend so much time and effort in attempts to save themselves time and effort, yet they are going to try and clean something that is self cleaning. Laughable because they have made such attempts in the past and have only received lacerations and severe blood loss for their troubles.
Rather than being annoyed, I decided that I would derive some amusement from their futile strategies.
I immediately informed Ivan and Tiger Lily of the impending assault. I knew they would make the attempt while we were eating our breakfast Sunday morning. (All two legger assaults start first thing in the morning, they must feel that we are sleepy headed at that hour) Our first counter strategy was to vanish as soon as we heard them stirring. Convincing Ivan to skip breakfast was very difficult, but fortunately he was able to survive on an unsuspecting eight legger that picked the wrong time to make a break for it.
After an hour of searching, the male two legger discovered my hidey hole and called the female to assist in my extraction. This was the point where I decided that it was time to remove all restraint. I poofed and gave him my patented "Psycho-nut Crackhead Kitty Look".
This gave him pause.
Ivan suddenly seemed to appear out of thin air and mauled his ankles mercilessly. Meanwhile, Tiger Lily let out such a whine that it caused dogs in five states to bury their heads in the crotches of their two leggers.
It was at this very moment that the two leggers decided that they had embarked on a mission of folly and beat a hasty retreat. Granted, I was somewhat disappointed at the lack of actual bloodshed, but at least we all stayed dry and the two leggers were properly educated.
On a related note, today was the first time I've ever observed the male two legger drinking beer before noon.
For the last two days the two leggers have been giving me furtive glances. Whispering in hushed voices. Using code words. Sneaking packages into the bathroom when they thought I was napping.
I could tell that they were plotting something devious. Something risky. By their general demeanor, I could also tell that their plot made them nervous, edgy, even fearful.
I decided to uncover their dastardly plans. I started by investigating the mysterious package that they had stashed in the bathroom. Carefully opening the package, I discovered a plastic bottle thingy filled with a thick orange fluid. The label on the bottle thingy read: "Happy Kitty Moisturizing Shampoo"
My first reaction was to laugh. Talk about false advertising, "Happy Kitty Shampoo"?
In the history of Earth, has there ever been an instance of a kitty being "happy" whilst being shampooed? They even had the temerity to put a picture of a smiling feline on the label! The people who came up with this marketing gem have obviously never been acquainted with cats of any shape or form. In fact, I suspect that they probably fraternize with dog thingies. Possibly even squirrels.
The thought that the two leggers were considering making an attempt to bathe my royal personage is laughable. Confusing, but laughable. Confusing because they spend so much time and effort in attempts to save themselves time and effort, yet they are going to try and clean something that is self cleaning. Laughable because they have made such attempts in the past and have only received lacerations and severe blood loss for their troubles.
Rather than being annoyed, I decided that I would derive some amusement from their futile strategies.
I immediately informed Ivan and Tiger Lily of the impending assault. I knew they would make the attempt while we were eating our breakfast Sunday morning. (All two legger assaults start first thing in the morning, they must feel that we are sleepy headed at that hour) Our first counter strategy was to vanish as soon as we heard them stirring. Convincing Ivan to skip breakfast was very difficult, but fortunately he was able to survive on an unsuspecting eight legger that picked the wrong time to make a break for it.
After an hour of searching, the male two legger discovered my hidey hole and called the female to assist in my extraction. This was the point where I decided that it was time to remove all restraint. I poofed and gave him my patented "Psycho-nut Crackhead Kitty Look".
This gave him pause.
Ivan suddenly seemed to appear out of thin air and mauled his ankles mercilessly. Meanwhile, Tiger Lily let out such a whine that it caused dogs in five states to bury their heads in the crotches of their two leggers.
It was at this very moment that the two leggers decided that they had embarked on a mission of folly and beat a hasty retreat. Granted, I was somewhat disappointed at the lack of actual bloodshed, but at least we all stayed dry and the two leggers were properly educated.
On a related note, today was the first time I've ever observed the male two legger drinking beer before noon.
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