Knights of The Broken Table

Chivalry is not dead.

It may be on life support, surrounded by mournful looking relatives, shaking their heads at the impending loss of one with so much left to give to this world. It may have already filled out its' last will and testament thingy.  It may be comatose with a rivulet of drool leaking out of the corner of its' mouth while the nurse flirts with the doctor.

But it is not dead.

Chivalry lives in my kingdom.

I know this because I watched a show on the talking box thingy.

It was about a two legger named King Arthur. He lived in Britain a very long time ago. (I suspect around 1980). One day he found a sword thingy stuck in a rock. He pulled it free of the rock and the other two leggers made him King.

The logic of this method of choosing a king escapes me. Apparently the two leggers back then held in high regard anyone who was adept at sword removal. Personally, I  would have been more impressed with the guy who stabbed the rock in the first place.

Be that as it may, the peasants gave Arthur the crown and set him up in a nice castle.  Arthur then bought a big circular table (probably from Ye Olde Ikea Store) and invited a bunch of his buddies to sit around it.  He told them that the shape of the table indicated that they were all of equal status.

Litter nuggets.

First of all, if they were all of equal status, why was he called "King" Arthur?  Why did they always meet at his house?

Anyway, they were all called "knights" and addressed each other as "Sir" this and "Sir" that. They spent their days doing Arthur's bidding, slaying dragon thingies and rescuing damsels in distress. Once all the dragon thingies had been slain and all the damsels in distress had been rescued, they grew restless.

Deciding to cash in on their fame, they left Arthur and formed a band that became known as "The Boogie Knights".
                                                        The End

 I've decided that Arthur was a wuss.

I never pulled a sword out of a rock. I was not crowned by unanimous decree of the peasants. I was not "given" a castle. I never "asked" my minions to come serve me.

Everything I have, my throne, my kingdom, my minions and my rightful place as ruler of all things, both known and unknown, I earned the old fashioned way:


I took it by force.


 

Aggravation

I woke up on the wrong side of the litterbox today.

For the most part, I am a generally cheerful sort. I go through life causing chaos and mayhem wherever I go, but I usually do it in a cheerful  and good natured manner. I have found that if I break things with a cheerful disposition, it makes it difficult for the two leggers to stay angry with me. I do not break things out of anger, I break things simply because they are in need of, or deserving of, breaking.

One must enjoy their chosen calling.

However, once in a while, I find that I must release pent up aggravation.

This aggravation can be caused by a number of different things:

The two leggers did not carry out my orders in a timely and efficient manner.
The two leggers allowed the royal litter to sit unscooped for more than 3.6 hours.
Tiger Lily whined.
Ivan did something so extraordinarily stupid that it confused me.
I caught Tiger Lily breathing again.
I was unable to bring myself to smack Jaq again.
The two leggers did not provide me with a suitable lap upon which to lounge when I was ready for it.
The laser pointy thingy did not appear when I wished for it to appear.
The sunbeam made no appearance.
I visited my food bowl and found it less than 3/4  full.
The squirrel still lived.
Did I mention Tiger Lily?

So, other than those few small irritants, I am a very easy going example of laid backness.

I take what life hands me, chew it up, digest it for a few hours, and then re-deposit it in the female two legger's boots.

But this morning, I felt downright surly. Disturbed. Annoyed. Amusement challenged. Lacking of goodwill. One could almost call me pissy. (But not if one wished to go unsmacked)

I spent the morning pondering this and have reached a conclusion.

It is Tiger Lily's fault.

I have evidence.

While I was sleeping last night, I had a dream. In this dream, Ivan and I were doing our afternoon rounds, going from window to window, casting aspersions upon any squirrel thingies we saw in the yard, slaying errant dust bunnies and snacking on eight leggers. When suddenly Tiger Lily appeared in front of us. She spoke in her usual whining manner and told us that the secret of  a happy life was spending it in service to others.

I have always suspected her of dog like sympathies, but until now had never had proof.

Now it all made sense. The whining, the constant need for attention, the aversion to other felines and the cowering demeanor.

Tiger Lily is a dog thingy.

Oh sure, she may be able to fool the two leggers, but I am not so easily misled.

So to prove my hypothesis, I decided to put her to the test. I ordered her to go into the computer room where the two leggers keep their book shelves and knock over several books. She whined about it but complied. After hearing the crash, I went in to inspect.

Just as I suspected, she knocked down the male's entire collection of Garfield books while leaving Snoopy, Old Yeller and Benji sitting safely upon the shelf.

The prosecution rests.

Smack In The Box

Today a most unusual thing occurred.

My two leggers amused me.

They often try to amuse me, but generally fail miserably in their feeble attempts.

But I must give credit where credit is due. Today they succeeded.

This afternoon the male two legger left my house for a little while. When he returned, I saw that he had brought me a large box. As soon as he brought it through my door, I jumped upon it and proclaimed it mine.

The box was rather large. Standing approximately three tailspans by two tailspans, it also appeared quite heavy, if one were to judge by the vein popping out of the male's forehead.

I patiently waited for him to empty the box. I had no idea nor interest in what the box contained.( It didn't smell of catnip or treats.) For some reason that I have yet to fathom, two leggers tend to fill boxes with all sorts of useless items. They stuff them with electronic thingies, appliances, shoes, blankets and the occasional assortment of candies. (The female especially enjoys these)

After pondering this, I have reached the conclusion that they fill the boxes with these things in order that the box may maintain its shape and structural integrity while it is being transported. Without the filler, the box may be damaged or mangled, leaving it an unacceptable heap of bent cardboard, good for nothing except sharpening ones claws upon.

Therefore, I allow the two leggers to remove the filler and do with it as they please..

As long as they do not damage my box.

Boxes are possibly the most important and useful contribution that the two leggers have ever provided to modern feline society.

Their versatility is astounding. A resourceful feline can find any number of uses for a good box. It can be used as:
A portable hidey hole.
An unexpected ambush site.
A place to hide your catnip mousie thingy from other felines in your kingdom.
A trap.
A safe haven.
A launch pad to reach knock knacks that were previously unreachable.
A percussion instrument to be used in the wee hours of the night.
A place to spend a little "me" time.

Above all, I enjoy the prospects for chaos.Every box, no matter its size, comes equipped with an unlimited supply and variety of smacks. It is up to the individual to decide how they should be used. Here are a few of my favorites:    

Tiger Trap

I crouch behind the box and make small squeaky noises. Tiger Lily, thinking that perhaps the box may contain a mouse thingy, jumps into the box at which point Ivan and I begin slapping the sides of the box. This causes her to panic, poof and scramble to flee. Oh, the fun! 

   What Lurks Below 

This requires the box to be upside down. I hide inside and simply wait for anyone passing by. As they approach, the White Smacking Paw O' Death claims yet another victim.

                                        Boogity Box

This is best utilized at night in the hallway between the two leggers bedroom and closest bathroom. It requires patience, but I guarantee your patience will be rewarded. (You may wish to bring a snack) It relies on the fact that no two legger over the age of 35 can possibly sleep an entire night without at some point having to visit their litterbox. If your box is positioned correctly, two things will happen during their sojourn in the darkness:

1. They will stub their toe on the box in the darkness.

2. They will do everything in their power to stifle their scream in an effort not to awaken the other two leggers.

This is the optimum time to leap from the box hissing and squawling. In so doing, you will force them to wake every  two legger in the house.

Plus, their reason for visiting the bathroom will suddenly become moot.

Circus of The Scars

Yesterday morning, the two leggers got up early. This was unexpected given that it was a Sunday and they NEVER get up early on Sundays.

It is simply not done.

After listening to them talking amongst themselves, I grew to understand that they were planning to spend the day in Seattle watching something called "Cavalia".

Having seen several commercials for "Cavalia" on the talking box thingy, I was enthusiastically unimpressed.

According to the ads, Cavalia is "Cirque Du Soliel with horses". The advertisements showed two leggers jumping about and horse thingies cavorting in what Birkenstock wearing types would consider an artistic manner. Strange music featuring a female singing "Ahhhhh, aaaaaaahhhh, aaahhhhhaaaahhh" to the sound of a rhino engaging in childbirth was played in the background.

As they left, I thought to myself "Better them, than me". 

They returned about ten hours later.

They were exhausted, but could not stop talking about how "magical" the show was. They even bought a DVD thingy of the spectacle. They then proceeded to plug in the DVD thingy and watch it once again.

My high state of indifference quickly turned to slow burning annoyance.

The entire show consisted of two leggers running, leaping and flying around the stage. Horse thingies pranced, ran and allowed the two leggers to ride around and caper upon their backs.

I am confused.

On a daily basis, I somersault, flip and fly through the air. Though I will never allow a two legger (or anything else) to ride me, I can stand on my hind legs. Yet the two leggers felt compelled to drive to a foreign land, (Seattle) pay big money, (which would be better spent buying me new toys and catnip) and spend the morning standing in the rain in order to see this performance.

To prove my point, I have decided to choreograph my own version of "Cirque Du SoLame":

The curtain thingy rises. Ivan rises with it due to the fact that he has a claw snagged in it.

Backstage, I smack Tiger Lily causing her to emit the annoying "musical" soundtrack.

From stage left I enter at a dead run. I make a leap at the half wall that separates the living room from the dining room.

I stick the landing.

With arched back, I thread my way between the knock knacks, never disturbing them. I then turn and in a wink, knock each one off in a very artistic manner. Meanwhile, Jaq has entered the stage unnoticed and with a flourish slaps the broken pieces under the couch.

Ivan, having disentangled himself from the curtain, begins the "strength" segment of our show. Running at full speed, (in Ivan's case, "full speed" is slightly slower than grass growing) he "races"into the kitchen, misses the turn and slams headfirst into a cabinet causing an avalanche of crockery to fall to the floor. He poofs and exits stage left.

The soundtrack has quit whining by this time and I go backstage to smack her again.

For the finale, we perform the amazing synchronized poof, scatter and slam stunt. This is where Ivan, Jaq and I all .............poof,.......... scatter......... and.........you're gonna love this................slam something!

The two leggers will laugh, they'll cry, they may even scream.

It will leave them speechless. Perhaps not scream-less, but definitely speechless.

It is truly breathtaking.

And we offer free admission.

Time and Punishment

My two leggers annoy me.

Sure, they feed me and worship me when forced to, but they still annoy me.

One of the most annoying things about my two leggers is their obsession with time.

Everything that they do is dictated by time.

They have a clock thingy in every single room in my house. Living room, kitchen, dining room, computer typey thingy room, and bathrooms. They even have a sundial in the back yard. (I live in the Pacific Northwest. So it is correct for about three hours every other year.) They keep no fewer than three alarm clock thingies in their bedroom. One to wake them in the morning, one to serve as a backup in case the first one doesn't work, and a third to wake them in case the first two fail. I suspect they also have a fourth one for use in the event that a burglar comes and steals the other three. Everywhere you look in my house there is a reminder that they must be running late for something.

Why do they need so many clock thingies?

I do not know.

We feline types consider clock thingies redundant.

When we are hungry, it is time to eat.
When we are drowsy, it is time to sleep.
When we spot something breakable, it is time to break it.
When we see a closed door, it is time for a two legger to open it.
When Ivan uses the litterbox, it is time to stop breathing.
When we wish to be petted, it is time for the two leggers to offer us worship.
When a two legger wishes to pet us, it is time to snub them and treat them with disdain.
When Tiger Lily whines, it is time to smack her.
When Tiger Lily doesn't whine, it is time to smack her.

But, given the importance that they seem to place in the clock thingies, I realize that there may be an opportunity here.

All of the clock thingies are set for the exact same time. (except the one on the microwave that has been blinking 12:00 for the last two years) What would happen if one or more of them suddenly decided to march to the beat of a different ticker?

With this in mind, I formulated my plan.

I began with the bedroom. All the clock thingies in the bedroom are of the "digital" variety. Two leggers believe that anything "digital" is more modern and subsequently more accurate. "Digital" also signifies buttons. This means the lack of opposable thumbs is not a factor.  By walking on the clock thingies while the two leggers sleep, I discovered that I could make the numbers change.

This morning sweet chaos ensued. The two leggers woke up at the crack of eight. They erupted  into a panic of flying clothes and shaking clocks. In record time, they were out the door and screeching tires announced their departure.

Upon their return, they changed the batteries in all the clock thingies and reset them. Little did they know, Ivan and I had been busy during the day moving the hands on the all the other clock thingies back one half hour.

Tomorrow promises to be almost as much fun.

De-lighted

I must be slowing down.

I came to this conclusion yesterday while pondering the snow outside my house.

For the last three days, I have been subjected to the constant presence of my two leggers. My kingdom has been "snowed-in" and the two leggers have been unable to go wherever it is that they go most days.

Thus their company has been forced upon me.

At first I was amused. There was always a warm lap to lounge upon. The firebox thingy has been burning non-stop. Treats have been abundant. Everything has been peaceful and serene. This made me come to a realization:

I don't do peaceful and serene.

However, the two leggers seemed to notice my tranquility. This caused them to grow suspicious and they increased their vigilance. They began to keep a water squirty thingy handy whenever I was in the room. They moved all fragile knock knacks to areas beyond my reach. I suspect they may have even installed hidden camera thingies.

To counter their scrutiny, I sent Ivan into their bathroom to make noise and serve as a distraction. I believe this may have worked if Ivan had not found a Q-tip and spent the next two hours trying to make it talk. (He later named it George and is planning to raise it as his own)

So, I pondered.

A few hours later when the lights flickered, (The male said this was due to frozen power lines) it occurred to me.

The lights! I literally had a light bulb moment!

I used to make it a point to destroy a lamp at least every three months. This gave me an average of four lamps per year. Just enough to cause chaos, but not enough to force the two leggers to invest in wall sconces.

As I looked around my kingdom, I realized that every lamp in my house was at least six months old. In "light years", they could be considered geriatric. How could I have been so lax?

Though I could see my mission, I still had a major obstacle to overcome.......the two leggers. At first I believed I could lull them into a sense of complacency. I put on my best "cute lil kitty" act. Chittering at the bird thingies outside, purring contentedly as I lay on my throne in front of the firebox thingy. Occasionally playing with Beebo (my catnip mousie thingy). But as time went on, their paranoia only increased. It was time to up the ante.

I began wandering around all the tables that held lamps. Gently rubbing against each one, I found two likely candidates that seemed to tip with the least amount of effort. The two leggers seemed to notice my activities and stepped up their scrutiny of my actions.

Little did they know that this was a ploy.

I had already chosen the condemned lamp(s). In my hallway, there is a long, narrow table. Upon this this long narrow table, there sits an even longer, narrower piece of material called a "runner". (I don't know why they call it a runner, it seldom moves and never runs) Upon the runner sit two decorative lamps  and various family pictures. I suspected that if one, such as myself, were to snag a claw in one end of this "runner", one such as myself, could then run down the hallway pulling the entire contents of the table behind them. This action would cause both lamps and a several picture frames to interface with the hardwood floor.

Thus, my plan formulated, I jumped up on an end table and proceeded to cause a different lamp to teeter and almost fall. The male two legger immediately jumped up and attempted to spray me with the water squirty thingy. I, of course "panicked" and ran down the hallway, being careful to snag the runner in my "flight". Just as planned, the entire "runner" came with me and both lamps were utterly destroyed in the process. As a bonus, the female two legger then chastised the male for causing my panic and wave of destruction. The clean-up took hours.

Oh, "runner", now I understand. 

Let's Get Physical

Last night I found myself pondering my two leggers.

It occurs to me that they are aging.

The male turned 45 last May and the female celebrated her thirtieth birthday in July..........again.(She tends to celebrate her thirtieth birthday every July)

I have come to realize that they are not immortal. Someday, unless they start taking better care of themselves, one or both of them may suddenly reach a point where they will have to be put down. If this should occur before my plan to develop opposable thumbs (thus making them obsolete) comes to fruition, I would be greatly inconvenienced.

Hence, I have decided that it is in my best interest to keep them alive longer than I first anticipated.

It is my belief that they require exercise.

The female tends to take better care of herself than the male. She eats green stuff and tends to be more active than the hairy legged one. He considers a cheeseburger with lettuce and tomato "health food". Therefore I decided to focus more on him than her.

I have developed an exercise regimen for him. I will force him into a healthier lifestyle even if it kills him. However, I must be somewhat cagey and underhanded in implementing my plan. If he becomes aware that he is exercising, he may tend to panic and bolt. So I give you my plan:

Cujo's Two Legger Exercise Routine

Catnip Mousie Pushups: Every five minutes while playing in a playful manner, I bat my catnip mousie thingy under the entertainment center and then meow plaintively until the male rises from his chair, lays on the floor and reaches under the furniture and retrieves it for me in order to "get some damn peace and quiet". 

Whiny Cat Is Being Murdered Sprints: Once an hour, I sneak up on Tiger Lily (wherever she may be hiding) and commence to chewing on her head. This causes her to emit a blood curdling yowl, bringing the male running down the hallway at his top speed, screaming. This activity has the added benefit of exercising his lungs as well as his legs.

Immovable Object Lifts: This involves Ivan. Ivan proceeds to lay atop the button pushy thingy that controls the talking box thingy. This forces the male to lift Ivan's hefty bulk every time he wishes to change the channel. Ivan generally bites him each time this is attempted, so we all win.

Unidentified Sound Squats: I move to another room and begin making sounds that may or may not sound like something is about to break. This causes him to stand and listen, hearing nothing else, he sits down again. Wait 30 seconds and repeat.

Staredown Situps: I sit on the end table between him and the talking box thingy causing him to sit up in his chair every five seconds and yell "Down in front!".  Once again, this works his lungs as well as his abs.

Litterbox Lunges: I send Ivan into the litterbox every thirty minutes to pop a stinky. I do not require him to actually leave an offering. With Ivan, even an air biscuit will usually cause the male to jump up and grab the scooper.

With the daily implementation of this routine, I predict that we will have his body back in shape soon.

However, his blood pressure may require further attention.