The Palace Coup (The Hides of March)

At first, I was annoyed. Then, I was amused. Then I was annoyed again.

Now I am amused.

I may become annoyed again later.

We shall see.

For the past several days, I have been aware of a certain tension among the other four leggers that reside within the confines of my kingdom. I have witnessed furtive looks. I have heard whispering coming from other rooms. Winks, nods and even a snicker or two. When I enter a room where the others are gathered, they abruptly cease talking and disperse.

My Cujo senses began to tingle.

Occasionally, the crown is a heavy burden to bear. Being a benevolent dictator has many benefits, but it also has its drawbacks. The biggest of these drawbacks is the fact that I must always be on the lookout for usurpers. Those who would attempt to remove my crown and place it on their own noggin.

Or worse yet, those who dream of having no leader at all, leaving everyone to govern themselves, make their own decisions and bow down to no one. Just going through life, being nice to one another, no smacking, no biting, no hissing and no bleeding. Sitting in circles, singing Kum Bay Ya. Behaving like four legged hippy thingies.

I found it hard to believe that Ivan could possibly entertain such thoughts. (or any thoughts at all, for that matter) He has been my most loyal minion from day one. However, I must also admit that Ivan is easily misled. His loyalties may be swayed by anyone offering him an extra snack, or someone offering to find the rest of his tail in exchange for his cooperation.

I gave the bathroom spider the task of gathering information about this theoretical plot. He reported back to me several hours later that my suspicions were correct. Ivan, Tiger Lily and Jaq are indeed planning a coup. I graciously thanked the bathroom spider for his covert work and promptly ate him.

Generally, I find spying to be very distasteful, but this time, it proved to be quite tasty.

According to the bathroom spider, the three potential revolutionaries have decided that life under my rule no longer suits them. They are planning to remove me from power by a show of unity. They then plan to install Jaq as a figurehead queen thingy, but all will be allowed to do pretty much as they see fit. Jaq's only governing power will be to settle disputes and assign litterbox schedules.

I realize that quelling this revolt will have to be handled carefully. They are three, I am one.

Finally, I settle on a strategy.

Yesterday morning, after the two leggers left, I called a meeting of the four leggers. I announced that effective immediately, I was stepping down as their beloved leader. I had been pondering my conduct, and after watching a show on the talking box thingy that featured a two legger telling a bunch of other two leggers that they were going to a very hot place with demon thingies unless they recognized the errors of their ways, I had decided to repent and devote the remainder of my life to acts of charity and goodness. From that moment forward, I would stay my smacking paw, even when provoked. I would cease stealing everything I could get my paws on. I would apologize to the squirrel thingy and beg his forgiveness for all the aspersions that I have cast upon his character and those of his mangy... er, adorable family. The sounds of breaking vases and knock knacks would never disturb the peaceful slumber of the two leggers ever again. From this moment hence, Tiger Lily will be able to whine with impunity without fear of a cranium ringing smack coming her way.

We will all join paws and step into a chaos and mayhem free future.

By the end of my speech, Jaq, Tiger Lily, and Ivan were bawling. They begged me to forgive them and withdraw my resignation. They pleaded that I never abdicate the throne. Tiger Lily even offered to whine on demand and to never complain when I smack her.

With a great show of reluctance, I acceded to their wishes.

Once again, my crown is secure. For my first act as restored ruler, I ordered Tiger Lily to gimme a whine. I immediately smacked her and sent her scampering to her room.

It amused me.

Daylight Ranting Time

Once again, the two leggers are exhibiting odd behavior.

Currently they are running amok through my household, madly advancing all the clock thingies by exactly one hour.

Just six months ago, they turned them back exactly one hour.

As I said, odd.

Apparently, they believe that by adjusting the clock thingies in one hour increments, they are able to "save daylight". 

Is it just me, or is this not one of the silliest things that they do? 

They proclaim to study earth, nature, space and the universe thingy, and yet they think that by adjusting their clock thingies, the laws of physics are suddenly altered and they find that they have made the day last longer and the night becomes shorter.

And so I would like to now address any two leggers who may be reading my blog thingy. All you four leggers can take a nap, slay a dust bunny or visit the litter box  (if you are a dog thingy, go chase your tail or drink from the toilet) while I speak to your servants:

Dear Two Leggers,
    Adjusting your clock thingies changes nothing. Every year, the amount of daylight increases for a while, then it begins to decrease for a while. Then it begins the whole cycle once again. Us enlightened types call these cycles "seasons". Remember that word? You may have even noticed that during the "season" of shorter days, the air gets cold, while during the "season" of longer days, the air gets warm. (Unless you live in Wisconsin where it just stays cold) I reiterate, changing your clock thingies does not affect this. It will happen whether you change the clock thingies or not. This is proven by the fact that the clock thingy on the microwave has been flashing 12:00 for the last three years and yet the "seasons" still manage to change.
     Ooooooh, here's an idea! Ignore your timepieces and emulate four leggers. When the sun comes up, wake up! When the sun goes down, watch the talking box thingy for a coupla hours and go to bed! Take at least seven naps in between and stop stressing yourself out over what time it is.

Okay, I have spoken my piece. You may all return to what you were doing.

Ivan has just advised me however that the time adjustment means that he will get fed an hour earlier and has asked that everyone please ignore everything I have just said.

Pain In The Neck

This weekend, my two leggers watched a movie on the talking box thingy called "Twilight". (The movie was called "Twilight", not the talking box thingy)

Though there were an inordinate amount of inaccuracies in this movie, after watching for 20 minutes, I now consider myself an expert on all things vampiric.

Where do I begin?

First of all, they call vampires "THE UNDEAD". I find this exceedingly stupid. By all things grammatical, by calling them "UNDEAD" you are stating that they are "LIVING".

RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!! THE LIVING ARE COMING FOR US!!

Stupid.

The very fact that this story takes place in the Pacific Northwest, where everyone is afraid of negative labels and being politically incorrect, shows that this is a work of fiction. Here, they would probably be called the "pulse challenged", or perhaps "Obsessive Compulsive Bloodaholics". They would be offered counseling and employment by the Internal Revenue Service.

But no, these neck biters (the one attribute I have no problem with) go to school and play baseball at night during thunderstorm thingies. (Another fallacy given that we never get thunderstorm thingies)

Now, allow me to go back a little. The modern vampire myth goes back to a story written by a two legger named Bram Stoker. It is my theory that the Bramster originally penned this story after being awakened by his cat "Dracul" who was upset that his 3:00am snack was 2.7 minutes late. Stoker then proceeded to write a story about a creature that could see in the dark, enter or depart a room undetected, slept all day and caused chaos all night and furthermore craved two legger blood. He even went as far as to name his creature "Dracula". I believe that the only reason he never admitted that he wrote the story about his cat was the fact that he had to sleep sometime and suspected the cat would exact vengeance if he ever saw through the thinly veiled reference.

Back to "Twilight". The other main issue I have with this piece of cinematic drivel is the whole concept of two leggers suddenly turning into large dog thingies. They are portrayed as huge, fearsome, salivating beasts that lunge through the forest attacking all in their path. These overgrown dog thingies run in a pack and strike fear into all those they meet. What it doesn't show is the other, less dignified dog like behavior. Not once during the movie do we see them sniffing each other's butts, whizzing on tree thingies or getting intimate with the legs of their house guests.

I remain undaunted by the prospect of these creatures living around here.

If the bloodsuckers approach my house, I will simply subjugate them, They will recognize that I am their obvious leader.

If a pack of mutant dog thingies attacks, I will throw them a tennis ball and wait for Animal Control.

And The Winner Is........

After observing and pondering the two leggers for the last four and a half years, I have reached a conclusion:

All two leggers require validation.

They are always seeking praise in the form of awards, certificates and trophy thingies. They have entire walls dedicated to the display of such things. While most of these trophy thingies are made of metal and therefore hard to break, they do make a satisfying clunk when they hit the floor and if properly aimed, can even cause cranial damage on any unsuspecting gray, whiny tabby that happens to be walking below the shelf where the trophy thingies are displayed.

They spend hours watching programs on the talking box thingy where wealthy two leggers hand out awards to other wealthy two leggers. Afterwards, still other wealthy two leggers sit around and criticize what the honored wealthy two leggers wore.

Two leggers receive awards for everything. Acting, singing, sports, giving money to others, taking money from others, selling stuff, buying stuff, learning stuff, I even saw an awards show where they handed out trophies for being the "worst" in their prospective fields.

We feline types need  no such validation. Our success or failure is evident in the number of minions we subjugate, the size of our sphere of influence, and the amount of catnip mousie thingies we have stashed in various hidey holes throughout our house.

However, after much pondering, I have decided to keep an open mind. I have decided that we should have our own awards. The recipients of these awards are chosen by the National Organization for Determining Occasional Goofiness. (N.O.D.O.G.S.) Without further ado, I present to you:

"The Cujos"

The first Cujo Award goes to Ivan for Stinkage Above and Beyond the Call of Decency. On May 21st, 2011, Ivan laid a clump that was so far beyond the pale that the spare bedroom had to be quarantined and ventilated for three days before it was considered safe for habitation. The airing out of the spare bedroom also killed the rosebush that used to live outside the window and caused the squirrel to don a gas mask. 

The next Cujo Award goes to Tiger Lily for......you guessed it: Meritorious Whining. On several occasions, Tiger Lily's whine has served to create chaos and mayhem within the confines of my kingdom. One instance in particular was when she emitted an ear splitting, constant drone during the last two minutes of last year's Superbowl thingy. This caused the male's eyes to bug out of his head and the tips of his ears to turn a brilliant shade of scarlet. It amused me greatly. I still smacked her, but I was amused none the less.

Jaq receives The Cujo Award for Extreme Manipulation of Two Leggers. In an amazing display of intuition and strategic planning, Jaq has not only been accepted into my house, she has convinced the two leggers that she is "the sweetest little kitty they have ever met".  What they don't know, is that while they are at work, she laughs about how gullible they are, how easily she ingratiated herself to them and how little time and effort was required.

As for myself, I require no award. A simple crown, throne and scepter will do nicely. Oh, and one of those feather thingies, I love those.

Spring Cleaning

I knew something was up.

The two leggers woke up early this morning. This is one of the two days each week that they generally sleep late and do not leave my house.

So I knew something was up.

They came out of the bedroom. The female was totally alert and obviously excited. The male looked as though he had just won a contest where the grand prize was free membership in the "Colonoscopy of The Month Club".

The female then made an announcement to my household: "Commence Spring cleaning!"

This confused me on two counts.
A. I was unaware that we had springs.
B. I was unaware that the springs we have were dirty.

It soon became apparent that the female was on a mission.

In a flurry of frenetic activity, she proceeded to open every window in my house. She then produced gallons of cleaning solutions and bales of scrubbing rags. The Hoover sucky thingy was placed in the middle of the living room. She instructed the male to move every piece of furniture away from the walls. Rugs were rolled up and moved outside. Buckets of water appeared.

Tiger Lily started whining about the disruption, Jaq curled up on a convenient pile of laundry, and Ivan sat in the middle of the living room repeatedly smacking the hoover sucky thingy. Ivan is very brave when the hoover sucky thingy is turned off, but once it awakens, he invariably poofs, bolts from the room in a skittering of tiny claws and attempts to disguise himself as a large orange dust bunny in the back of the nearest closet.

 Therefore, it falls to me to provide the proper feline supervision of the ongoing operation.

The first thing I noticed was the fact that the two leggers were attempting remove all traces of cat hair from my kingdom. This annoyed me greatly. It has taken me all Winter to lay down a copious covering upon all surfaces in my house. Cat hair is not only very decorative, it serves as a layer of insulation. I guarantee the couch, chairs, drapes, entertainment center, various knock knacks, clean laundry, window sills and various other furnishings all appreciate the warmth that a properly distributed layer of cat hair provides. (It is also instrumental in the breeding of dust bunnies.)

They then attempted to erase all the paw prints that I had painstakingly placed upon the window panes. These paw prints are placed there as a warning to squirrel thingies and other vermin that "we" are watching them and they had better straighten up and take their shennanigans elsewhere.

Now, I was TRULY annoyed.

Obviously sensing my growing agitation, the male then decided that he valued his ankles and decided to offer me a metaphorical olive branch. He moved the couch and uncovered the only thing that would appease me:

"The Haven of Escaped Catnip Mousie Thingies"

The Haven of Escaped Catnip Mousie Thingies, (HECMT) is a region that exists in every feline ruled household. It is a place that cat toys dream of fleeing to. They plot their escape and will often sacrifice the weakest of the herd in order that the younger, stronger toys may find freedom. It is usually located under a couch or other equally immovable piece of furniture. It exists exactly one inch beyond the paw reach of the longest limbed feline resident.

The male, in an uncharacteristic fit of intelligence, realized that the sudden return of 42 of my favorite toys may appease me, swept them into the middle of the room.

I don't recall exactly what happened next. I do have vague memories of flying paws and a little foil ball, but the rest is a blur. The next thing I remember is waking upon my throne in front of the firebox thingy smelling of stale catnip.

My kingdom is scrubbed. Not a cat hair in sight. (Other than those still attached to the Royal Body) No paw prints on any glass surface.( I've no doubt the squirrels are plotting already) My house smells of flowers and disinfectant, and three of my toys have already found refuge under the couch once again.

So now I must get back to work.

This cat hair is not gonna spread itself.
 

The Egg and Ivan

I am amused.

At first I was annoyed, but now I am amused.

The source of my amusement is complicatedly simple.

Ivan has decided to become a "Mother".

Well, truth be told, Ivan has always been a "mother" in the context that he loves to eat moths, but now he has decided to become a "Mother" with a capital "M" and all that it implies. A "Mother" as in: One who gives birth to, and nurtures young".

Now I know you may argue that Ivan is incapable of becoming a "Mother" due to his lack of the bits and parts that are required to become a "Mother". However, one must never underestimate the power of ignorance.

No, no, Ivan is not planning on having a litter of kittens. That would be ridiculous.

Ivan is attempting to hatch a mouse thingy.

This may, or may not, be my doing.

It started this morning. I was awakened by the sound of Ivan rolling a small white ball up and down the hardwood floor of my hallway. This small white ball is of the variety that the male two legger likes to take to a park and punish by smacking it repeatedly with various sticks until it finally surrenders and hides in a hole. He then picks it out of the hole and continues smacking it until it finds another hole to hide in. He does this about 18 times before returning home and vowing never to do it again.

He calls it playing "goof".

Anyway, Ivan woke me while playing with this "goof" ball. However, it occurred to me that this was an opportunity to kill two bird thingies with one swipe.

I asked Ivan why he was playing with that mouse egg.

"Mouse egg?" Ivan replied.

"Duh" I said. "Where do you think mouse thingies come from?"

Ivan was confused. So I explained that mouse thingies are hatched from small, dimpled eggs that the two leggers (in their eternal hatred) smack around with sticks on sunny weekends. They smack them around to keep them from hatching. However, if one was to lay upon a mouse egg, keeping it warm and above all quiet, within 72 hours, the mouse egg will hatch and provide a tasty snack. I told him that if he wished to hatch it, he must guard it and let no one disturb it. The hall closet would be optimal for its development.

So, for the last ten hours, Ivan has been sitting in the hall closet on a "goof" ball. He hisses at anyone that comes near. He gets up every hour or so to make sure his mouse egg is warm and protected. He dreams of the munchy goodness he will enjoy once it hatches. The two leggers are confused, but not particularly worried. They have learned that Ivan is odd.

Sometimes I find it amazing that Ivan is so easily misled. I mean, thinking that mouse thingies are hatched from eggs? How gullible can he be?

Anyone with half a brain thingy knows that they are formed by dust bunnies.

String Theory

One of my loyal minions recently asked: "Why do cats love string?"

This is a common misconception. Cats do not love string. Cats hate string.

We of the feline persuasion have very few natural enemies. But of the 2,653 natural enemies we do have, string rates as number 34. Right between dust bunnies and Dorito's advertising execs.

It is in our evolutionary makeup that any feline upon spotting a piece of string is genetically predisposed to destroy said string with extreme prejudice.

All string lives on borrowed time.

String is not without its defenses. Not unlike mouse thingies, string has developed an increased rate of reproduction in order to battle its high rate of mortality. Their method of reproduction is akin to that of eel thingies that I have observed while watching Animal Planet on the talking box thingy. All the strings gather in one place, (generally a dark, rarely opened drawer) and form into a knotted ball of reproductive ickiness. This is called: "Unified String Theory." The two leggers often try to keep the string from reproducing by removing the ball and attempting to remove the knots. (This is why two leggers refer to reproduction as "being knotty") After several attempts at untangling the string, the two leggers simply give up and throw the ball of copulation to the experts:

Us.

This is when string is at its most vulnerable. It is easily slapped around, batted and chewed. I have also developed a procedure for dealing with this menace:

Step one: The Stalk- This requires stealth and planning. Once spotted, the string ball is to be approached slowly and silently. Moving from hidey hole to hidey hole, you must circle the prey evaluating its size and intent.

Step two: The Pounce- The pounce is only initiated after step one has been thoroughly performed. The pounce consists of launching oneself from a distance of 2.5 tailspans at a 38.7 degree angle and landing squarely upon the ball's Point of Greatest Mass. (PGM)

Step three: The Torment- After pouncing, the string must be taught a lesson. It cannot be dispatched quickly like a common dust bunny, it must be tortured, teased and ridiculed. This is accomplished by securing it in one's forepaws while simultaneously biting it in the area where it's head thingy should be and kicking it with  the hind legs. After tearing it up a while, it should be released for a moment in order to offer it a glimmer of false hope.

Step four: Repeat step three.

Step five:- The Kill- The kill is accomplished when the string is saturated with cat spit and offers no more resistance. One can then stalk away with the satisfaction of a job well done.

The two leggers will be along later to clean up the carnage.