Knowledge In The Air

I receive around 30-40 email thingies per day from minions requesting my advice, knowledge or help in dealing with unruly minions. Most of these I answer privately, but on occasion I feel compelled to post my answer in my blog thingy.

Sometimes I do this because I believe my answer will serve the greater good. Sometimes I do this because it may cause embarrassment to the two leggers of the writer. Mostly, I do this because it amuses me.

What follows is one such piece of correspondence.

"Dearest Cujo, High Poobah of All Universes, (both known and unknown) Grand Pawed Potentate, Sheik of Shredding, Master of Mayhem and Crown Prince of Chaos,
    You have often described how felines communicate through the use of body language, vocalizations and liberal use of hairball thingies. However, I once read on the interwebs that some animals are able to communicate through their sense of smell. Do cats use this form of non-verbal communication as well?
    Thank you in advance for any words of wisdom you may choose to impart upon my lowly brain thingy.
                          Sincerely, your loyal minion,
                                                 Ching Pao O'Rielly-Martinez"

Dear Ching Pao O'Rielly-Martinez,
       First of all, your name is too long, so I will call you "Barb".
Barb, you bring up a very good question. As a matter of fact, a large part of inter-cat communication is indeed accomplished by use of olfactory processes. Our nose thingies are acutely tuned to pick up and interpret various scents emitted and spread by other felines.

These scents are called hairymones. Very subtle differences in the chemical make-up of the hairymones can convey different messages and are known by several different names according to the message they are intended to convey. Here are just a few:

If a cat wishes to communicate his displeasure, he will emit scare-amones. This is intended as a warning to others to bother him at their peril.

The annoying party is then expected to produce fear-amones and skedaddle immediately.

If he suspects that his scare-amones are being ignored, he may begin to give off don't-you-dare-amones.

If this warning fails to get your attention, the smell of your blood will be infused with the scent of tear-amones.

As the source of his annoyance lays there bleeding, he will saunter off reeking of I-don't-care-amones.

There are far too many hairy-mones to list here. From the common, everyday "how do ya do?" scents to the much more complex and scarcely known rare-amones.

However, there is one scent that those who love in close proximity to Ivan are all too familiar with. It is triggered by the sound of Ivan scritching in the litter box. It is commonly known as: Don't-breathe-the-air-amones.

Rated Arrrrrggg

I have been informed that today is International Talk Like A Pirate Day.

Never one to buck convention, I will therefore continue this post in a pirate themed manner.

Avast ye lubbers! Harken yer ear thingies and listen to me tale!

Today me mateys and me set sail upon a sea of chaos.

It began at four bells in the forenoon watch. Ivan (pirate name: Tabby McOrangebutt) awoke with a squall a-blowin from his stern and set a course for the litter box, but before he could beach himself upon the grainy shore, I crossed his bows, gave him a broadside, and distracted him from burying his bonny treasure. This set his hawse athwart and put him in a mood to pillage. He altered his course to starboard and set sail down the hallway.

With a prodigious following wind, he swept down the hallway where he encountered the HMS Whinetanic. Captained (sat upon) by Tiger Lily, (pirate name: Gray Squall) the HMS Whinetanic is actually a pillow thingy that was set adrift by the male two legger last night. Ivan immediately boarded her and after some paw-to-paw combat, forced her to strike her colors.

Like a corsair let loose amongst a Spanish treasure fleet, Ivan continued his marauding.

As the sun crossed the mizzen, Ivan came afoul of Jaq. (pirate name: Jack) The Scourge of The Hallway found himself facing a formidable foe. Though Jack be of smaller tonnage, her armament is not lacking in the least. Her speed and maneuverability allow her to sail circles around the larger, slower lubberly Ivan. Refusing the engagement, Jack set her sails aloft and alow and found refuge in waters unknown to Ivan. (under the bed in the guest bedroom, where she immediately began singing various sea shanties)

It was at this point that I felt it was high time for Commodore Cujo (pirate name:....duh, Blackbeard) to step in and bring him to a lee lurch.

I approached him under a flag of truce and requested a parley.

As soon as his defenses were down........I smacked him upside his buckin ears.

Veterinarian Affairs

As I mentioned in my FaceBook Fan Club, I went to see the vet thingy yesterday.

It was not my intention to write a post about it, but in retrospect, it was simply too amusing not to blog about.

For those Fan Club minions who are already aware of this, please consider it a review.

For those Fan Club members who are not aware of this, your inattention miffs me.

Anyway, I became aware that the two leggers were plotting behind my back when I received a post card from the vet thingy on Thursday. It was a picture of the vet thingy and his entire staff dressed in hockey pads, motorcycle helmets and welding gloves. They were also armed with tranquilizer darts and what appeared to be one of those "tazer" thingies. The card read: "We THINK we are ready for Cujo's appointment."

I found this somewhat surprising given the fact that I had never actually met this particular vet thingy, nor had I ever been a patient at his clinic. The mystery was soon solved when I overheard the two leggers talking about my former vet thingy referring me to this new clinic after my last visit.

Apparently my former vet thingy closed her practice after my last visit and chose to go back to the U.S. Army where she felt that her life would be safer and less chaotic serving in Afghanistan. However, before deploying, she felt it her duty to "advise" her successor on the best way to deal with small, unassuming tuxedo cats.

It was a slow day and I was curious, so I allowed myself to be placed in the kitty carrier and driven to my appointment. Ivan was worried, but I assured him that vet thingies do not intimidate me. Quite the opposite, I intimidate them. "Fear not my rotund, odiferous friend, I shall return and I assure you, I will never don the plastic funnel of recovery." I told him.

I arrived at the clinic and was immediately escorted into a private room. I felt that it was a bit excessive that they asked my two legger to bring me in through the back door, bypassing the waiting room completely, and quite frankly the SWAT team attempting to conceal themselves in the potted plants was just ludicrous, but if it made them feel better, who was I to question?

I quickly decided that a more subtle plan of attack was called for. They were obviously well prepared and a full frontal assault would only lead to massive bloodshed....

Again.

As my two legger carried me into the exam room, a voice came over a loudspeaker and said: "Put the carrier on the table, unzip the top and step away slowly."

My two legger did as he was told.

I instantly jumped out and proceeded to clean myself. This apparently startled one of the staff as evidenced by the tranquilizer dart that passed over my head and lodged in the wall behind me. I ignored the dart and continued my grooming. Finally, after fifteen minutes, I curled up on the table and pretended to nap. Another five minutes passes and I heard someone stealthily entering the room. Still "playing possum", I allowed the vet thingy to reach out and tentatively touch me.

I acted startled and stood up.

After spending 30 minutes under the exam table, I was able to coax the vet thingy out long enough to continue his examination.

I continued to play the part of "sweet wittle putty tat". (though it sickened me greatly) My strategy relied on convincing him that the rumors of my dangerous disposition were totally unfounded. Unfortunately, I may not have been as successful as I wished. I fear that he may have seen through my little charade.

As my two legger paid for my visit, I overheard the vet thingy referring him to another, ANY other, vet thingy.

Bowled Over

Ivan is annoyed.

Of course this is nothing new for Ivan. Ivan was born annoyed. I have it on good authority that when he was born, he came out and immediately bit his mother on the leg because she interrupted his in utero nap.

Even though Ivan is often annoyed, he seldom stays annoyed for any great length of time. It is not that he doesn't hold grudges, it is the simple fact that he quickly forgets why he was annoyed in the first place.

Which annoys him.

But this time it is different. Ivan has now been annoyed for a full week.

What could have angered Ivan to this degree?

His food bowl.

That's right, Ivan is angry with his food bowl.

It is a mystery. We don't know what the food bowl did to deserve Ivan's ire, but whatever it was, it must have been unforgivable. For the last week, Ivan has totally ignored it. This is unprecedented. I have never known Ivan to ignore any food bowl, especially if it contains even a molecule of food remaining in it. The food bowl has always been Ivan's dearest friend. He whispers endearments to it when he thinks no one is listening. Given the option, Ivan would rather lose a paw than give up his food bowl. (Ironically Ivan did lose a paw once, but later found it in the litter box where he had inadvertently buried it.) So for Ivan to snub his food bowl was a truly curious development.

At first I thought he was simply off his feed. Perhaps his ample tummy was bothering him. Maybe he'd eaten something that disagreed with him. Ivan eats most things that disagree with him. In fact, the quickest way to get eaten by Ivan is to disagree with him.(As most widowed eight leggers will attest.) However, I noticed that Ivan was still eating regularly.

He just wouldn't eat from his own bowl.

There was nothing different about his bowl. It was the same bowl he had used for the last four years. It is round, (duh) maroonish in color and it has a cartoon picture of an orange tabby in the bottom with the words "Cool Cat" printed in colorful letters. It has not changed location since 2009. It is regularly cleaned and we are fed the same food that we have been fed since 2008.

How could it have possibly offended him?

Being a cat, I am required by the Federal Curious Cat Statute of 1823 to be curious about all things. This law was passed early in the 19th Century when the townsfolk of Peedunken, Pennsylvania suddenly noticed that most of the feral cats in town had become decidedly uncurious thereby disrupting the natural order of things and causing rumors of witchcraft, paganism and other tendencies often associated with squirrels.

I observed Ivan for several days. Even under close scrutiny, Ivan gave no clue as to what could have caused the estrangement from his food bowl. I decided that this had gone on entirely too long and it was time take extreme measures.

I was going to have to perform that most undesirable of activities. To proverbially soil my paws. To perform an extraordinarily distasteful duty. No matter how I wished to avoid it.....

I was going to have to talk to Ivan.

If you have ever been required to have a conversation with Ivan, you understand.

Just saying "Good day" to Ivan can cost you 50 IQ points. Ivan is a furry little black hole thingy that sucks intelligence from normally smart people where it disappears, never to be seen again. Proof of this can be seen in the male two legger who speaks to Ivan often.

Finally, I approached Ivan.

"O' Lumpy One, why are you angry with your food bowl?" I asked.

"That's not my food bowl." he replied. "The kitty in the bottom is standing on its head and the words are in a foreign language"

I reached over and turned the food bowl 180 degrees.

Ivan is amazed. He almost broke down in relief now that his food bowl has been repaired.

Now I can claim "Food Bowl Repair Technician" to the long list of talents in my repertoire.

The Un-Painted Lady

Pondering the two leggers once again.......

For the last week, the female has been laboring away on my back deck. The male on the other paw, has been watching her.

This is most unusual.

Those who know my two leggers are aware that they are inseparable. They always work together whether it is at home or at their vocation. If one is mowing my yard, the other is pulling weeds in my yard. If one is doing the dishes, the other is doing laundry. If one is cleaning the Royal Litter, the other is supervising the cleaning of the Royal Litter.

Today was different.

The female was on the back deck painting it brown. The male was inside advising her to drink more water. According to the talking box thingy, this is generally considered deplorable behavior on the part of the male two legger. However, it quickly dawned on me that he was not helping her by her own request. This became apparent to me after the third time that she said to him: "Doug, put that brush down and step slowly away from the paint!" This was delivered in the same tone of voice that she uses when she says: "Doug, one gallon of lighter fluid on the charcoal is more than sufficient to start the grill."

I investigated this strange affair and discovered that the male dislikes painting greatly. When he and the female first became paired, they decided to re-paint the interior of my house. Living by the philosophy of : "If you do it wrong the first time, you'll never have to do it again" he made a total mess of the job.

That's HIS story.

I disagree. I think he is attempting to hide the fact that he suffers from Acute Psychromopigmentatosis. This very rare condition causes any non-dried paint product to be attracted to the sufferer and thereby spread, smeared and splattered across any surface that is not intended to be painted. Most victims will naturally grow out of this condition upon completion of kindergarten. However, in some extreme cases, they may find themselves afflicted for their entire lives.

Early in their marriage, the female realized that the male was afflicted with AP and decreed that he would never again be allowed in the vicinity of even slightly damp paint.

In spite of her vigilance, by the time that the painting of the deck was completed, there were no fewer than 12 footprints (male, two legger, size 9) in the paint. The male, who had not come within 20 feet of the paint can, was covered in chocolate colored gooiness and banished to the tub thingy with a bottle of turpentine.

The female remained unspeckled. Not a drop of paint upon her entire body.

She plans on painting the front deck this weekend.

She also gave the male an all expense-paid golfing vacation to Florida.

For this weekend.

Coincidence? I think not.

Executive Decision

Once again, many of my minions are encouraging me to run for President of The United States.

Once again, I must respectfully decline.

Although I am extraordinarily qualified to lead this country, (as well as all the others) my particular form of leadership may not sit well with citizens that enjoy living in a "democracy" thingy.

Since many of my minions live in other countries, I will now explain how our government works. (Heheheehehheehe, seeing the words "government" and "works" in such close proximity always makes me chuckle)

We have three branches of government:

1. The Legislative Branch- This consists of two groups of two leggers. There is the larger group called the "House of Representatives". They are a bunch of people that were deemed unfit to stay in their own states and were therefore banished to Washington, DC to sit in a big building called "The Capitol" and do nothing but belittle each other. They are experts in "Financial Linguistics". "Financial Linguistics" is the art of using $100 words to express $5 ideas. The second group in the Legislature, known as the "Senate" does pretty much the same as the first, but there are fewer of them and they use bigger word thingies.

2. The Judicial Branch- This is a group of two leggers that, well, okay, other than wearing black dresses, I have no clue what they do, but I am sure that they do it very well, except when they do it very poorly. But trust me, I'm sure they do something. I'll get back to you on that one.

3. The Executive Branch- This consists of the President and Vice President. The President is supposed to rule over the country with wisdom and integrity. The very fact that the President is always a politician proves the absurdity of the job description. The Vice President''s job is to make silly statements, be socially inept and generally act in a comical manner thereby making the President look better in comparison. In a monarchy, he is called a "Court Jester".

In theory, these three branch thingies are supposed to work together and make life better for all Americans. In practice, they argue, fuss and do very little but make life easier for themselves.

If I were President, I would immediately declare that anyone in government that disagrees with my policies would be sent to the nearest animal shelter to be used as a scratching post for underprivileged kittens. If they continue to question my administration, they would be forced to wear dog suits and sent to Michael Vick's house.

I would solve the economic crisis by converting our monetary system from dollars to squirrel thingies. That way money would literally grow on trees.

Anyone convicted of animal abuse will be forced to serve a one year sentence in a 1978 Ford Pinto in New Mexico with the windows rolled up. (Unless it can be proven that the abused animal was whiny and then they'd be given a medal and a pension)

Trust me, my "Presidency" is better suited for a dictatorship. Therefore, I will stick to my goal of becoming Supreme Dictator of All Universes Both Known and Unknown, Grand Poobah of All I Survey and Royal Smacker of All Things Whiny.

Commercial Success

Jaq, who has appointed herself my publicist, has suggested that I enhance my public image. She recommends that I have a commercial thingy made.

I am unsure whether I agree that my image needs enhancement, but have decided to ponder the idea.

After taking a six hour nap only interrupted by several sessions of snoozing, I have come up with an idea for an ad thingy:

Cue slideshow of pictures of me-

Voice of Antonio Banderas: 
"Some have plastic flamingos in their yard, he has live peacocks"

"His ego is visible from space."

"Dogs refuse to chase him, for fear of catching him."

"He drinks from a bidet."

"He has people to cover his litter so that his paws remain unsullied."
 
"He once neutered a squirrel using only a sharply worded email."                                            

"His smack has been classified as a weapon of mass destruction."

"His purr has inspired symphonies."

"He speaks in calligraphy."

"Mice volunteer to become his toys."

"Sunbeams go in search of HIM."

"He once made a mime scream."

"Elephants try to forget him."

"His litter has been sold on Ebay."

"Fleas refuse to bite him."

"His thoughts are so deep that they occasionally strike oil."

"He once smacked the stripes off a whiny gray tabby."

"There are movie credits at the ends of his daydreams."

"He's been known to abduct aliens."

"HE IS THE MOST INTERESTING CAT IN THE WORLD"

My voice-

"I don't always use catnip, but when I do, it's organic."

"Stay frisky my friends."