Announcing CujoCam!

By popular demand I have been working on a top secret project thingy.

CujoCam is now up and running! Just follow the link below!

CujoCam

March Madness

Never let it be said that I do not attempt to help my two leggers.

In a totally unappreciated attempt to ease their burden of giving me treats whenever I desire them, I have often tried a more "self-serve" approach to providing myself with cat treats. I watch where they store the aforementioned treats and then I reward myself for good behavior whenever I feel they are warranted. I have even been known to reward myself for bad behavior. However, when I reward my own bad behavior, I do it in a mocking and sarcastic manner so that I am assured that I didn't really deserve the treat, but only gave it to myself to make myself feel guilty in the unlikely hope that I will not repeat said bad behavior.

One would think that the two leggers would be impressed and appreciative that I have taken steps to relieve their workload.

They are not.

Instead, every time I find out where they are stashing these little tuna-flavored morsels of ambrosia, they hurriedly grab all the treats and relocate them to another hidey hole. It usually takes all of five minutes to find their latest stash, but this last time they got a bit cagier........

Whenever they thought I deserved a treat, they would disappear from the room and when they returned, they had a couple of treats in hand. If I attempted to follow and ascertain the location of the treats, they would simply refuse to get my treats lest I discover where they lay hidden. I attempted to find the treats by using my incredible sense of smell, however try as I may, I could not locate them. Finally, I decided to use logic:

Logic is my best weapon.

So I thought, "If I was a two legger who wanted to prevent my incredibly intelligent (and strikingly handsome) housecat  from raiding his kitty treats, where would I hide them?" With this thought in mind, I sought out Tiger Lily and smacked her around until she gave up the location.   

It seems that they were hidden in the cabinet above the washing machine thingy.

I must grudgingly admit that this particular location was a stroke of genius on the part of the two leggers. I suspect it was the female's idea because this level of thinking is well above the male's level of intelligence. The cupboard above the washing machine thingy was clever on several points. The smell of the detergents masked the smell of the treats. The noise of the machine ensured that we felines seldom entered the room and whenever the clothes come out of the dryer thingy, I am too busy depositing hair upon the clean clothes to be bothered to look in the cabinets.

Immediately upon this revelation, I set out to open the cabinet of goodies. Unfortunately, the cabinet door thingy had a springed hinge and every time I hooked a claw in the door and before I could grab the treats, it would shut itself with a rather loud thump. This drew the attention of the two leggers and I was chased from the room with numerous sprays from the water squirty thingy. This only stiffened my resolve and I vowed revisit the cabinet after they retired for the evening.

Around 2am, with the two leggers safely ensconced in their bedroom, Ivan and I approached the cabinet.  I hooked my claw in the door, pulled it open about three inches and reached for the treats. As I reached in my claw relaxed and..........thump.

I realized that I needed something dense and hard to hold open the door so that I could gain a proper purchase and swing it beyond the grasp of the spring. Ivan's head finally proved useful and after several more thumps, I was able to finally pry the door open revealing a veritable cornucopia of kitty treats.

Having scarfed a large portion, I decided a nap was in order and repaired to my throne.

Approximately an hour later I was awakened by a dreadful yet amusing sound. Ivan was romping-stomping up and down the hallway, all crooky-tailed and trilling. He would slide to a stop at the end of the hallway, arch his back, poof and then in a flurry of scrabbling legs shoot down to the other end of the hall and slide headfirst into the couch. He would frantically look up at me as if thinking "DUUUUUUDE!" and then reverse the process slamming into the closet door at the opposite end of the hall.

The furnishings in the hall had suffered greatly from Ivan's actions and the current score was:
Ivan-12
Hallway decor-0

 Jaq and Tiger Lily sat watching this with bemused expressions on their faces and giggling behind their paws.

It seems that having eaten his way through the treats, Ivan discovered a large cache of catnip that had been sent as offerings from some of my FaceBook minions.

Think I'll go finish off the treats now. I get the feeling that after the two leggers wake up and see the results of our efforts, the treats may be scarce for a while.

The Sainted Truth

Another two legger holiday is upon us.

This one is called "St. Patrick's Day".

From what I can tell, this holiday involves two leggers suddenly suffering a mass delusion that they all share a common Irish ancestry. It requires that they adorn themselves with green clothing and consume anything even remotely beer-like.

They say that curiosity killed the cat. In this matter I assure you that I am destined to live a VERY long life given the fact that I am without a doubt, 100%, certifiably, completely, totally and irrevocably the total opposite of curious about St. Patrick's Day. I could live another twenty years happy in the knowledge that I have absolutely no knowledge in regards to this holiday.

However, I do feel a certain responsibility to educate my minions and have decided to spare two or three minutes of my invaluable nap time to thoroughly research this subject and enlighten my readers.

This is what I have discovered.

St. Patrick's Day was originally celebrated by Irish immigrants to commemorate a two legger priest named Patrick Stewart who drove the Borg out of Ireland in the late 1980s. The Irish are generally a fairly amiable lot with a "live and let live" attitude, however they found the Borg to be completely unreasonable companions since they kept assimilating the sheep and never offered to buy a round at the local pub. Sir Patrick Stewart heard the pleas of the locals and drove the Borg from the Emerald Isle.

The Irish are not the only culture to celebrate saints.

In Canada, they began celebrating "St. Gretzky Day" after Wayne Gretzky drove Americans completely out of the sport of Hockey. He originally invented the sport when he introduced the idea of adding sticks and a puck to the weekly event of "It's Saturday, Let's All Go Out On The Ice And Fight for a Couple of Hours".

In Seattle, they celebrate "St. Juan Valdez Day" after Columbian coffee farmer, Juan Valdez who drove out anyone caught ordering decaffeinated beverages. They were driven to Oregon where they now sell chainsaw carvings, Birkenstock sandals and ugly sweaters.

In Arkansas, one the most popular holidays is "St. Bubba's Day". St. Bubba didn't drive anyone out of Arkansas, however he was driving his '57 Chevy when the steering went out causing him to drive in counter-clockwise circles for five hours. After the first hour, several of his buddies took notice, thought it looked fun and joined him thus inventing the sport of NASCAR.

One final note about St. Patrick: After being driven from Ireland, the Borg settled in America where they found their natural calling in politics.

Downton Tabby

My two leggers have recently begun watching a program on the talking box thingy called "Downton Abbey".

Since they have been watching it every night in the same room that contains both my throne and my firebox thingy, I have been subjected to a nightly dose of very British behavior.

Normally, I am enthusiastically indifferent to the programs they watch at night. I consider the average two legger programming to be foolish and unrealistically optimistic at best, benign and mind-numbing at worst. However, I still pay attention if only to mock them later for their choices.

However, after having been exposed to this new show over the past several weeks, for some reason I find my interest somewhat engaged.

From what I have gathered, the premise of Downton Abbey is the story of a very small, select and priviliged group of individuals who are served by a very large group who cater to their every want and whimsy. The small group spend their days lounging about, amusing themselves with various inane activities whilst the larger group bustles around, seeing to their comfort, feeding them, grooming them and basically seeing to all their needs.

I can't quite put my paw on it, but for some odd reason, this concept appeals to me.

The British have always been somewhat of an enigma to me. They seem to be a society of extremes.

They have given the world such geniuses as Monty Python, Benny Hill and Rowan Atkinson. Yet they have also produced such hacks as Shakespeare, Chaucer and Dickens.

That being said, as a cat I must say that I hold their class system in high regard.

So since the two leggers enjoy watching Downton Abbey so much, I have decided that it is time to run my own Kingdom in a similar manner.

In keeping with the British tradition of never using a single name when six could easily suffice, the two leggers will hence address me as "Lord Cujo, Prince of Paws, Duke of Draperies, Earl of Smackdom and Knight of The Royal Order of Knock Knacks".

Sir Ivan will be my Hair Apparent. His duties will be to keep the two legged servants in line and the eight leggers nervous.

Lady Jaq will serve the part of the clueless youngster who sits around all day dreaming of love, romance and other such myths.

Lady Tiger Lily is appointed to be a "Lady-in-waiting". She will lounge about waiting for me to come along and administer her daily smack.

In other words, things will remain exactly the way they have always been. We'll just have fancier titles.

Admittedly, I was considering making Ivan a Peer, but judging from the odors emanating from the litterbox, he just did that himself.

Computer Conundrum

As many of you are aware, my computer typey thingy bit the proverbial dust last week.

I was not amused.

I commanded the male two legger to repair the machine immediately.

I was unsure if he was up to the task. As far as I know, he hasn't mastered any computer thingy since learning Abacus 2.0, however, I was willing to give him a chance.

After several hours of unfruitful head-scratching, mumbling, cursing, a couple of exclamations of "EUREKA!" followed by more head-scratching and cursing, he informed me that we would soon be visited by something called "The Greek Squad".

I must admit to being somewhat excited at this prospect. Being a student of history, I have always been fascinated by the society that brought us Plato, Socrates and a pledge to honor pictures of African animals called "The Hippo-graphic Oath". And so the next day I eagerly awaited the arrival of the Greeks in all their bed sheet clad splendor. Perhaps while they repaired my computer typey thingy, I would share my own philosophical thoughts and thus add to their already legendary legacy.

So imagine my surprise when instead of a chariot being pulled by great white stallions, a little bitty SmartCar thingy pulled into my driveway. No gray-bearded, toga-clad two leggers climbed out of yon micromobile. Instead, two semi-adolescent male two leggers knocked upon my door wearing white shirts, black ties, and black trousers that if they had been six inches longer, would have still been eight inches too short. They had fastened to their shirts name tags that identified them as Rory and Jeremy. Beneath their names, was the title "GeekSquad Technician".

I now understood that my two legger had obviously been misinformed and had called in the wrong team to repair my computer. However, he seemed to not notice his mistake and spoke to them as though they were the people he expected. As he was greeting them, Ivan, Tiger Lily and Jaq had entered the room to observe. "Rory" immediately asked to see the naughty laptop. Laughing hysterically, my two legger turned and pointed to each of us and asked "Which naughty laptop do you wish to see?". (His wit is only surpassed by his ability to teleport)

Rory who seemed to be one of the other 99.9996% of humanity who do not understand my two legger's sense of humor, stared at him blankly. Somewhat deflated, my two legger handed over my laptop, and the two pushed their eyeglasses further up their noses, hiked up their britches and began assessing the issue.

For the next 45 minutes, they performed a procedure that is apparently taught at only the best computer repair schools. It is called the "Turn The Darned Thing Off and Then Turn It Back On Again Maneuver".

Approximately 90 minutes later, they reached the mind-boggling conclusion that my computer was indeed "non-functional". This came as a great surprise to me given the fact that I had been completely unable to make it "function" for the last three days. They declared that they needed to take it back to their nerd nest and attempt to repair it there.

Five days later, they returned my computer after having claimed victory and stated that the computer typey thingy is now "good as new". I must admit that they did not lie. My computer typey thingy is indeed as good as the day it was bought. They were even kind enough to wipe off all those pesky documents and pictures that I have written and collected over the last two years.

That being said, I am back online now. I appreciate your patience and understanding during this trying time.

Fortunately, the internet thingy managed to continue on even though there was one less cat last week.

Olympic Undertaking

Right now, in a land far, far away, a whole bunch of two leggers are competing against each other in something called The Winter Olympics.

After having watched and studied the Olympic thingies for a week now, I believe I have discovered the reason that two leggers train their entire lives in order to be chosen to represent their countries at the Winter Olympics:

They're freakin' nuts.

I have done some research and have discovered the origins of many winter sports. In the interest of educating my followers, I shall now chuck some snowballs of wisdom in your general direction.

The sport of  "skiing" began as a prank that a two legger from Austria pulled on a two legger from Britain. During the 18th and 19th centuries, the British Empire had spread across the entire globe. Since England has no geographic features whatsoever, the British quickly became fascinated with mountains and felt compelled to climb every single mountain they happened across. No matter how high, how cold or how dangerous, as soon as they saw a mountain in the distance, they would immediately grab their ropes, tighten their belts, shout "Jolly good!", and start their ascent. Upon reaching the summit, they would have a spot of tea while they tried to figure out how to get back down.

One Englishman, Sir Nigel Worrynaught, found himself in just such a situation. He sat atop one of the highest peaks in the Alps, sipping his tea and quietly pondering the huge crevasse that had just swallowed his favorite manservant Dunswaddle. Soon, Hans Von Fujimoko, a young Austrian Tae Kwan Do master happened by. Curious, he asked the Englishman what was amiss?

"My manservant Dunswaddle seems to have gone FDACWOL (Fallen Down A Crevasse Without Leave). The blighter didn't even give notice in order for me to hire a replacement and now I am stuck upon this mountain with no one to carry my kit. Why, it'll take me days to get back down."

Austrians, unlike their neighbors the Germans, had yet to prohibit the ownership of a sense of humor, and Hans saw an opportunity for a bit of fun at Sir Nigel's expense. He karate chopped two saplings and proceeded to tie them to Sir Nigel's feet. As Sir Nigel stood upon the saplings and turned to ask what to do next, Hans gave him a shove and down the mountain he slid.

Somehow Sir Nigel survived the trip down the mountain and after declaring it to be "great fun" cleaned his lederhosen and climbed back up the mountain.

Many years later, a pair of NASCAR fans decided to take up mountain climbing during the three weeks per year that NASCAR was not being shown on the "TeeVee Box". After spending several hours at the base of the mountain and having consumed several cases of beer, one of the NASCAR fans turned to the other and uttered the immortal words: "Well, hot dang Jimmy Joe Bob, I reckon if'n we toted one of them thar rusted-out Chevy Novas up that thar hill, take off the wheels and replace em with a coupla fence staves, we could purty much ride that bad boy back down that thar hill and we'd have a passle of fun. Heck, we might even break sumptin if'n we do it right."

Thus the sport of Jimmy Joe Bobsledding was born. The sport remains essentially the same to this day, the only differences being the shortening of the name to "Bobsledding" and the rule restricting the competitors to carrying only 24 empty beer cans in the back seat instead of the original 238.

Curling is another sport that began as a joke. Back in 1873, many Americans were passing through Canada on their way to the Yukon gold claims. Ever curious, the Americans were very interested in the Canadian's methods of dealing with the boredom of the 14 month Canadian winter. One enterprising Canadian who was tired of cleaning up the mud and snow tracked in on the American's dirty boots, told the Americans that they spent most days sliding large stones around their igloos and using brooms to guide them to a target placed just outside the doors of their igloos. The Americans were fascinated with this game and soon became extremely adept at sweeping the floors of their Canadian hosts.

Curling became an Olympic sport in 1960 at the request of sports enthusiasts who found the sport of "watching paint dry" just too darned exciting. 

With the exception of hockey, all other events at the Olympics essentially are derived from the three mentioned above.

Hockey is simply a reenactment of a typical Canadian family dinner that invariably ends in everyone grabbing sticks and fighting over the last biscuit.

Potty Animal

I find that the most amusing moments of my life occur in the waning hours of the night. It must have something to do with the cloaking darkness and muted sounds that pervade my Kingdom while the two leggers slumber.

Last night, just such an amusing moment presented itself. However, I found in this particular moment not just a chance for a little nocturnal naughtiness, but perhaps an opportunity to educate my devoted minions on a mystery that I am often asked to explain.

It was around 3am when I heard the familiar sound of the male two legger cursing and stumbling around in the darkness in search of the bathroom. The cursing was caused by the fact that his night vision is somewhat lacking and he had once again stubbed his toe on the frame of the door thingy once again proving his ineptitude at navigating in the dark.

I find this perplexing when I consider the fact that he has slept in the same bed, in the same room, nine feet from the same bathroom door for the last 11 years. Almost every night of those 11 years, he has awoken sometime after 2am with the dire need to visit the aforementioned bathroom and the same chain of events has transpired. He attempts to stealthily navigate his way to the bathroom, arms windmilling around his body in an attempt to find some form of recognizable bedroom landscape feature that he can use to orient himself and thus eventually arrive at his destination without waking his mate. Invariably, as he approaches the bathroom, his stub-seeking pinky toe arrives at the door frame about .382 seconds before he lets out a blood-curdling scream and falls to the floor, grasping his foot and squirming in hilarious agony.

Anyway, as I heard the results of his latest attempt at nighttime navigation, I realized that something was amiss. Tiger Lily was sleeping on her pillow next to the computer thingy, Jaq was burrowed deep in the comforter in her room and Ivan was sprawled in a smelly heap on the heating register in the kitchen. Since I was on my throne in front of the firebox thingy, that could only mean one thing:

A TWO LEGGER WAS IN THE BATHROOM WITH NO CAT IN ATTENDANCE!

Totally unacceptable! Completely unheard of! Simply not right! And probably illegal in all 50 states (and Arkansas).   

Now we come to the question that I am most often asked:

What is the deal with cats having to watch when two leggers attempt to use the bathroom?

There are many theories in regard to this mystery. Some believe we feel compelled to watch because we are simply curious. Some think it is that we know that as long as the two legger in question is doing his/her business, we have a captive audience, and being cats, we take full advantage of their captivity. Some have even theorized that we are fascinated by the variety of smells and odors that waft forth from the vicinity of the engaged two legger.

It is widely believed in Ireland that cats are simply stalking the "wee people".

In Arkansas, it is thought that the cats are setting an ambush for dog thingies. They wait by the toilet until the dog thingy gets thirsty and then strike when it comes for a drink.

All of these theories are exactly wrong.

The truth is actually much simpler than that.

We watch because you fascinate us.

The sounds you make in the bathroom, both voluntary and involuntary, are unlike any other sounds anywhere. The way you scrunch your faces when things become.......difficult. The way you must inspect and admire your leavings before pushing the flushy thingy.

It even fascinates us when you notice us staring at you and feel compelled to ask "What? What do you want? Why are you staring at me?" As if you expect us to suddenly say "So sorry to disturb you, I was just wondering what you were doing. Perhaps I could be of service to you while you are sitting there. Would you like a magazine or perhaps a glass of water?"

So there you have it. We watch you because it amuses us.

As far as last night was concerned, after realizing that the two legger was about to enter the bathroom unaccompanied, I quickly and silently bounded over his writhing body and assumed my position next to the sink. After he recovered from the pain of the puffy pinky toe, he slowly pulled himself up from the floor by gripping the sink. As he pulled himself up, he reached over and turned on the light only to find himself looking directly into the eyes of an amused tuxedo cat.

I suspect that he had no........difficulties "going" this time.