OK, I had every intention of not posting today. In fact I had every intention of not doing a darn thing today. I was even planning on not smacking Tiger Lily today. Well, that last one went right out the window when I detected her scent on one of my favorite napping spots. Her scent is unmistakable. It smells like a cross between something that needs smacking and something that REALLY needs smacking.
Anyway, my male two legger has just finished pleading with me to post tonight. It seems that a friend of his is going through a tough time and has asked that I spread some joy and enlightenment.
Joy and enlightenment annoy me, but the two legger promised me a new catnip mousie thingy and so I acquiesced.
Not much happened today. Ivan and I played some bathtub soccer. This was amusing until the female decided to take a shower and turned on the water while the bathtub was still occupied. Fortunately, I had realized what was about to happen and vacated the tub about a millisecond before the water arrived. Ivan being slower of both mind and body was not so lucky. This is when the game crossed the threshold from amusing to VERY amusing.
Ivan's stubby little legs became a stubby little blur as his claws could find no purchase on the floor of the tub. Scrabbling around in blind panic, Ivan managed to bring three bottles of shampoo, two bars of soap, and a rubber ducky thingy crashing down upon his unnaturally small head. In a final flurry of claws and teeth, Ivan hooked the shower curtain causing it to fall down in a downpour of grotesquely colored vinyl. This caused much chaos.
Sometimes what begins as a completely innocent activity turns without warning into something beautiful and amusing.
This is for you LisaMarie.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
A Mouse Divided
There is a mouse thingy in my house thingy. Too Dr. Suess?
Last night I detected a mouse thingy. Not a catnip mousie thingy, but a real, living, scratchy sound making, nose twitching, squeaky mouse thingy.
It must die.
It must die slowly in a most amusing way.
It must die, be revived and then die again, and then repeat.
Alas, I have erred. I tipped my hand too early. I should have waited to begin my mouse slaying ritual until the two leggers had retired for the evening. But instead, in a fit of expectant blood letting anticipation, I began stalking the mouse and attracted the attention of the male two legger. So, in his usual pacifistic manner, he decided that though the mouse should be terminated, it should be terminated in the most humane manner possible. Major buzz kill. He went to the outdoor shed and retrieved his pride and joy: The Rat Zapper 3000. The Rat Zapper 3000 claims to kill rodents instantly and painlessly by administering a 50 kajillion volt shock. How they can get 50 kajillion volts from two AA batteries is truly a mystery, but unfortunately it seems to work. They bait it with peanut butter, turn it on, and within an hour or two, there is a faintly glowing mouse corpse awaiting safe and clean disposal. Snore.
This is no way for a mouse to die. Mice are on this earth for two reasons. They annoy humans and amuse felines. A quick painless mouse whacking goes against the laws of nature.
A mouse needs to be stalked. They actually enjoy being stalked. They even squeak so that they are easier to track. That's where we get the phrase "The squeaky mouse gets greased".
Following a proper amount of stalking, the mouse conveniently runs into a corner, or bathtub where the batting commences. Mice should be batted around until they decide to play dead. This can take anywhere from few minutes to upwards of an hour depending on the endurance of the the mouse and the amount of batting force applied.
Once the mouse appears dead, the mouse should be carefully watched. They never truly die after the first round of batting, they are only mostly dead and require a moment to regain some of their aliveness. At the first whisker twitch, the batting begins anew.
After this process is repeated several times, the mouse will stir no more. At this point the mouse is considered to be an ex-rodent. At this point, the mouse has fulfilled it's destiny and should be given a proper burial.
Preferably somewhere in the two leggers bed.
Last night I detected a mouse thingy. Not a catnip mousie thingy, but a real, living, scratchy sound making, nose twitching, squeaky mouse thingy.
It must die.
It must die slowly in a most amusing way.
It must die, be revived and then die again, and then repeat.
Alas, I have erred. I tipped my hand too early. I should have waited to begin my mouse slaying ritual until the two leggers had retired for the evening. But instead, in a fit of expectant blood letting anticipation, I began stalking the mouse and attracted the attention of the male two legger. So, in his usual pacifistic manner, he decided that though the mouse should be terminated, it should be terminated in the most humane manner possible. Major buzz kill. He went to the outdoor shed and retrieved his pride and joy: The Rat Zapper 3000. The Rat Zapper 3000 claims to kill rodents instantly and painlessly by administering a 50 kajillion volt shock. How they can get 50 kajillion volts from two AA batteries is truly a mystery, but unfortunately it seems to work. They bait it with peanut butter, turn it on, and within an hour or two, there is a faintly glowing mouse corpse awaiting safe and clean disposal. Snore.
This is no way for a mouse to die. Mice are on this earth for two reasons. They annoy humans and amuse felines. A quick painless mouse whacking goes against the laws of nature.
A mouse needs to be stalked. They actually enjoy being stalked. They even squeak so that they are easier to track. That's where we get the phrase "The squeaky mouse gets greased".
Following a proper amount of stalking, the mouse conveniently runs into a corner, or bathtub where the batting commences. Mice should be batted around until they decide to play dead. This can take anywhere from few minutes to upwards of an hour depending on the endurance of the the mouse and the amount of batting force applied.
Once the mouse appears dead, the mouse should be carefully watched. They never truly die after the first round of batting, they are only mostly dead and require a moment to regain some of their aliveness. At the first whisker twitch, the batting begins anew.
After this process is repeated several times, the mouse will stir no more. At this point the mouse is considered to be an ex-rodent. At this point, the mouse has fulfilled it's destiny and should be given a proper burial.
Preferably somewhere in the two leggers bed.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Fireside Cat
This is my favorite time of year. Fire season. I love fire season. Here in my house it lasts about nine months. Not near long enough, but I have plans to lengthen it.
No, I'm not referring to the time of year when a whole bunch of wild tree thingies go up in flames, the season to which I refer occurs when the temperature gets low enough that the two leggers decide to turn on my firebox.
About the only thing the two leggers have that is worthy of my respect is their ability to instantly create fire. About three years ago, while I was still an adorable kitten (about six months before I became an adorable adult), the two leggers paid three hygiene challenged two leggers (they smelled of dog) to come into my house and build the great and wonderful firebox thingy. At first I was less than amused. They removed my favorite "sit and glare at the two leggers" table. Then over the course of seven hours, they banged, talked and annoyed me in general, causing me to miss at least three naps. Just when I thought I could take no more and was just about to send Ivan to mess them up, they packed up their things and left. They had replaced my favorite table with the firebox thingy. At first I didn't like it at all. I still decided it was mine, but I didn't like it. It spans the entire distance between floor and ceiling and therefore I am unable sit atop it. This annoyed me. It is made of a very hard wood, therefore I am unable to scratch or damage it. Also very annoying.
I sat glaring at it until the two leggers returned home. They seemed inordinately happy about this new addition to my home. The male then picked up a tiny button box and "WHOOF", fire appeared. I saw that it was good.
I immediately made the two leggers place my throne in front of it and informed everyone that this belonged to me.
Ivan is of course confused by fire. I've tried to explain that fire makes heat, but complex theories like that are simply beyond his microbrain. I allow Tiger Lily to lay in front of it on occasion but only if it is off and I am napping elsewhere and thus unaware of her trespass.
Earlier, I spoke of extending the fire season. I have been carefully observing the way the two leggers light the firebox. I am positive that the little button box is the key in making fire. However I've yet to crack that nut. Whenever the two leggers leave, I experiment with the tiny button box. But so far all I have been able to do is activate the talking box thingy. But I do not despair.
It is only a matter of time and observation.
Someday I will discover their secret and all will sweat because of it.
No, I'm not referring to the time of year when a whole bunch of wild tree thingies go up in flames, the season to which I refer occurs when the temperature gets low enough that the two leggers decide to turn on my firebox.
About the only thing the two leggers have that is worthy of my respect is their ability to instantly create fire. About three years ago, while I was still an adorable kitten (about six months before I became an adorable adult), the two leggers paid three hygiene challenged two leggers (they smelled of dog) to come into my house and build the great and wonderful firebox thingy. At first I was less than amused. They removed my favorite "sit and glare at the two leggers" table. Then over the course of seven hours, they banged, talked and annoyed me in general, causing me to miss at least three naps. Just when I thought I could take no more and was just about to send Ivan to mess them up, they packed up their things and left. They had replaced my favorite table with the firebox thingy. At first I didn't like it at all. I still decided it was mine, but I didn't like it. It spans the entire distance between floor and ceiling and therefore I am unable sit atop it. This annoyed me. It is made of a very hard wood, therefore I am unable to scratch or damage it. Also very annoying.
I sat glaring at it until the two leggers returned home. They seemed inordinately happy about this new addition to my home. The male then picked up a tiny button box and "WHOOF", fire appeared. I saw that it was good.
I immediately made the two leggers place my throne in front of it and informed everyone that this belonged to me.
Ivan is of course confused by fire. I've tried to explain that fire makes heat, but complex theories like that are simply beyond his microbrain. I allow Tiger Lily to lay in front of it on occasion but only if it is off and I am napping elsewhere and thus unaware of her trespass.
Earlier, I spoke of extending the fire season. I have been carefully observing the way the two leggers light the firebox. I am positive that the little button box is the key in making fire. However I've yet to crack that nut. Whenever the two leggers leave, I experiment with the tiny button box. But so far all I have been able to do is activate the talking box thingy. But I do not despair.
It is only a matter of time and observation.
Someday I will discover their secret and all will sweat because of it.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
In Your Facebook
Once again I have been observing the two leggers. Once again, I am confused. While two legger behavior is often confusing, it is seldom blog worthy. In this case, I feel I must reach out to my readers and ask them to explain this particular oddness.
The oddness I refer to is called "Facebook". At first glance, Facebook, or "FB" as the oddest two leggers call it, seemed to be a way for two leggers who live in different areas to communicate with each other. I can see the reasoning behind this. I myself wouldn't mind contacting my old littermates and bragging about how I conquered and developed my kingdom. This would be amusing. I would share my wisdom and catnip procurement strategies. Perhaps I would even "franchise" my kingdom. Imagine a world where there was a Cujoish cat in every home that had internet access. Truly a utopian society.
Back to the two leggers. Do they use this technology in the noble pursuit of spreading Cujoness everywhere? No. They use it to tell each other what they had for dinner. They tell each other every single thing that they "like". They show each other silly picture thingies. But most of all, they play games in which they do things that in real life they consider chores.
Take "Farmville". I have observed my male two legger spending hours planting and harvesting crops, feeding and combing animals, building fences and barns. Meanwhile, my lawn needs mowing, I am hungry, my fur is matted, and my roof leaks. Maybe if I awarded useless imaginary money for taking care of us, I'd never again have to witness Ivan sulking because he can see the bottom of his food bowl.
One other thing that annoys me about Facebook is that they have a "like" button thingy. Why only "like"? If I was in charge there would be several more button thingies:
Annoy
Amuse
Smack
Snub
Smack Again
They do have an "ignore" button, but by pressing it aren't you actually "paying attention"?
So please, if you can enlighten me, do so.
Oh, just a side note to the people from PETA who wrote me regarding my treatment of Tiger Lily: As a matter of fact, I DO wear fur.
The oddness I refer to is called "Facebook". At first glance, Facebook, or "FB" as the oddest two leggers call it, seemed to be a way for two leggers who live in different areas to communicate with each other. I can see the reasoning behind this. I myself wouldn't mind contacting my old littermates and bragging about how I conquered and developed my kingdom. This would be amusing. I would share my wisdom and catnip procurement strategies. Perhaps I would even "franchise" my kingdom. Imagine a world where there was a Cujoish cat in every home that had internet access. Truly a utopian society.
Back to the two leggers. Do they use this technology in the noble pursuit of spreading Cujoness everywhere? No. They use it to tell each other what they had for dinner. They tell each other every single thing that they "like". They show each other silly picture thingies. But most of all, they play games in which they do things that in real life they consider chores.
Take "Farmville". I have observed my male two legger spending hours planting and harvesting crops, feeding and combing animals, building fences and barns. Meanwhile, my lawn needs mowing, I am hungry, my fur is matted, and my roof leaks. Maybe if I awarded useless imaginary money for taking care of us, I'd never again have to witness Ivan sulking because he can see the bottom of his food bowl.
One other thing that annoys me about Facebook is that they have a "like" button thingy. Why only "like"? If I was in charge there would be several more button thingies:
Annoy
Amuse
Smack
Snub
Smack Again
They do have an "ignore" button, but by pressing it aren't you actually "paying attention"?
So please, if you can enlighten me, do so.
Oh, just a side note to the people from PETA who wrote me regarding my treatment of Tiger Lily: As a matter of fact, I DO wear fur.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Wad A Wonderful World
I must confess. I have a weakness. Call it a vice, an obsession or even an addiction. I'm not proud of it, I think it weakens me. But I have promised myself to always be completely truthful in this blog thingy and therefore would be remiss if I were to hide this basket of dirty laundry. So here goes. I can only hope that you can overlook this shortcoming.
I love wads. There I said it.
Not just any wads. I am as selective in my choice of wads as I am in my hairball thingy placement. The proper wad should be 2-3 inches in diameter. It must be made of either note pad paper or that slightly foily stuff that candy bar wrappers are made of. It must not be so tightly mooshed that it fails to make the proper crackly sound. It can NEVER be made of newspaper as that smacks of recycling and therefore annoys me.
Unfortunately, the manufacture and deployment of wads requires the assistance of a two legger. I have spent much time in the training of my two leggers, teaching them the proper assemblage and launch techniques. The irony being that they honestly believe that they have "trained" me to "fetch". It was a long, incredibly tedious process (two leggers can be dim) but they seem to have finally gained at least a rudimentary understanding of what is expected of them.
The hardest thing to teach them was the proper trajectory of wad flight. The wad should should always be thrown so that it forms a perfect parabola of 45 degrees. This allows me time to get under the wad as it begins its' freefall and then bat it out of midair if I so choose. If I choose to allow it to land, the angle enables the wad to skitter across the floor so that I can show off my incredible hockey skills.
After smacking the wad around for several minutes to prove my dominance over all things paper, I then pick it up and return it to the two legged wad launcher and wait for the next round. This can continue for hours.
I have tried several times to introduce my feline minions to the pleasure of the wad, but have thus far failed to stimulate their interest. Tiger Lily just whines about all the smacking involved, and Ivan has a fear of all things round.
There, now you know my dirty little secret. It's out there. Deal with it.
I love wads. There I said it.
Not just any wads. I am as selective in my choice of wads as I am in my hairball thingy placement. The proper wad should be 2-3 inches in diameter. It must be made of either note pad paper or that slightly foily stuff that candy bar wrappers are made of. It must not be so tightly mooshed that it fails to make the proper crackly sound. It can NEVER be made of newspaper as that smacks of recycling and therefore annoys me.
Unfortunately, the manufacture and deployment of wads requires the assistance of a two legger. I have spent much time in the training of my two leggers, teaching them the proper assemblage and launch techniques. The irony being that they honestly believe that they have "trained" me to "fetch". It was a long, incredibly tedious process (two leggers can be dim) but they seem to have finally gained at least a rudimentary understanding of what is expected of them.
The hardest thing to teach them was the proper trajectory of wad flight. The wad should should always be thrown so that it forms a perfect parabola of 45 degrees. This allows me time to get under the wad as it begins its' freefall and then bat it out of midair if I so choose. If I choose to allow it to land, the angle enables the wad to skitter across the floor so that I can show off my incredible hockey skills.
After smacking the wad around for several minutes to prove my dominance over all things paper, I then pick it up and return it to the two legged wad launcher and wait for the next round. This can continue for hours.
I have tried several times to introduce my feline minions to the pleasure of the wad, but have thus far failed to stimulate their interest. Tiger Lily just whines about all the smacking involved, and Ivan has a fear of all things round.
There, now you know my dirty little secret. It's out there. Deal with it.
Monday, September 20, 2010
"Family Time"
Ugh.
My two leggers have now mandated a new type of Hell. They call it "family time". Ever since their offspring escaped, the two leggers have now unleashed their unpasteurized affection upon myself and my four legged minions. Adoration, admiration and worshipful awe are welcomed and of course, expected, but affection is unacceptable.
Affection is an emotion that implies the expectation of the return of the same emotion. Silly two leggers. When will they learn?
Anyway, I digress. Family time occurs every evening at ten o'clock sharp. The two leggers retire to their bed in order to watch the talking box thingy and expect us feline types to join them. They even go so far as to pick us up and lock us in the bedroom. As if we don't have better things to do. There are dust bunnies to harvest and "knock-knacks" (not a typo) to "rearrange". These are things that are difficult to accomplish while the two leggers are up and about.
We have learned to accept this daily purgatory, though we refuse to like it.
Tiger Lily curls up on the pillow behind the female's head, usually with her tail tickling her ear. This amuses her. Ivan sprawls with his ample weight equally distributed across both the two leggers raising their body temperature by an average of 115 degrees Farenheit. I meanwhile, am not so predictable. Sometimes I curl up and pretend to nap on the end of the bed, but not often. I prefer activities that cause more mayhem.
For instance, I have found that by sitting on top of the talking box thingy and giving the two leggers my patented "owl-face" glare, I can irritate them to the point that they end up letting me out. It also amuses to me walk along the bedstands enforcing the law of gravity on anything that may be pushed off.
But what amuses me the most is sneaking along the side of the bed, waiting until I am precisely even with Tiger Lily's position, and then leaping upon her with out warning. This invariably causes a chain reaction of chaos. Startling Tiger Lily causes her to poof, jump and declare her displeasure in an incredibly loud whine (not always in that order). This startles both two leggers which in turn causes Ivan to poof and fly off the bed and run into the nearest wall. Pictures have been known to be knocked down by Ivan's impact with the wall. This never fails to make the two leggers so frustrated that me and my cohorts are declared unfit for family time and banished from the bedroom.
Mission accomplished.
My two leggers have now mandated a new type of Hell. They call it "family time". Ever since their offspring escaped, the two leggers have now unleashed their unpasteurized affection upon myself and my four legged minions. Adoration, admiration and worshipful awe are welcomed and of course, expected, but affection is unacceptable.
Affection is an emotion that implies the expectation of the return of the same emotion. Silly two leggers. When will they learn?
Anyway, I digress. Family time occurs every evening at ten o'clock sharp. The two leggers retire to their bed in order to watch the talking box thingy and expect us feline types to join them. They even go so far as to pick us up and lock us in the bedroom. As if we don't have better things to do. There are dust bunnies to harvest and "knock-knacks" (not a typo) to "rearrange". These are things that are difficult to accomplish while the two leggers are up and about.
We have learned to accept this daily purgatory, though we refuse to like it.
Tiger Lily curls up on the pillow behind the female's head, usually with her tail tickling her ear. This amuses her. Ivan sprawls with his ample weight equally distributed across both the two leggers raising their body temperature by an average of 115 degrees Farenheit. I meanwhile, am not so predictable. Sometimes I curl up and pretend to nap on the end of the bed, but not often. I prefer activities that cause more mayhem.
For instance, I have found that by sitting on top of the talking box thingy and giving the two leggers my patented "owl-face" glare, I can irritate them to the point that they end up letting me out. It also amuses to me walk along the bedstands enforcing the law of gravity on anything that may be pushed off.
But what amuses me the most is sneaking along the side of the bed, waiting until I am precisely even with Tiger Lily's position, and then leaping upon her with out warning. This invariably causes a chain reaction of chaos. Startling Tiger Lily causes her to poof, jump and declare her displeasure in an incredibly loud whine (not always in that order). This startles both two leggers which in turn causes Ivan to poof and fly off the bed and run into the nearest wall. Pictures have been known to be knocked down by Ivan's impact with the wall. This never fails to make the two leggers so frustrated that me and my cohorts are declared unfit for family time and banished from the bedroom.
Mission accomplished.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Rain Blows
It rained today. Why is this blog worthy? Because it irritated me. Why did it irritate me? Read on, McDuff.
As a rule, rain seldom irritates me. It occasionally even amuses me. When it rains it will sometimes irritate the two leggers. They often plan outdoor activities only to have them ruined by rain. Given our geographic location, one would think that they would never plan anything that takes place outdoors. But being the incurable optimists that they are, (which I find unbearably irritating) they go ahead and plan away. Therefore when Mother Nature reaches out and smacks their plans into soggy oblivion, it amuses me.
It also amuses me when it rains because I am fully aware that the neighbor's yappy little shiver hound is stuck outside until his two leggers return from work. I enjoy sitting in the bay window, observing him sitting on his front porch shaking like, well, one of those really shaky thingies. I have even been known to chortle at this.
The reason the rain annoyed me today was the fact that the two leggers were home all day with nothing in particular planned. This compelled them to declare a "lazy day". In essence, they sat around all day with nothing to do but impede my activities. Every time I decided to torture Tiger Lily, the male would grab the water squirty thingy and chase me into the spare room until the urge had passed. I was unable to cause any damage because they were ALWAYS watching. Ivan spent the whole day on the female's lap so I was unable to mess with him. I couldn't even bird watch because apparently the bird thingies took a "lazy day" as well.
Finally I have reached a decision. I will nap. It won't amuse me, however it will have the benefit of allowing me to stay up ALL night sowing hate and discontent. They may have had a "lazy day", but their night should be somewhat more interesting.
As a rule, rain seldom irritates me. It occasionally even amuses me. When it rains it will sometimes irritate the two leggers. They often plan outdoor activities only to have them ruined by rain. Given our geographic location, one would think that they would never plan anything that takes place outdoors. But being the incurable optimists that they are, (which I find unbearably irritating) they go ahead and plan away. Therefore when Mother Nature reaches out and smacks their plans into soggy oblivion, it amuses me.
It also amuses me when it rains because I am fully aware that the neighbor's yappy little shiver hound is stuck outside until his two leggers return from work. I enjoy sitting in the bay window, observing him sitting on his front porch shaking like, well, one of those really shaky thingies. I have even been known to chortle at this.
The reason the rain annoyed me today was the fact that the two leggers were home all day with nothing in particular planned. This compelled them to declare a "lazy day". In essence, they sat around all day with nothing to do but impede my activities. Every time I decided to torture Tiger Lily, the male would grab the water squirty thingy and chase me into the spare room until the urge had passed. I was unable to cause any damage because they were ALWAYS watching. Ivan spent the whole day on the female's lap so I was unable to mess with him. I couldn't even bird watch because apparently the bird thingies took a "lazy day" as well.
Finally I have reached a decision. I will nap. It won't amuse me, however it will have the benefit of allowing me to stay up ALL night sowing hate and discontent. They may have had a "lazy day", but their night should be somewhat more interesting.
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