Attack of The Furms

The other day, my Kingdom came under attack.

It began, like all invasions, with a small scouting party that soon became an all out invasion.

I discovered the first one when I noticed Ivan standing in the hallway, fully poofed with a look of panic in his eyes. This is not particularly unusual and so I asked him the usual three questions:
"What are you doing?"
"Why are you doing it?"
"When are you gonna stop?'

Ivan, nearing hysterics, pointed down the hallway and replied "Boss! Look! The male two legger has lost his hairy lip thingy!!"

I looked and discovered, much to my surprise, that Ivan seemed to be right for once. There at the far end of the hall was what appeared to be the male's mustache (sans the male's face). It quickly became apparent that the male had not simply misplaced his mustache, but the mustache had chosen to escape of its own volition, for it was at that very moment moving across the floor, obviously intent upon some sort of mustache pilgrimage.

This was not completely without precedence. For the last several years, I have noticed that the hair on the front of his head has been slowly migrating to the back of his head, but I had never witnessed a total abandonment before. Perhaps mustaches are a bit faster or more mobile.

I decided to investigate it anyway. As I stalked it, I noticed that it was not a mustache after all. Instead, it appeared to be some previously unknown form of life. It was about two paw-lengths long, covered in rusty colored fur and seemed to have neither a head nor a tail. It moved along the floor by virtue of about a gajillion tiny legs. Now my curiosity was truly piqued. So I did what any scientifically curious person who encountered something completely unknown in the natural world would do........

I ate it.

Needless to say, it tasted like chicken.

Well, it tasted like chicken that had been left out of the fridge thingy for a week, stored in a dirty sneaker and liberally basted in toilet water. Don't ask me how I know what that tastes like, it's a long story and I'll save it for another post. Suffice it to say that I know the taste.

Having consumed the interloper, only leaving a couple of hundred tiny feet in the litter box as evidence, I put it from my mind and returned to my normal nocturnal activities.

The following morning I discovered to my dismay that several more of the fuzzy worms (furms) had entered my house. Ivan was busily chewing a few and had a couple of more trapped under his paw. As I entered, he turned to me and asked "Mwumppf gwom bofth?"

"Perhaps later" I replied.

It was at this point that I noticed the sound. It was a rumbling coming from both my front and back decks. Running to the bay window, I quickly realized that the rumbling was being caused by millions of tiny feet steadily making their way across the wood in search of entry into my house.

The furms were launching an all out invasion. Not even Ivan could eat them all.

As I lay pondering, trying to decide the best course of action to repel this multi-legged menace, a strange and wonderful thing happened. Suddenly my yard was filled with bird thingies! As though someone had rung an avian dinner bell, bird thingies of all sizes and shapes swooped, hopped and fluttered about in a furm feeding frenzy. In a matter of hours, every single furm was consumed. Scattered about my yard lay dozens of over-stuffed birds too full to fly.

I spent the next hour attempting to figure out a way to get outside and feast upon the bird thingies. I pushed at the window screens, I batted at the door knobs. I slapped Tiger Lily. Finally, I reached a decision.

There had been enough slaughter.

I shall let the bird thingies live.

Ivan Sucks

Around two o'clock today, I reached the conclusion that I was well and truly bored.

Those of you who have read my blog or book thingies will surmise that this never ends well.

You surmise correctly.......

As I sat in my bay window pondering my boredom, an infomercial came on the talking box thingy. It was touting the attributes of a new super-duper vacuum sucky thingy called a "Dyson". An over-caffeinated two legger was jumping about, screaming at his audience that their eternal happiness depended upon them sending him $99.99. But if they order in the next 20 minutes, he'll double their order! (Just pay $300 shipping & handling)

It seems this incredible machine sits around all day until something is dropped on the floor. It then awakens with a deafening whirrrrrrrrrrrrr and proceeds to suck up every last trace of fallen debris until the final molecule has been eradicated.

As I stared in infomercial induced stupor, a thought suddenly occurred to me.

My life can never be complete unless I procure a "Dyson".

There was just one problem......

The two leggers have taken to locking up all the credit cards.

Apparently they took exception to my last purchase of a new refillable catnip mousy thingy. Hiding my credit card was a total overreaction. Sure, it was a bit pricey for a cat toy ($625.00) But I considered it a bargain because it came with a 300lb bale of catnip. And they even delivered it free of charge!

Be that as it may, as I sat pondering my dilemma, I noticed Ivan was busily licking the spot on the dining room floor where a two legger had dropped a potato chip two weeks ago. It came to me in a flash! I don't need a "Dyson".

I have an Ivan.

Yup. Slap some stinky orange fur on a vacuum sucky thingy, teach it to chomp random objects, and Viola!

RoboIvan.

I just had to convince him that he was our new vacuum cleaner.

So I called him over and made him watch the infomercial.

First they spilled some cereal on the floor. The Dyson sucked up every crumb. Ivan's eyes grew big as saucers. He jumped up and shouted "HEY! I CAN DO DAT!"

They spilled some fruit juice on the floor. The Dyson consumed every drop. "I CAN DO DAT TOO!" Ivan declared. "I EVEN MAKE DAT SOUND WHEN I EAT!!".

Then they turned the Dyson off, folded it and stuck it in a closet.

"I SLEEP IN CLOSET TOO!!!" Ivan screamed, and ran down the hallway yelling "I AM DYSON!!! WHIRRRRRRRRRR!!!!'

It was at this point that the two legger started talking about the Dyson having "Smart Technology".

Oh well. I wonder if they accept checks.

Work, Work, Work (Continued)

When last we left our handsome, young, dashing, bi-colored protagonist, I was describing how overworked and underpaid I am.To illustrate this I decided to describe a typical day in my life.

I had described my day up to the point where the two leggers had departed for work. I now pick up the narrative where I left off...........

0815-Having seen the two leggers more or less safely off to work, it is time for The Morning Meeting. Per my orders, all four leggers are required to attend. During this meeting, I assign daily duties and form strategies for dealing with any challenges we may face. I welcome all input, critique and complaints from my fellow felines with the caveat that if something I hear displeases me, I may smack Tiger Lily with little or no warning.

0900- I adjourn The Morning Meeting having made the following assignments:

Jaq is on "Crumb Patrol". She is to wander the house, scouting out leftover morsels of food to be stalked, attacked and eaten. Once she locates a potential food source, she reports back to me the location, size, yumminess and potential for two legger retribution once they discover evidence of unauthorized nomming. 

I have given Ivan the much coveted duty of "Squirrel Watch". He is to track the movements of the squirrel throughout the day, keeping me informed of any squirrely or squirrel-like activities. Should the squirrel approach within hailing distance, he is to summon me immediately in order that I might hiss, hurl insults and mercilessly make hissing and chittering noises at the offending rodent.

Tiger Lily has been assigned the duty of "Ivan on Squirrel Watch...Watch". Ivan often gets distracted or confused when watching the squirrel and if not closely supervised, can occasionally been found sitting in a window, watching a butterfly while making a "Huh-huh-huh" sound. Meanwhile the squirrel thingy goes about his squirrely business completely unobserved. Tiger Lily's job requires her to whop him upside his noggin whenever he show signs of distraction.

I will spend the day cataloging the vast variety of bird thingies that visit my yard on a daily basis. Aside from identifying them, I also attempt to determine several of their traits such as:
What do they feed on?
How do they reproduce?
How big are their flocks, or are they solitary?
Are they easy to catch?
What flavor are they?
Are they gluten-free?
How many per serving?

0915- A sunbeam appears, so I decide the bird thingies can wait a while and decide to nap.

1115- I awaken with a start, realizing that no birds have been cataloged all day and the sunbeam has relocated to another window. Being a true believer in the "No sunbeam left behind" philosophy, I track down the elusive sunbeam and take another nap.

1235- Jaq cautiously awakens me to report that she has found three moderately intact potato chips between the couch cushions, a grape next to the trash bin and saving the best for last.....a frozen chicken breast thawing in the microwave. While we munch the chips and grape, I ponder the chicken breast. It appears to be safely ensconced within the microwave, however, I feel there must be a way to liberate it and feast upon its juicy goodness.

1245- I ponder the chicken breast.

Over the next few hours, I alternate between pondering the chicken breast and napping. I know I am neglecting the birds outside, but as they say: "A bird thingy in the microwave is worth two in the yard".

1630- I have only another hour or so before the two leggers return home. Even as I watch, the thawing chicken appears to get juicier and juicier. I believe it is mocking me.

1730- In desperation, I order Ivan to bang his head repeatedly against the microwave door. On the 31st impact of Ivan's head, the door pops open. I retrieve the chicken breast and we all sate ourselves on this incredible windfall.

I even saved a piece for Ivan to enjoy....... once he regains consciousness.    

1755- In a happy coincidence, Ivan wakes up just as the two leggers return home. They enter the kitchen just in time to find him starting to enjoy his reward.

1809- For the past several minutes, I have been listening to a long string of dialog containing words that I suspect the male learned during his time serving in the U.S. Navy. I also notice that though the male is convinced of Ivan's guilt, the female keeps glancing in my direction.

I think she might suspect something. There may come a time when she will become a liability.

2000- The two leggers have settled down to watch their favorite shows on the talking box thingy. This is our cue to race around the house, knocking over knock-knacks, hissing, fighting and causing general hate and discontent. We do this for their health. I have read many articles that warn against affects of a sedentary lifestyle. By forcing them to rise from the couch every five or ten minutes, they are enjoying the benefits of a nightly cardio workout.

As usual, our efforts go completely unappreciated.

2330- The two leggers have retired to their bedroom and so our busy day comes to a close.

For the 2438th day in a row, I have labored to provide the two leggers with the domestic lifestyle they enjoy.

For the 2438th day in a row, I have yet to be paid a single dime.

Who's underpaid now?

Work, Work, Work

According to the talking box thingy, one of the great issues facing two legger society is something called "financial disparity".

Apparently many believe that they get paid too little for whatever it is they do while others get paid too much for whatever it is they do.

As a rule, I refuse to muddy my paws in the affairs of lower lifeforms, however in this case, I can somewhat sympathize with the downtrodden two leggers. I too am woefully underpaid for the services I provide.

So starting here and now, I am starting a political movement thingy.

I call it: The Peoples Movement For The Endowment of Better Rights and Pay For The Blogging Tuxedo Cats of North Whidbey Island Who Have Written Two or More Book Thingies and Happen to Be Between The Ages of Seven and Eight Years Old and Who Wish to See Squirrel Thingies Outlawed In Our Lifetime With Extreme Prejudice and Lack of Mercy. 

The TPMFTEBR&PFTBTCNWIWHWTMBT&HBBTAS&EYO&WWSSTOIOLWEP&LM will strive to educate the masses as to the thankless struggles I face with quiet dignity on a daily basis.

Most of you go about your lives completely unaware of the lifetime of forced labor that I have had to endure. Few may know of the mountains of responsibility and work that it takes to rule all universe thingies (both known and unknown).

In order to illustrate my struggle, I shall now take you on a tour of a typical day in my life:

0345- I awaken to find that my food bowl is down by 1/8 of its maximum capacity. Fearing starvation, I attempt to summon the two leggers by voicing my consternation throughout the hallway outside their bedroom.

0400- Fearing that they may have died in their sleep, (leaving me no choice but to eat Tiger Lily once the food supply is exhausted) I repeatedly smack their door.

0425-I hear whispering from within and realize that even worse than dying in their sleep, they have chosen to ignore my summons.

0430-I am forced to desperate measures. I summon Ivan and order him to chew on Tiger Lily's tail. Her squawling has the desired effect and draws the two leggers from their room to investigate the ruckus. As they exit the bedroom, I knock over my food bowl and after cleaning up the mess (and, I might say using some rather inappropriate language) the male refills my bowl and returns to his room.

0450-Feeling generous, I express my gratitude to the two leggers by yowling my thanks through the locked bedroom door. This gracious gesture goes completely unacknowledged.

0530-Though I am somewhat miffed at them, I do not wish to see them late for work. So swallowing my pride, I ensure that they fully awake and cognizant at least two hours before their alarm is scheduled to go off.

0600-After much effort on my part, I have finally succeeded in arousing them and I join them in the bathroom. I take my position upon the highest shelf and glare at them while they bathe. I find that my glaring at them helps prepare them for dealing with customers at work.

0645-I supervise while the male cleans and repairs the damage from our previous night's activities. Once again, his language appalls me.

0715-As the female prepares their sack lunches, I realize that I must be slowing down as I age. Today I was only able to knock the peanut butter jar off the counter four times. When I was younger, I averaged seven to eight peanut butter pounces and once I even scored eleven times.

I gotta start working out.

0800-I vanish.

0810-After giving the two leggers an appropriate amount of time to panic and mount a search party, I reappear in the living room enabling them to depart for their workday safe in the knowledge that I am not locked in a closet or cupboard.

To Be Continued.........................

The Great Pacific Norsewest

There is great upheaval within my Kingdom.

A wailing, moaning and gnashing of teeth. Unprecedented strife and angst.

In a bold and foolhardy fit of defiance, the female two legger has relocated my throne from its rightful place in front of the firebox thingy to the cold, dark recesses of the computer room. She did this without my permission and with absolutely no consideration of my comfort or well-being.

How on Earth can she expect the Royal Hindquarters be properly maintained at their required 117.6 degrees if there is no available platform on which to rest the Imperial Buttocks?

When I informed her of her misstep, her response was brief and incredibly insubordinate. I believe her exact words were: "Suck it up Oreo-Boy!"

To say that I was taken aback is understatement in the extreme. Some will say that I should have smacked her immediately, however, I believe that like a good hairball, revenge is a dish best served cold (and if possible, in an area that is prone to nocturnal foot traffic).

For a transgression as major as this, I decided that I should ponder my revenge for maximum affect. A passing smack or ankle chomp simply would not do. No, she had crossed a line and the punishment must suit her crime. 

And so I pondered.......and mused.......and pondered........and napped......and pondered.

Whilst I pondered, I spent much of my time reading while perched atop the male two legger's shoulder. He is an avid reader as well as an enthusiast when it comes to anything pertaining to history. Currently he is reading a series of book thingies (and watching a television program) that provide a narrative of a group of ancient two leggers known as "Vikings".

The name "viking" is actually a misnomer perpetrated by Hollywood. "Viking" is actually a verb meaning "to raid". As in "Honey, I'm going out viking. I'll be home by six. You want me to pick up anything?"

They were actually correctly known as "Norsemen, Danes or Bikers". However, for this narrative, I will use the term "Norsemen".

During the Middle Ages, the Norsemen decided that they were fed up with living in the frigid wilds of Northern Europe, so they built ships and set off for the sunny tropical shores of England. Once they landed in Britain, they realized that their travel agents had made fools of them and so they set out for revenge. They sailed around the British Isles, searching for England's Lost Tribe of Travel Agents. In English mythology, the legendary Lost Tribe of Travel Agents was credited with perpetrating the lies that England was the land of sunny beaches, beautiful, exotic women and above average dental care.

During their quest, the Norsemen robbed, pillaged and burned every village or settlement they encountered. Soon, just the sight of Norse ships approaching the shore would cause entire villages to pack all their things and run for the hills. Their ruthlessness spread fear and terror throughout Western Europe.

I respect that.

Ivan and I will go "viking".

I changed my name to Cujorvic Cujorvicsson. I ordered Ivan Ivansson to prepare to pillage. He wanted a costume, I told him that his costume should strike fear into the hearts of the two leggers, showed him some pictures of Norsemen and left him to his own devices. He immediately ran to the bathroom to get dressed. He soon emerged in all his "viking glory".

 Unfortunately, his costume was not quite as intimidating as I would have wished. Unable to find a either a furred cloak or helmet with horns, Ivan wrapped an old, dirty washcloth around his shoulders and stuck cotton swabs in his ears. Though I knew his costume would intimidate no one, I figured it would confuse everyone, so I told him he looked great.

I decided that 2:38 AM would be the perfect time for us to make our raid.

At 2:37, Jaq Jaqsondottir began singing Wagner's "Flight of The Valkyries" at the top of her lungs. Ivan Ivansson and I burst into the two leggers bedroom and bounded onto their bed while yelling the Norse battle cry of "URPITY DURPITY DUR DUR DURGY BURGY DURG!!!!"

As far as I know, this was the first time that the two leggers had ever been attacked by wild Norsemen in their own bedroom, therefore their reaction was somewhat unpredictable.

In a billowing of sheets, the two leggers jumped straight up. Given the fact that they always sleep with the ceiling fan turned on, the sheet literally hit the fan. Ivan Ivansson lost focus and began chasing the sheet as it whirled about the room and finally got so dizzy that he slammed into a dresser rendering himself a casualty of war. Meanwhile, the two leggers had regained their senses and reaching for their bedside water squirty thingies, began spraying anything and everything that resembled a small tuxedo cat.

Though my vengeance was sweet, it was short-lived.

The female has moved my throne once again. It is no longer in the computer room. It is now in the hall closet.

Back to the drawing board.

Perhaps an attack by pirates will work.

Savoring Spring

The month of May has always rated in the top twelve of my favorite months.

Worldwide it is the month of beginnings.

In Texas, it is the beginning of the "dry" season (which will last until January 2017).

In California, it is the beginning of the "damn it's hot, but we may freeze tomorrow" season.

In Canada, it is the beginning of the "May hockey" season. Every month in Canada is the beginning of hockey season, but in this case, it occurs in May.

In Arkansas, they are unsure what season it is because someone broke the only functioning calender.

Here in the Pacific Northwest, it is the beginning of what the meteorologists refer to as the "slightly less rainy than April, more rainy than June, somewhat less moist than July, and let's not even think about September" season.

But all across the Northern Hemisphere, it marks the middle of Spring and begins the season where young animals are born and nurtured and sent off from their nests, lairs and dens. This is why they are called "offspring".

These younglings can often be seen wandering around wooded and grassy areas without their parents, seemingly lost, alone and defenseless causing two leggers to assume that they require rescue. I often receive emails from concerned two leggers asking my sage advice as to what they should do if they happen across one of these apparently helpless orphans.

I have consulted with several veterinarian types and the consensus seems to indicate that the young critters should be left alone. They usually have parents lurking nearby keeping an eye on their young and will intervene should a predator approach. Oftentimes, a mother seal will deposit her pup on a beach while they go out and hunt. Though the pup may seem abandoned, they are not. The mother seal will return within a matter of hours. Bird thingies will often force their brood from the nest as a way to teach them to fly. Though the young fledglings sometimes fail in their first attempt, they usually learn rather quickly afterwards. Even baby bears can be found on rural hiking trails on occasion.

So the veterinary two leggers urge that if you happen to find a young critter that you feel has been abandoned by its parents, you should leave it alone.

I disagree.

I strongly suggest that if you should find a young animal in distress, you should immediately find a box large enough to contain the animal with ample space for it to move around, but not so much that it may injure itself. Add some hay or other soft material to keep it warm. Provide fresh water and air holes for proper ventilation.

After ensuring that the animal is safely secured within the box, you should immediately contact me and I will provide you with my address so that you can send it to me. You can even send it anonymously if you wish.

In a totally unrelated note, I'd like to announce the upcoming release of my newest project "Cujo's Baby Cookbook". Within its pages you will find recipes for my favorite paw-licking dishes such as:

Baby Bird Bourganaisse
Baby Squirrel Succotash
Baby Bunny Biscuits
Baby Partridge Pancakes
and my personal favorite, Baby Possum Pot Roast.

A section in the back of the book features Tiger Lily's whine pairings.

The Statue of Limitations

About eight months ago, I discovered that my Kingdom had become infested with ferals.

A black polydactyl female and her kitten had taken up residence in my backyard.

Of course my two leggers, being the bunny-hugging, tree-worshipping, love-all-living-thingies, hippy types that they are, immediately began feeding these free-loaders thus encouraging them to stick around and mooch off of my Kingdom.

These ferals do not amuse me.

Of all the transient four leggers who have passed through my yard, they annoy more than any other. Every night and day, whether rain or shine, wind or calm, the two leggers faithfully fill their bowls with food and fresh water.  Granted they do not feed them the same food that is on the Royal Diet, instead opting to supply them with a cheaper generic cat food, however the food is kept in the same cupboard as mine, therefore it belongs to me and should not be rationed out without my express permission.

Now don’t think me heartless. I have absolutely no issue with feeding those that earn their keep. Even Tiger Lily has her uses. The Royal Smacking Bag may be annoying, but she serves to keep my smacking paw in shape and is a useful outlet for my aggression. I would even go so far as to admit that if I ever woke one morning to find her gone, I may take notice of her absence. But these vagrants serve no discernible function to justify their existence. The bird thingies come and go at their leisure, seemingly safe in the knowledge that the ferals harbor them no ill will. The squirrel thingy continues to dance and cavort across my yard without a care in the world. Even the eight leggers have no fear of them. If anything, the eight legger population has increased since their arrival.

As far as I can tell, they believe that they are expected to do nothing all day but follow the sunbeam across the yard, napping upon my deck, and eat their fill whenever the two leggers fill their bowl.

Other than pouncing on the odd dandelion and using the flowerbeds as litter boxes, I can detect no feline instinct whatsoever. 

I have attempted to educate them as to their feline responsibilities. I begin by slamming Ivan’s head against the window repeatedly until I have their attention. I then select the nearest gray tabby and chew on her head in order to illustrate the level of violence I expect them to inflict upon the squirrel thingy. Sometimes Ivan and I will both ambush Tiger Lily in order to exhibit the benefits of teamwork in a ritual squirrel  beatdown.

All to no effect.

They continue to engage in their annoyingly pacifistic behavior.

However, as I write this, I believe I have discovered the cause of their completely uncat-like behavior. Several years ago, in a laughable effort to make my kingdom a more “peaceful” environment, the two legger erected a statue in my backyard of an obese two legger who is sitting with his legs and arms crossed and a serene smile upon his chubby face. At first I thought that they were erecting a shrine to Dom DeLuise, but I later learned that the statue was of an ancient two legger named Buddha. Apparently  this Buddha guy believed that all living creatures should love and respect all other living creatures. That by refraining from all forms of violence and anger, perfect inner peace could be obtained.

I suspect he was a dog person. 

Anyway, they stuck this statue in my yard and now all the little critters are inspired by it. They hop, cavort and romp around my yard in peaceful ecstasy, predator and prey, sure in the belief that as long as the statue remains, no harm can come.

The statue must die.

Once again, I find my efforts foiled by the sliding glass door thingy. Once again, I find my wrath denied.  But I have faith that soon the statue shall meet its end. For you see, it is Spring. The rains are beginning to subside and it is only a matter of time before the male begins his annual ritual of going outside and laying waste to every bit of overgrown greenery he can reach.  While in the grips of this chlorophyll induced weeding frenzy, he is not particularly discriminating in what he attacks. Basically anything green and leafy is considered fair game for him and his weapons of grass destruction. Given that Buddha Boy is currently nestled in a large tuft of overgrown grass with only the tip of his acorn-shaped head thingy peeking out from the middle, I feel confident that this little symbol of peace and tranquility is soon to become the victim of another senseless act of lawn warfare. I only await the sweet sound of trimmer blades striking stone and with the destruction of the ancient peacenik, the proper order of destruction and violence will be restored to my Kingdom.

Soon, my fat little nemesis…….soon.