The Hunted House

I was afraid that this Halloween is going to be somewhat uneventful.

Apparently word has gotten out to all the little candy beggars that my Kingdom is to be avoided. Someone has been spreading nasty little rumors that there is a tyrannical little tuxedo cat that enjoys spending Halloween terrifying anyone that dares to darken his doorway. They have come to believe that every Halloween, I revel in causing fear and chaos among all who visit my abode.

These rumors are simply not true. They are completely false and I take great offense.

I revel in causing fear and chaos all year long.

Whether deserved or not, it seems that my house has been deemed "The House All Adolescents Fear". (THAAF) Every community has one. In every neighborhood, there is that one house that kids will only visit on a dare. That one place that joggers jog past a little faster. The THAAF usually has some sort of  horrifying urban legend attached to it. A two legger killed his family there, a hermit hid his treasure there, it was built on a sacred burial ground, Justin Bieber once threw a disco pajama party.......the list is long and varied. Every THAAF has odd noises that occur during moonless nights. Noises that sound like creaking boards, crying children, screams, doors swinging on rusty hinges, whispering, fluttering, various K.C. and The Sunshine Band songs. Often, strange lights and shadows can be glimpsed in darkened windows.

Only recently has it been brought to my attention that my Kingdom has been fulfilling the role of the local THAAF. Someone of lesser mettle may have taken exception to this distinction. They may have tried to dispel the reputation by doing good deeds and attempting to ingratiate themselves to the neighborhood. However, this is not my way. Why would I wish alleviate their fears, thus inviting the sugar-seeking little fiends to disturb my binge watching of early Stephen Kings movies?

No, I fully intend to confirm their fears and if possible, reinforce them with bigger and better fears.

It may even amuse me.........

Now you may wonder how, if no one dares approach my door, can I possibly accomplish this?

Simple.

Every year since my house was declared THAAF, a handful of adolescent two leggers will gather at the end of my driveway. They will mill about until darkness falls and then in an ill-conceived fit of sugar-induced bravado and candy corn driven delirium, they will bow to peer pressure and approach my door. I observe all this unseen from my hidden vantage point in the houseplant that sits in the bay window.

Like a great jungle cat I lay in wait as the pimpled posse approaches...........

Knees knocking, teeth chattering, too terrified to meet his doom, but even more scared of facing the ridicule of his fellow miscreants, the leader of the pocked pack finally draws enough courage to place a trembling finger upon my doorbell.

Now at this point I could simply leap out in a black and white ball of hissing, tearing, bowel-loosening death, but that's rather amateurish and beneath my high standards.

No, that won't do at all.

Instead, I bide my time and wait.

Patience always pays great dividends.

Just as the the gangly group is about to leave, the male two legger, apparently unintentionally dressed as Frankenstien's Monster after a bender in Vegas, approaches the door. As he opens the door to hand out the candy that he bought for just such an occasion, I make my move. pouncing from the houseplant, and using every god-given pointy implement at my disposal, I begin to mercilessly ravish his bare ankles. In a total shred fest, I bite, rip and tear at any exposed flesh within reach.

As the two legger opened the door thingy, the trembling teens suddenly beheld not a kindly gentleman handing out candy, but instead they were treated to the vision of a large, disheveled and mustached male yelling incoherently "WHATDAWHATDAOWOWOWOWOWOW!!!!!!"

My driveway is approximately 50 meters long. The World Record thingy for the fastest 50 meter dash is 4.98 seconds.

Tonight that record may have fallen.

I believe that our reputation as the local THAAF is now secure forever more.

Have a safe and happy Halloween!

A Cutting Plan

Two leggers have a custom that I find extremely odd. Well, truth be told, I find most two legger customs odd. However, some are odder than others.

The custom I speak of today occurs every year in late October.

Although it is related to Halloween, I am not speaking of the holiday itself. I actually enjoy Halloween. Who doesn't enjoy dressing up in scary costumes and scaring the bejeezus out of pre-adolescent candy beggars?

No, I am referring to the strange custom of purchasing and then carving pumpkins. Seemingly calm and serene pacifistic two leggers such as mine suddenly turn into knife-wielding veggie-hating, psychopathic gourd butchers. They slice open the top of the pumpkin, eviscerate it and then carve ghoulish visages into the remaining shell.

The fact that the male two legger engages in such a practice does not particularly surprise me. He detests all vegetables and I am sure he derives great pleasure in murdering and then debauching the corpse of the pumpkin, all with the full approval of the female. However, the female, though a true veggie lover, also seems to enjoy this annual gourdacidal mania. In fact, she is quite adept at this butchery and her carving could even be called artistic.

Curious, last night I decided to research this custom.....

It seems that the tradition began in Ireland many millions of years ago. The pumpkins (and often turnips) were carved into scary forms, placed in windows or on porches and lit from within with a candle stub in order to frighten away evil spirits, fairy folk and door-to-door encyclopedia salesmen. It wasn't so much that the pumpkins themselves scared the intended victim, it was more a way of warning them that the inhabitants were deeply unstable. In effect it was public display stating "You are not welcome. I know how to use a knife. If I can do such damage to innocent plant life, just think what I am capable of doing to someone who tries to sell me an encyclopedia".

Having learned the story of the Jack-O-Lantern, I have decided that I may have judged the two leggers unfairly. In fact, I have decided that I too shall carve a pumpkin this year. Perhaps it may have the same affect on the squirrel thingy as it does on evil spirits, fairy folk and encyclopedia salesmen.

I don't even need to borrow a knife. I have twenty knives literally at the tips of my paws.

I also have two fresh pumpkins that the two leggers brought home last night...............

As I began to carve, Ivan came wandering into the kitchen. "Watcha doin Boss?" he asked.

"Making a Jack-O-Lantern" I replied.

"I wanna make a jackolanter, Boss"

 Normally, I would keep all the fun for myself, but given his propensity for destruction and the fact that there were two pumpkins, I figured I'd be generous. I gave him the other pumpkin and told him to knock himself out.

I realized that my phrasing was unfortunate when he immediately launched himself at the fridge thingy and literally "knocked himself out". After he regained consciousness, I instructed him to carve the pumpkin. I explained that he was to carve a scary face into the side of the pumpkin.

" Really scary?" he asked.

"The scariest you can imagine."

"Okay Boss".

And so with Jaq serenading us from the dining room with "The Monster Mash", we commenced to carving.  

Several hours later, we finished. I stood back and admired my work. I was so proud of it that I decided to take a picture. I even added Beebo, my catnip mousie thingy for added scariness.

I then checked on Ivan........

He had asked me not to peek until he was finished. He felt that the scariness of his creation might scare me so bad that I'd make him stop.

After seeing his creation, I completely understand. He had amazingly grasped the spirit of the Jack-O-Lantern. He had created something that would surely strike fear into the hearts of evil spirits, the fairy folk and encyclopedia salesmen...........

Bad & Breakfast

To say that my two leggers are not "morning people" is understatement in the extreme.

Anyone observing them before 8am would be tempted to either call the paramedics or send for the local zombie hunter. Though they are ambulatory, I assure you that there is absolutely no detectable activity between their ear thingies. They display all the enthusiasm and cheerfulness of a vampire being baptized. Their faces show all the emotion of Keanu Reeves attempting to play Hamlet.

Though he can only very loosely be called conscious, every morning, the male seems to blindly find his way to his coffee maker, fill it with water, add fresh grounds, push the button and then stare the coffee into the pot. Hair disheveled, eyes half-closed, mustache all ahoo, a small rivulet of drool dripping from his chin, he stands wordlessly as the pot fills. Coffee mug in hand, he shambles back to his room. Fortunately, the female has cleared the hallway of any obstacles that may impede his morning migration.

Now some may say that it would cruel, or perhaps "unsportsmanlike behavior" to mess with such a helpless victim. I have considered this at length and have reached an undeniable conclusion...........

I am a cat. Cruel and unsportsmanlike behavior are kinda my thing.

I'm not saying I take advantage of his diminished capacity every morning. That would become predictable and soon he may start carrying a water squirty thingy with him at all times. No, morning mayhem must be carefully apportioned out so as not to become predictable, thereby losing its effectiveness. 

This morning, it was VERY effective.

I had been planning this nugget of naughtiness for weeks.

Shortly before 7:45 this AM, we all took our places.

Tiger Lily, as she does every morning, began slapping at the bedroom door and whining incessantly until the two leggers could be heard moving. This was followed by the sound of a large memory foam pillow striking the other side of the door and both two leggers yelling "SHADDUP!!!!" in perfect unison.

A few minutes later, the door opened and the male began his shuffling journey down the hallway. I notice that he especially dull-witted this morning because he failed to notice the great slimy hairball that he stepped on and which is now dragging from his left heel with a great "ger-slooop" sound every other step. I am somewhat disappointed that the hairball that I worked all night on and placed so perfectly has drawn no reaction whatsoever. Such skill should be recognized and rewarded with at least a shouted "EWWW!! GROSS!!!!".

As he passed the door to the guest bathroom, Ivan launched himself across the hallway in an attempt to maul his bare ankles. Unfortunately, Ivan's timing was slightly tardy and he passed unnoticed between the male's legs and slid into the guest bedroom opposite. Though Ivan caused some structural damage as he struck the bookshelf, dislodging several books and sending a knock knack to its doom, the male remained oblivious to the chaos in his wake.

Now it is up to Jaq. Aside from her musical talents, Jaq it seems is a very adept mimic. She has learned to imitate the fridge thingy's "open door" warning perfectly. As the male stood gazing blankly at the gurgling coffee machine, a sound penetrated his unconsciousness...

BEEP BEEP BEEP

The male looked around for the offending sound......

BEEP BEEP BEEP

He turned and smacked the door of the fridge thing.......

BEEP BEEP BEEP

He turned, opened the door of the fridge thingy, closed it and returned to his vigil.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

This time he opened the door, peered around inside for a moment and then shut the door with great authority, knocking several magnets to the floor in the process......

BEEP BEEP BEEP

In utter frustration, he reached behind the fridge thingy and yanked the power cord from the wall......

BEEP BEEP BLOOPITY BLOOP

This totally confused both of his functioning brain cells, so he grabbed his half-filled coffee mug and fled back to his bedroom.

As he placed his coffee mug on the bathroom cabinet to cool while he shaved, he failed to notice me hiding behind the lamp.

Now everyone who has ever been graced with feline companionship is aware that any decanter, vessel or bottle that is placed on a cabinet, table or shelf in front of any organism of the feline persuasion is considered "fair game" and therefore required to be pushed or otherwise propelled to the floor below.

This is the one law I feel compelled to obey.

It is often said that one shouldn't cry over spilled milk.

Apparently this axiom does not apply to coffee.

Asmackalypse Now

Before I begin this post, allow me to say that the reason I have not been posting much of late is that I have been busily working on the editing phase of my next book thingy. I assure you that all is well with me and my health continues to improve.

Now for a little madness....

Over my years of observing two leggers and their behavior, I have noticed (and often mocked) almost everything they do. From the games they play, to their odd habits and even their choice in music; nothing escapes my ever-observant gaze and judgement. Some of these observances apply to my particular matched set of two leggers, others apply to two legger society in general.

This post thingy applies to the latter.

Through constant exposure to various news mediums, I have noticed that every three or four months, some two legger suddenly jumps up and shouts to the world thingy "I HAVE INCONTROVERTIBLE PROOF THAT THE WORLD IS GONNA END ON NOVEMBER 2ND, 2015!!!!!!!"

 Now the two legger who shouts this, and the date they predict for the impending doom is always different, but the result is generally the same. Two leggers across the globe begin to panic. Some sell off their belongings, some hoard weapons and food, others put on tin foil hats and hold up "Welcome, make yourselves at home!" signs to the alleged destroyers of civilization.

The methods of this destruction vary almost as much as those who predict it. Space aliens, cosmic collision, environmental catastrophe, divine retribution, world-wide epidemic, bumbly bee die-off, the breakup of One Direction.... the list goes on and on.

All of these predictions have one common denominator...............

They were all wrong. (check it out folks, italics, I used bold type and underline for emphasis!)

Yet, as is the way of the two legger, everyone still goes nuttier than a health food store every single time someone yells "THE END IS NIGH!".

In this instance (as in all instances) two leggers should learn to emulate their feline superiors.

First of all, if someone tells you something unpleasant such as "You are about to die", or "All you hold dear shall be utterly destroyed on the second Tuesday of next month." you should either ignore them until they go away, or simply take a nap or twenty and forget it.

One should never stress about something that they have absolutely no control over.

We do not worry about meteors, sunspots and black holes. We do not fear nuclear conflict, social unrest and long lines at the restroom. We laugh at alien invasion, famine and disease.

We cower at nothing!!!

Okay, Ivan freaks out at SIUPs. (Socks In Unusual Places) But that's just Ivan.

I guarantee you that if anyone should ever accurately predict the "end of times". If they should reveal iron-clad evidence that the sun will explode and annihilate every single organism on Earth on the 13th of February, 2016. If they should have their theory verified, notarized and certified by every scientist thingy in the Universe, every single cat will sleep right through it.

Except Ivan.

Ivan will still be worrying about that sock.

Social Diseased

I have never been known to complain about anything.

However, on occasion, I have been known to rant.

This is just such an occasion.

Around the same time that I began writing my blog thingy, I also "drank the social media Kool-Aid" and started using FaceBook. I quickly discovered that through FaceBook I was able to interact with my long-distance minions much more effectively than through basic email. It empowered me to communicate my philosophy and demands directly to all those who yearned to be enlightened. I could learn about my minions and their lives thus subjugating them and enabling me to move forward with my ultimate plan for Universal Domination (all while enjoying games like Words With Friends and Trainstation).

This all came to a screeching halt last Thursday.........

After five enjoyable years of constant communication with two and four leggers all over the world thingy, FaceBook suddenly decided to delete my profile. They gave no warning of the attack (as a cat, I actually respect that) and they refused to allow me to contact the many "friends" that I had made. I was informed that I could retain my "Public Figure" page, but would no longer be allowed a personal profile. This limits my interaction with my followers greatly.

It seems that a computer somewhere in a deep, dark hole, probably located in a skyscraper in Seattle and designed by squirrels had decided that I am not a "real person". The reason they gave was that my profile violated their "Users Agreement" because I am unable to prove that I am a "real person". I sent them an email requesting that they reconsider their decision. Another computer (probably in a different deep, dark hole but still tended by squirrels) replied that it still didn't consider me a "real person".  Apparently, they required that I send them a photo of my ID to prove my identity.

So, I did............

The computer was still not satisfied and once again rejected my appeal.

Suddenly, it occurred to me.........The irony left me dumbstruck! For the last five days, I have been arguing with a computer over whether or not I was a real person! If I wasn't so annoyed, I might be amused and impressed by the chaos they have caused.

Realizing that arguing with FaceBook is about as fruitless as Ivan trying to solve the mystery of where the sunbeam goes at night, I have decided to cease my appeals and try to work within the system.

Towards this end, I have become active on my "Public Figure" page. I shall continue to cause chaos and mayhem through this new medium. Anyone wishing to follow or contact me is welcome to do so via this link thingy: Cujo Cat . Have also set a Twitter thingy and can be found at @Cujo_Cat. Though I have eaten several tweeters, I never imagined that I would become one.

FaceBook seeks to thwart me in my quest for Universal Domination. I scare the Zuckerburger, so he wishes to control my influence over the masses. He controls the FaceBook and so I will re-focus my efforts elsewhere.

At least that's what they'll think.............

Biting Remarks

The first rule of Bite Club is you don't talk about Bite Club.

Okay, that was just silly, but it it brings up a subject I have been pondering. Namely, the wide variety of weapons that we feline types employ and the factors that go into our choice of weapons for any given circumstance.

Anyone who has had the honor to subjugated by a feline can tell you that cats have two primary weapons systems.

There is The Chomp that consists of 2753 sharp, pointy, ankle-piercing, needle-like,  daggers 'O death. It is useful for close quarters type combat and is extremely effective as a training aid when attempting to educate a belligerent or particularly stubborn two legger. In my opinion, with a few exceptions, The Chomp should be utilized as a final resort or "nuclear" option.   

The second weapon system (and my preferred choice) is The Paw. Those of you who have met me or have followed my teachings for any length of time are well aware that I employ the The Paw often and liberally. The Paw is actually composed of four individual units divided into two separate sections. The forepaws have "long range" capability while the hindpaws  are strictly a "close range" self-defense system.

It has been my experience that individual cats each have their own preferences according to their temperament and body type.

For instance, Ivan definitely prefers The Chomp. His shamefully short legs and extraordinarily odd body shape practically make his use of The Paw obsolete. Unlike 99.832% of cats on Earth, his mouth actually has a longer reach than his paw. If Tyrannosaurus Rex had been clad in orange stinky fur, I'd profess that dinosaurs still lived among us. Ivan also suffers from a very rare psychological condition known as Mybutthatlooksyummyopathy that causes him to consider any threat as a potential food source.

Personally, my weapon of choice is, of course, The Paw. My long and lanky physique allows me an incredibly long reach, thus enabling me to smack any target long before they are close enough to pose a threat to my royal personage. It is a well-known fact that my paw is so far-reaching that it enables me to neutralize anything inches or even days before it comes too close.

The Paw is a wonderful implement during ambushes, knock knack destruction, boogitation and whiny gray tabby smackdowns.

Generally, when training two leggers, I find it wise to begin with The Paw and then progress to The Chomp with various degrees of escalation between.

 An inattentive minion may be reminded of their servitude by a simple tapping on the leg or shoulder with claws withdrawn and an occasional "MROWR" for emphasis. If this fails, another tap or two with claws extended may be called for. If the two legger continues to resist, bloodletting may be necessary to recall the two legger to his duty.

If at this point the bleeding two legger has not gotten the point (pardon the pun), they are obviously actively ignoring my request. This flagrant act of insubordination and insolence calls for more aggressive measures thus justifying the employment of a Chomp. Through extensive experimentation, I have discovered that chomping the pinky toe of the left foot invariably gets my point across and the two legger generally returns to his proper servility. 

Jaq is somewhat passive and seldom employs either weapon. She seems to rely upon nauseatingly sweet affection and brown-nosing to bend the two leggers to her will. Fortunately for her sake, the two leggers are weak in the head thingy and easily influenced.

Tiger Lily, on the other paw, seems to believe that constant whining and complaining will simply irritate the two leggers into doing her bidding. Sadly, she is often correct.

In past posts, I have often concluded the post by smacking Tiger Lily. However, it has been mentioned that perhaps I smack her too much. So tonight, even though she deserves it in the worst way, I decided that I would not smack her.

I chomped her.

SPECIAL OFFER!!!

Okay, the whole "Dr. Cujo" thingy did not work out.

Within days of opening my practice, I began receiving correspondence from several organizations that seemed to take issue with my medical endeavors. The American Medical Association (AMA), The World Health Organization (WHO), The Center for Disease Control (CDC), The Arkansas Bureau of Squirrel Husbandry (ABSH) and The International Office of Acronym Administration (IOAA),  all wrote to me express their concerns about my new vocation.

Apparently in order to practice medicine in the State of Washington, one is required to be "licensed". One is required to go to "college".  One is required to "be knowledgeable". According to the many letters I received, it can take up to ten years to become a doctor.

It seems that watching several episodes of The Dr. Oz show and over 45 minutes of internet research (between naps) is not "good enough" for some people.

The heck with that.

So I've decided to make money by other means......

While watching the talking box thingy, I came across something called an "infomercial". It was incredibly annoying and therefore captured my attention immediately. It was hosted by an over-caffienated two legger who was obviously very skeptical of his own intentions as well as doubtful of his own sanity.  He kept shouting stuff like "I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M DOING THIS!!" and "I MUST BE CRAZY!!"

His manic insanity aside, he must have been doing something right because bunches of two leggers were lining up up with their money and credit cards in hand.

I don't even remember what he was selling, only that it was plastic, did a bunch of stuff and he was "practically giving it away".

I can do that........I just need something to sell.......

Have I got a deal for you! 

Today and today only, I am offering this one of a kind deal!

It whines! 
It dines! 
It will drive your pets WILD!!!
Got a neighbor that is always being a nuisance? Throwing wild parties and causing noise? 
Install this beauty and get some revenge! They will beat a path to your door, asking you to "Please, for the love of God, just turn it off!"
Mice and other household pests will leave and never come back!

According to the American Medical Association, stress is the number one cause of death in the United States.....That is why YOU MUST buy this product! 
You can slap, smack and attack it whenever you are feeling down. Guaranteed to lower your blood pressure instantly!

 
Call now and I will even throw in two pairs of Extra Heavy-Duty, Industrial Strength, Justin Bieber-Proof Ear Plugs!!

Don't let this deal get away! Quantities are limited! (one)

BUT WAIT A MINUTE!!!!

Act now and I will throw in this limited-edition, one-of-a-kind Home Amusement Center:

That's right! You too can own this magnificent example of curious insanity! It comes with a complete soundtrack of American Music as well as some selections of 60's British Rock. 

There is nothing quite like waking at 3am to the beautiful sound of "The Who" being sung from a shoebox beneath your bed!  

And it NEVER NEEDS BATTERIES!!!!

Simply place it in the nearest window to recharge the solar cells!

Absolutely FREE!! 

Just pay a separate "shipping and handling" fee ($136.00).

Your order will be shipped to you wrapped in this super special protective "Ultra Blue Zig-Zag" patterned wrapping material at NO EXTRA CHARGE!

ACT NOW!! Our operator is standing by!