Adult Stuporvision

Last week, a most unusual occurrence happened in my Kingdom.

The female two legger took a week-long trip and left the male to fend for itself.

In my experience, this has never happened before. My two leggers are a matched pair and seldom part company for more than a few hours. While I would not describe their relationship as "co-dependent" (that term has too many negative connotations and their relationship could never be considered in a negative light), a better description would be "symbiotic". Two organisms that rely upon each other, thus forming a union that greatly benefits both.  

However, recent events have conspired to force this small separation upon them. In January, one of my two legger's female offspring gave birth to her first litter. The birth of the "Grandtwins" caused my female two legger's "Grandma Gland" to kick into overdrive, thus flooding her bloodstream with grandmorphins. These mind-altering hormone thingies caused distinct behavioral changes in the female. She began suffering from an insatiable desire to transform my yarn balls into baby blankets. She began buying miniature clothes and developed an unnatural obsession with something called "baby booties". Worst of all, she had a sudden craving to travel to a faraway land called "Colorado".

Very little is known about this remote region of the United States, but from the sparse information I could gather, it seems to be a mountainous land, filled with nothing but mountain people, Bronco's fans and alpine squirrels. However, it is also the habitat of the newly-hatched Grandtwins which explains the female's desire to visit such a forbidding land.

Be that as it may, the sudden appearance of a suitcase served as a harbinger of an impending journey. The fact that it was a single suitcase denoted that only one of the two leggers would be embarking on said journey. The fact that the suitcase was packed and ready two weeks before the impending journey indicated that it was the female who would be traveling (the male prefers to do all his packing approximately 35 seconds before embarking).

Apparently it is my fault that the male was unable to accompany her. Due to my special dietary and healthcare needs, the two leggers can no longer leave me unattended for any extended period of time. Were I capable of feeling guilt, I might almost feel responsible for this inconvenience.

The big day came. The female migrated to Colorado, leaving the male behind to fend for himself. She recommended that he "take it easy and enjoy a little time off". He informed her that he was planning to "use his time off to complete a few projects around the house".  Knowing his propensity toward clumsiness, for his own safety, she left a list of instructions and restrictions:
1. No usage of power tools.
2. No open flames anywhere on the property.
3. Avoid use of any implement consisting of or containing a sharpened edge.
4. Any cooking, while not prohibited, is strongly discouraged.
5. Electrical work is strictly prohibited.
6. Any "good ideas" or "inspired thoughts" should be first submitted, in triplicate, to a responsible adult before being acted upon.
7. Emergency Services were notified and placed on standby status.

So the female was gone..........

The male was left here alone..............

Just us and the male............MWAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!!!

I determined that we must first put him at ease. We all put on our "good wittle kitty" faces. We must convince him that we will be on our best behavior while his mate is away. I curled up on his lap, purring softly. Ivan lay at his feet, asleep and drooling. Jaq lay sleeping on the bed and Tiger Lily, with her only ally halfway to Colorado, was seeking asylum in the computer room.

Our first amusement came at exactly 10:57 pm. The two legger, having just watched his third "Monsters & Mysteries In America" was just starting to relax. On a predetermined cue, Jaq, Ivan and I suddenly poofed, hissed and bolted from the bed. Somehow, we had neglected to inform Tiger Lily of our plan. However, in her panic at our mass poofing, her natural whine reflex only served to add to the chaos and confusion.

The male's reaction was all we had hoped for and more. He jumped from the bed, sheets and remote control thingy flying, instinctively shouting the two legger battle cry of "WHA? WHA? WHA?" and with legs tangled in bedding, fell in a heap to the floor. By the time he had disentangled himself and managed to reduce his heart rate to slightly higher than that of an over-caffienated gerbil, we had all re-established our places on the bed and were acting as though nothing had happened.

The next day, we decided to get serious...............

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

Lost In Translation

True inter-species communication is rare at best. Communication between animals that possess different vocal or physical attributes, not to mention motivations or philosophies can be challenging if not impossible. However, scientist thingies often believe that they can "crack the code" or "find the Rosetta Stone".

As usual, they are wrong.

Don't get me wrong, with time and patience, one can often get the general idea of what another species is trying to say, but true, verifiable communication will always elude those who attempt it.

Take dog thingies for example, after much study it has been determined that if you see a dog sitting in the yard, licking itself, in effect it is saying "I am a dog, this is what I do. Perhaps later I will chase my tail or bark at a shadow, but for now I will sit here and lick myself". We can be confident of this translation because we have observed the dog thingy and have reached the conclusion that that is simply what they do. However, what we cannot know is the dog thingy's motivation. Is it a physiological requirement that they sit and lick themselves? Is it some kind of doggy tradition or ritual? Is there something in their microbrains that is constantly receiving a message that its nether regions are perpetually dirty and require frequent cleanings? We will never know. 

Even more study has been dedicated to trying to understand feline communication. It is virtually impossible to surf the internet for more than five minutes without coming across an article or video claiming to have unlocked the secret of "what your cat is trying to tell you". I have even blogged about it (much more accurately than the scientists) several times over the years.

This is all well and good. However, it is also extremely anthropocentric. With all the studies and websites dedicated to discovering what cats are saying two leggers, there is not an iota of information regarding what two leggers are saying to us.

Once again, it is up to me to rectify this oversight.

I have had much time to study the two leggers and I feel that I am imminently qualified to provide such a translation.

Like felines, two leggers use a combination of vocalizations and gestures to communicate with their four legged masters. Though their language is complex, I will now provide a few of their most commonly used messages.

Greetings
When entering a room, if a two legger stands with legs spread in a wide stance, and point with a single finger, it means that they see you and are very happy to be graced by your presence. If they waggle the finger, it indicates that they wish to give you a scritch under the chin.

Often, upon returning to the house after work, they will scream your name in joy at the sight of a broken glass or lamp. This is a sign that they missed you during their absence and wish to congratulate you on your decorating skills.

Every morning, as they leave for work, they will turn and say "Now you cats be good". This is a running joke and proves that they have a sense of humor.

General communications
 Hopping on one foot while furiously brushing at the other is an indication that they have just found the fresh hairball that you left in a darkened hallway. The Hairball Dance is often accompanied by the traditional Hairball Chant which basically goes "Ohmigod! Ew ew ew, ew-ew ew, ew-ew-ew.........ew". This dance/chant is so common and varies so little that I have reason to suspect that it may have religious undertones.

When a two legger places an object on a shelf or table and then turn and waggle a finger at you, they are telling you that they have placed it there for your amusement and expect you to leave it on the floor when you are finished with it.

Occasionally, the two leggers use a compound gesture that involve taking two fingers, pointing them at their own eyes, and then pointing them at me. Though complex, the meaning of these gestures is obvious. They are saying:
1. "I see what you did there, and I honor you for doing it"
2. "I am eagerly watching to see what wonderful things you may do next".

One of the most common vocalizations that two leggers utilize is the word "NO!". Some believe that this is a negative word thingy, however after much research, I have discovered that the word "NO!" is actually derived from the Latin phrase "Nolo contendere" which translated means "I will not contend". Therefore they are actually condoning your action and telling you that it is perfectly okay to continue with what you were doing.

This is just a small sampling of the much broader translation I have developed. There are many more gestures and vocalizations that I am still working to interpret. Since I am such a generous soul and am dedicated to the education of my minions, I shall continue my work in this field and update you when applicable.

In the meantime just remember......."No" really means "Okie dokie".

 

My Comrade In Chaos

The other day while I was at the vet thingy's office, I was reunited with an old acquaintance.

Zharkhov, the self-proclaimed "Guardian of The Land of Unpleasant Pokings". You may remember Zharkhov (aka Mr. Tinky) from an earlier post called "A Foreign  Exchange". (click on the title to follow the link). Zharkhov, was the resident cat at the veterinary hospital where I was being treated after nearly shredding this mortal coil.

In the short time that I was sequestered in the Land of Unpleasant Pokings, I had grown quite fond of the old Russian Blue. His eccentric manner and odd way of speaking had quickly endeared him to me and I have often wondered how he fared.

As luck would have it, Thursday, while attending my quarterly health check, I heard a familiar voice coming from the adjoining exam room:

"Vad do you tink you are dewink? I am not needing unpleasant pokings! I am finest spaceyman of roobust Rooshan healdt. Back away wit dat unpleasant poking dewice!" Suddenly there were the sounds of a scuffle, a blood-curdling scream, followed by the sounds of two legger footsteps beating a hasty retreat down the corridor.

"Zharkhov?" I called.

"Da. Who dis dat calls de name of Zharkhov?"

"It is I, Cujo, High Poobah and Supreme Ruler of All Universe Thingies (known and unknown), Menacer of Squirrels and Smacker of All Things Whiny!" I replied.

"Ah, da, I remember now. You are leetle oreo cat dat weesited last year. You not dead?"

"Not that I'm aware of. In fact, I seem to be very much alive and well." I said

"Da, is good. Being dead is bad for health".

At this point, one of the vet techs came in and took me to the lab for my bloodwork. At the same time, another tech had grabbed Zharkhov and brought him to the lab as well. After placing us in adjoining kennels, the tech went about their unpleasant business leaving Zharkhov and I to speak in relative privacy.

I asked him why he was no longer allowed to roam the halls of the Land of Unpleasant Pokes. Come to find out, he no longer resided there. It seems that shortly after our last meeting, Zharkhov had been reassigned to a new location. He is now the Official Therapy Cat and Mascot at Sunny Acres Retirement Home.

Intrigued, I asked him to describe his new life.

"It is not so bad.", he began, "Land of Wrinkled Two Leggers is wast. Many different rooms and beds upon vich to lay. Zharkhov has many laps to choose from. Wrinkled ones move wery slowly. Some wrinkled ones no move at all. Wery relaxing. Much food for Zharkhov. Wrinkled ones often drop food on floor. Dis prowides many snacks for Zharkhov. Only ting Zharkhov no like is veelchairs. Veelchairs make Zharkhov's tail nerwous. Also, smells not so good."

Zharkhov was describing an ideal life for a cat. Unlimited napping, unlimited laps, food around every corner, constant attention and affection. He told me that they even had something called a "sun room" with floor to ceiling windows where the residents could spend the day quietly contemplating the abundance of bird thingies just outside.

In spite of his description of this idyllic existence, I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. There seemed to be one vital ingredient missing........chaos. How could any card-carrying feline possibly be content living in a place that was engineered to be completely serene and peaceful? Where they frown upon spontaneity? Where calmness was encouraged and mayhem was discouraged? No, my friends, this is no life for a proud Rooshan cat whose ancestors had once graced the laps of czars, czarinas, emperors and other various cyrillic despots.

I asked Zharkhov about this discrepancy.

"Da, is boring at times. Boring is sometimes good ting for old cat such as I. But Zharkhov not alvays bored. Zharkhov has vay of keeping amused. Zharkhov knows old two legger legend of Banshee. Banshee is spirit dat wisits two leggers before dey die. Banshee makes keening sound in middle of night. So sometimes in meedle of night Zharkhov make Banshee sounds."

"And this makes the wrinkled ones panic?" I asked hopefully.

"Nyet, bod it makes dem spill dere jellos. Zharkhov likes dere jellos."

Well, I can't argue with that.

Soon the vet thingy came and told me that my checkup was good and that I was healthy as could be. As I was carried from the room, I looked back and waved farewell to my Rooshan friend.

"Da sveedaneeya my bi-colored comrade", he said. "Next time bring wodka".

     

Treasure Hunt

Two leggers seem obsessed with mysteries. Whether it is unexplained happenings, undiscovered creatures or supernatural events. They never tire of seeking answers for the unanswerable.

And yet they call us curious.

But the one type of mystery that really gets them going is that of "hidden treasure".

It seems that throughout two legger history, every lost culture, every outlaw or rogue, every secret society and every wealthy hermit has reportedly left behind a hoard of treasure, cleverly hidden in some remote region. Like squirrel thingies stashing nuts for Winter, they supposedly bury their belongings in totally inaccessible locations in the theory that they will someday return to reclaim said hoard. In order to confound anyone seeking their wealth, they often leave cryptic clues and maps behind that generally lead to more cryptic clues and maps that eventually lead to absolutely nothing.

There are literally thousands of such legends and yet in all of recorded history not a single treasure hoard had been discovered. If there were truly that many out there, one would think that at least one would have been discovered by accident.

And yet they persist.

My two leggers have been watching a program on the talking box thingy about one such legend. It is called " The Curse of Oak Island". For over 125 years two leggers have been tearing up an island off the coast of Nova Scotia looking for a treasure that they are convinced is buried there. Every week they announce some new lead or technique that they are convinced will guarantee them success in uncovering the treasure.

Heck, they don't even know what the treasure is, who buried it, or even when they supposedly buried it. Theories about the treasure include pirate thingies hiding booty, Knights Templar hiding either the Ark of The Covenant or the Holy Grail, Aztecs hiding gold, Vikings hiding loot, Canadians hiding goats and someone from Kentucky hiding his famous fried-chicken recipe.

They spend tons of money and time trying to find the theoretical bounty. Digging, diving, researching, metal detecting, they have attempted every known method to solve the mystery.

And yet they have missed the most obvious method of all........

At the beginning of every episode, the narrator says in an over-dramatic voice: "The Legend of Oak Island states that nine men must die before the Island gives up its treasure. Eight men have died over the last 125 years trying to find the treasure......."

Duh, the solution is simple. Pick the most unpopular guy on the team and make it look like an accident. Problem solved and plus, one less person to share with.

Be that as it may, I have decided that since the two leggers are so obsessed with searching for treasure, I would entertain them by setting up a little "treasure hunt" of my own. I often steal things from them for my own amusement, but in this case it would be for theirs.

So, what should I hide?

I considered hiding the key to the liquor cabinet. But the male two legger keeps his stomach medicine in the liquor cabinet. I know that sounds odd, but you see, he loves orange juice. He once read somewhere that orange juice is very acidic and in large amounts can damage the lining of the stomach. So in order to avoid this, he only drinks orange juice that has been liberally diluted with tequila. Hiding the key may prove detrimental to his health, so that rules that out.

I once stole the female's earrings and hid one in the Royal Litter Box. Their panicked search was quite amusing, but I made the mistake of mentioning it in the blog thingy, so they are now wise to that ploy.

It needed to be something small and easily concealed, yet also so valuable or useful that the two leggers would move heaven and earth to recover it. Something that they would not rest until they had solved the riddle and recovered the item. Something so precious that they would risk life and limb to get it back.

Suddenly it hit me!

The one object that they hold in such high regard that it has its own special box. It rests in a place of honor and used more often than any other utensil....................the corkscrew. (cue dramatic music)

In the wee hours of the night, when the two leggers were asleep and all was depressingly quiet, I crept into the kitchen, found the corkscrew and removed it from its box. I quickly concealed it in the one place that I knew the two leggers would never look. Yup, I hid it in the tool box. The male's tool box has not been opened in over ten years. The female won't open it because it is dirty. The male won't open it because if he did, he might be expected to fix something.

After concealing the loot, I made an unreasonably complicated treasure map complete with a bunch of very ambiguous clues and passwords. I then placed the map and clues in the box which once held the corkscrew.

Alas, my plot was foiled. Little did I know that my two leggers who NEVER have a contingency plan for ANYTHING, happened to be prepared for this particular disaster. Upon the discovery of the theft, the female immediately pulled a spare corkscrew out of the cupboard and opened the wine bottle without missing a beat.

Upon investigation, I discovered that they have spare corkscrews stashed in every room of my house and two in the bathrooms!

I admit that I am quite annoyed that my plot failed. However, I suppose that I can take comfort in the fact that should the apocalypse occur, my two leggers may starve, but they won't go thirsty.

Tree-mendous

It is the end of an old year and the beginning of a new year. In two legger culture it is perceived as a time of transition, reflection and introspection. They either mourn or celebrate the events that occurred during the past year, while they either anticipate or dread the possibilities of the coming year.

For us cats, it is Friday.

Just another day filled with naps, food, and if we are fortunate.....chaos.

Well, the day was not entirely uneventful. In a manner of speaking, today was a day of transition for us felines as well. For you see, today we mourn the passing of the greatest cat toy of all.........the Christmas tree thingy came down.

To make matters worse, it came down intentionally........completely unassisted by yours truly.

Yes, the two leggers have removed my tree and packed it away until next December. They have packed away all the scornaments and dropsicles. They have removed all the shiny, battable and breakable parts, all the cutesy knock-knacks that amuse me during the holiday season. They have secured all baubles that I enjoy making go bump in the night.

I of course, "supervised".

Now when I say "supervise", I mean that I did everything within my power to make the experience as aggravating, miserable and frustrating as possible. It is my duty as the local household god thingy to hinder all activities that the two leggers deem "constructive". Fortunately for my purposes, the two leggers invariably make my mission easy in the extreme.......

After checking that all four of us feline types were contentedly napping in our nappy spots, the two leggers began by bringing four very large, empty, plastic boxes into the living room. Upon opening, these four very large, empty, plastic boxes were instantly occupied by four, no longer napping cats. It is a well-known law of nature that any empty box, no matter how large or small, must contain at least one cat within 5.3 seconds of opening. In the case of there being more boxes than available cats, other items such as catnip mousie thingies, hairballs (preferably damp) and milk carton rings may be used as substitutes. All attempts at removing cats from the aforementioned boxes must be met with extreme resistance up to, and including, bloodshed.

However, the two leggers being the determined creatures that they are, eventually succeeded in the removal of the feline occupants. This was not unexpected and only served to mark the beginning of Phase II of my annual post-Christmas chaos.

While the female two legger concentrated on removing Tiger Lily and Jaq from their individual boxes, Ivan and I had already accomplished the removal of several scornaments from the lower branches of the tree thingy. These were immediately batted down the hallway, thus initiating a spontaneous game of Hallway Hockey. Our game was short-lived when the female broke up the game by confiscating our "puck" and fixing both of us with a malevolent glare and using two fingers on her right paw in the international gesture of "I'm watching you!".

Having exited her box, Tiger Lily pounced upon the tree skirt and began furiously skrooching.*

* For those of you unfamiliar with the term "skrooching", it is the act of sliding one's front paws around the top of any flat piece of material such as a bed sheet, blanket or towel as though something small has been lost beneath the material and must be recovered with all possible haste. During the skrooch, one must keep their head and shoulders hunched low with forepaws outstretched while the hindquarters remain elevated and tail straight up or slightly bent. A manic or "crackhead" look on one's face completes the effect.   

During her skrooch, Tiger Lily managed to dislodge several more scornaments and very nearly brought the entire tree thingy down when she slammed against the trunk in her enthusiasm. Once again, the female intervened and chased Tiger Lily from the room.

In the meantime, Jaq had taken advantage of the distraction and had climbed to the very top of the tree thingy where she had developed a jealous fascination with the angel that was perched atop the highest branch. She decided that she was a better tree-topper than the current occupant and with a mighty swat, sent the angel thingy flying. Well, perhaps "flying" is not the correct term because the angel's wings never even flapped on its plummet to the floor. 

I guess Lucifer was not the only fallen angel.

Sadly, the impact of the angel striking the floor drew the attention of the male two legger and Jaq was subsequently removed from the top of the tree thingy and locked in the guest bedroom. 

By this time, Ivan and I had been banished to the computer room, Tiger Lily was incarcerated in the master bedroom and Jaq in the guestroom. Thus ended any further opportunities for us to assist the two leggers. We all voiced our great displeasure at this exclusion from the fun, mrowring and scratching at the doors, but our protests went unheeded. 

So now the two leggers have finished. The tree thingy and all of its accoutrements have been packed away for another year. The front rooms have been returned to their normal configuration. 

But all is not lost. In all the excitement, the two leggers failed to keep an accurate count of the glass ball thingies. It seems that two of the scornaments may have "accidentally" rolled beneath the wine cabinet and thereby forgotten by the two leggers.

I assure you, they have not been forgotten by me.............

I hope you all have a very happy and blessed New Year!   

Ivan Vs. Santa Claus

Though many have described me as "fearless", I must confess that I do indeed harbor one particular fear. Simply put, It is the fear of becoming predictable.

Predictability in a benevolent dictator (or cat) can lead to the loss of fear in one's minions. It can give them ideas of mutiny or even usurpation. It may even lead some unenlightened two leggers to believe that they actually have some control in their meager little lives.

Unacceptable.

The reason I bring this up is because last Christmas, Santa seemed unusually well-prepared during his visit to my Kingdom. He showed up wearing hockey pads, heavy welding-type gloves and armed with a can of pepper spray. Judging by his agile maneuvering, I also suspect that he has been dabbling in the martial arts.

I still managed to rough him up a bit, but I confess that it was a near run thing.

The only possible conclusions I can draw is that I have either become predictable, or he has begun reading my blog thingy.

Either way, a change of strategy was in order.

So this year I decided to delegate my Christmastime chaos to Ivan.

I played the part of Ebeneezer Scrooge after his night of visitations. I appeared sweet, generous and filled with the spirit of Noel. When he entered my house, I sat serenely upon my throne and bid him welcome with a lyrical purr and a totally non-evil smile upon my face.

Given our "history", I was not surprised that he did not trust my sudden transformation. His anxiety was palpable. He crept slowly towards the tree with his bag of presents in one mittened hand and a Tazer in the other, never taking his wary eyes off of me. I simply watched him and began licking my paw in a manner that broadcast "I am perfectly at ease and I bear you no ill will my good sir.".  I then curled up, head to tail, and pretended to fall asleep.

Finally, his ill-advised innate optimism got the better of him. He holstered his Tazer, put down his bag and began carefully placing presents under my tree. He was still fairly skittish and tended to jump at every slight sound, but soon he relaxed and set himself to his task.

It was at this moment that Ivan made his move.........

Amazingly, Ivan had managed to hide himself under the tree skirt and had miraculously refrained from giggling in a fit of pre-ambush mirth. As Santa bent over to remove a present from his bag, Ivan jumped from beneath the tree thingy and proceeded to viciously maul Santa just below his kneecap. Santa responded by grabbing a pair of candy canes and used them like nunchucks, beating Ivan on his head thingy.

The rapid, staccato sound of the candy canes reverberating through the house caused Jaq to suddenly launch into a very creditable rendition of "The Little Drummer Boy" by Bing Crosby and David Bowie. It is uncanny how she can perform a duet by herself.

Owing to Santa's poor choice of targeting Ivan's noggin, his counter-attack had little affect. In a great slashing, tearing and mrowring whirlwind of stinky orange fur, Ivan continued his attack as though he believed that Santa was smuggling several whole tunas beneath his silly red suit.

I have no idea who would have told Ivan that Santa was a notorious fish smuggler.........

Unfortunately, Ivan's attack was suddenly curtailed when a pair of socks, obviously intended as a gift for some ill-behaved adolescent two legger, fell out of the sack thus becoming SIUPs (Socks In Unexpected Places, Ivan's worst fear). This caused Ivan to totally poof and bolt from the room, knocking over the tree thingy in the process....I guess one could say that "the fir really flew". In his panic, he also managed to upend Santa who came down with a horrendous, yet spectacularly wonderful, CRASH!

The crash was so loud and mighty that it actually caused me to bolt and in my panic I accidentally broke  a lamp and four wine glasses.

Now this may sound like a lot of damage for a few seconds of extreme panic, but trust me, it only took me a second to break the lamp and only 18 minutes to get into the cabinet to break the wine glasses.

It's amazing what can happen when one panics.

I hope you all have a very safe and merry Christmas filled with joy and chaos.

Chaotic Christmas Conundrum

The Holiday Season has always been my favorite time of year. The firebox thingy runs pretty much full time, the two leggers turn up the thermostat, the nights are longer allowing more opportunities for chaos, and best of all......the Christmas knock-knacks are plentiful. Even FaceBook amuses me with the numerous pictures of my fellow felines attacking and destroying yuletide decorations across the world. 

However, this year I have noticed a steep decline in the pictures of destroyed Christmas trees, shattered decorations and murdered mangers.

I find this disturbing, unsettling, and unacceptable.

Something must be done. Obviously, some instruction is in order. Yes, instruction for destruction.

Now I am well aware that my audience consists of more than cats. But this next part is intended for felines only. Anyone who is non-feline should look away (especially two leggers). I will let you know when you can start reading again......Yes, this includes that poodle-dog who is still peeking in Kansas City!

Okay, now that it is just us cats, I have to say that I am VERY disappointed in you. However, I understand  that it is possible that it is not your fault. Perhaps, I have not been vigilant in providing proper instruction on how to make your holidays more festive. In order to rectify this oversight, I shall now offer you the guidance you require.

First of all, the two leggers have gone to a lot of effort to erect and decorate the largest cat toy you will ever behold. A tree filled with assorted knock knacks and danglies. A veritable smorgasborg of chaos. It would be ungracious not to dispatch it with extreme prejudice.

This being said, I understand that in this age of "live and let live", (cough, cough) many of you may have been brain-washed into thinking that this philosophy applies to us as well.

It doesn't.

Let's get back to basics. Professor Cujo is in the house.......

This is a Christmas tree thingy.

The long, thin crystalline thingies that dangle from the branches are known as "Dropsicles". They are made to be batted, slapped and make a pleasant tinkling sound when they hit the floor. Once grounded, they can be used as "the puck" in the annual holiday game of Hallway Hockey. These can provide hours of fun. However, I encourage you to be responsible and always dispose them under the stove when you are finished with them.

Another element of every properly decorated tree thingy are the large round decorative balls known as "scornaments". Scornaments are generally made of brightly colored glass that is very fragile and therefore perfectly suited to illustrating Newton's 12th Law, that being: "Any glass object thingy that is dropped from a distance greater than two tailspans due to the implementation of force administered by a feline paw will shatter upon contact with the floor into a variety of razor-sharp shards. The mass of razor-sharp shards will be equal to exactly 174.82% of the mass of the original glass object thingy". 

The light thingies are off-limits. As Ivan can attest, biting and, or chewing upon strands of electric lights, while amusing, can result in pain, electrocution, and frizzy fur. Ivan seems to enjoy this, but I do not recommend it for anyone in possession of more than three active brain cells. 

The material that covers the base of the tree thingy serves several purposes. It serves as concealment when stalking the scornaments and dropsicles. With a proper running start, it makes a great sliding surface, allowing one to glide gracefully across the floor while smacking ferociously at any dangly parts of the tree thingy. It may also be used as a hairball repository when one wishes save them for later placement.

When causing Christmas chaos, you must always consider the consequences of your midnight mayhem. Personally, I prefer to take credit for my destruction while at the same time avoiding any responsibility for said destruction. Fortunately, I have three scapegoats....... er, I mean companions, with whom I can share the blame. Those of you who live in mixed-species households have the luxury of blaming the dog. This is easily accomplished with the placement of a rawhide bone or pair of underwear at the base of the tree thingy. Those of you lacking the presence of fellow four leggers may still avoid the water squirty thingy by simply purring loudly and blaming disembodied spirits (see poltergeist).

Finally, remember that the tree thingy is not the only opportunity for chaos during the holiday season. The two leggers often provide many other amusing decorations for us to destroy. My personal favorite is the nativity scene. There is something extraordinarily satisfying in gnawing the heads of miniature two leggers.

I hope that with these hints you may enjoy a very chaotic and satisfying season of mayhem and destruction.

Okay, all of you non-feline types may start reading now.......I would like to wish you all a happy Holiday Season and just ignore anything you may hear after 2am.