Food Fright

I am annoyed.

Annoyed and irritated.

Annoyed, irritated and not amused.

I may even be miffed.

In the past, I would usually remedy this by slapping Tiger Lily around, bushwacking Jaq, or posing a philosophical question to Ivan just to watch his eyes cross and smoke come out of his ears. However, according to my vet thingy, I am supposed to be "taking it easy", "relaxing" and engaging in other non-violent stress reducing activities.

I suspect my vet thingy may be a Hippie.

The cause of my annoyance is the fact that the two leggers have changed their diet. They have started eating much healthier. Less meat, more nasty, green, earthy smelling leafy stuff. Lettuce, carrots, spinach, mushrooms, leaves, pine needles, beans, fruit, vegetables and other low-fat, low-calorie unmunchables. Things that not even an over-caffienated bunny who spends all his free time reading New Age, plant munching, gotta-get-healthy-in-under 60 days type books would consider edible.

Now you may assume that there is no way that a change in my two legger's diet should affect me, but your assumption would be wrong.

You see, after I developed my kidney issues, I was placed on a special diet myself. It consists of something called "KD Prescription Food". While I am unsure what the "KD" stands for (I suspect that it stands for "Kind of a Drag"), I know that "Prescription" means medicine and as for the "Food" part, well, I don't understand how anyone can call this stuff "food" while maintaining a straight face. It has the consistency of a re-recycled hairball and the taste of a dust bunny that is four years past its prime.

Ivan thinks it's delicious.

Ivan thinks that anything that he can fit in his mouth is delicious.

But I digress.

The only thing that made my diet bearable was the fact that I could always count on the two leggers to leave some scrumptious morsel laying about after their meals. Oh sure, they always tried to clean and put everything away after eating, but invariably, something would be missed and I could always count on a bit of a dietary supplement after they had retired for the evening. The male especially could always be relied upon to forget a dirty plate on the counter, or to drop a small morsel of his meal on the floor...... or on his shirt........or next to his chair......possibly smeared on the table......maybe drizzled across his pants......and always scattered throughout his mustache where I can count on obtaining a treat by grooming his face while he sleeps. I once discovered a partially consumed bratwurst complete with mustard, onions and sauerkraut just above his right upper lip (that was a good day).

My point is that with their new eating (grazing may be a better word) habits, the pickings have been slim.

The situation has become untenable. I must find a way to supplement my diet.

Don't get me wrong, it is not that I am being starved. Quite the opposite, I assure you. In fact, it is most annoying the way that they are constantly encouraging me to eat. Every time I turn around, they are pushing a bowl of the KD Prescription Food in front of me. If I should deign to take a couple of bites, they coo in joy and tell me how proud they are of me.

No, the issue is the quality, not the quantity.

I am a cat. I am the apex predator of my Kingdom. I am the very embodiment of 36.8 quatrillion years of evolutionary fine tuning. I am descended from saber-toothed tigers, from lions, from cougars and the like. My ancestors feasted upon mammoths, bison, primeval two leggers and the prehistoric predecessors of Twinkies. They thrived on hunting, stalking and batting around lower lifeforms. They did not eat vegetables and salads. They ate the eaters of vegetables and salads.

After much consideration, I have reached a solution.

My two leggers have been adequate in their servitude. They have maintained my Kingdom with conscientious diligence. They have provided for most of my needs and though they can be annoying at times, they can also provide amusement when I am bored.

So it is with slight trepidation that I have made my decision......

I must eat my two leggers.

I informed my fellow felines of my plan and was met with mixed reactions. Tiger Lily was for eating the male, but did not wish to lose the advocacy of the female (the female is the only one in my Kingdom that defends her). Jaq was initially totally against the plan, but after being promised first pick of the female's shoes, she conceded. Ivan's response was "Bout darn time".

Alas, it was not to be. Just as we were about to make our move, the male read my notes for this blog post.

Apparently, he no longer trusts me and is keeping the bedroom door locked at night.

Oh well, all is not lost. Rumor has it that we are expecting house guests this Summer............ 

A Confusin Transfusion

As most of you who follow me on FaceBook, or are members of my Fan Club already know, I had another medical crisis last week. Once again, Death opened its door and invited me in. Being a cat, I wandered back and forth through the threshold for a while, rubbing my tail teasingly against the door jamb, until Death got fed up and slammed the door.

Someday, I know that he will be quick enough to catch me, but not today.

The crisis began Tuesday night when the two leggers realized that I had been acting out of character. Namely, no lamps had been broken, no blood shed, and most significantly.....the atmosphere in my Kingdom had been peaceful and serene for several days.

Like a character in one of those old war movies just before the enemy strikes, the male two legger turned to the female and said "It's quiet in here......too quiet".

 Wednesday morning, they placed me in the Safety Container of Royal Conveyance (SCORC) and took me to see Doc Brazle in The Land of Unpleasant Pokings. When Doc Brazle saw that my two leggers had made the journey with me from my Kingdom totally unscathed, she knew immediately that something was amiss. When she was able to draw my blood without losing any of hers, she knew that I was in bad shape.

Doc Brazle and the excellent staff at Best Friends Veterinary Clinic did an excellent job of getting me stabilized, but the following day the decision was made to transfer me to more specialized care in Seattle. The male two legger loaded me back in the SCORC and we began the three hour journey to Seattle Veterinary Specialists.

It was during this journey that I experienced my first boat ride. I have often heard and read about sea voyages, fraught with peril and adventure, swashbuckling antics on the briny ocean, I waited eagerly for the maritime mayhem that would ensue.

I must say that the reality was somewhat disappointing. During the entire 20 minute ferry ride, I saw not one cannon fired in anger, no sharks, no white whale, they didn't even make anyone walk the plank. There was a two legger with an eye patch, peg leg and a hook, but she was just the snack bar cashier.

As a matter of mutiny prevention, I was not allowed out of my SCORC for the entire passage. A fact that I protested vociferously.

Upon arrival at the specialized Land of Unpleasant Pokings, I was once again poked unpleasantly (but in a very specialized way). It was determined that I was lacking of blood and in need of something called a "transfusion". A transfusion is the process where they pump new blood into one's body via yet another unpleasant poking.

I understand the theory, but I question the method of delivery. First, they poke you unpleasantly until they find a vein thingy. Then they hook up a tube that comes from a machine and with much whirring and beeping, the fresh blood is slowly pumped in until you are full again. Terribly complicated, expensive and it takes hours to complete.

My method would greatly reduce time, and expense and would entirely do away with the unpleasant poking aspect. All it would require is a unit of fresh blood, one package of catnip and two squirrel thingies.

The patient would be given the catnip to stimulate appetite and general friskiness while one of the squirrel thingies would be filled with the fresh blood. Once all is prepared, the blood-filled squirrel thingy would be released into the SCORC with the ailing, but acutely frisky cat. After much batting, slapping and biting, the fresh blood would naturally be orally transferred to the patient thus turning a normally painful and dreadful process into an enjoyable experience for all (except the squirrel).

The second squirrel would be used as a snack in the recovery room.

In spite of my ingenious recommendation, the vet thingy chose to use the old barbaric method of transfusion.

Well, in spite of all the unpleasant pokings and so on, I have recovered and have returned to my Kingdom where once again I have regained my throne.

For now, my reign continues.

I would like to thank all of my minions for all of the love, support and prayers that you offered to me and my two leggers during this incredibly difficult week. Your kind words and thoughts sustained us even during the darkest of hours when all was thought lost.

I am truly grateful for you all.

Adult Stuporvision (Continued)

Day Two of the male's week-long adventure in geographic bachelorhood.

With the female off visiting the Grandtwins, the male, not used to sleeping alone, decided to leave the bedroom door open overnight thus allowing us feline types to come and go as we please. While this allowed unprecedented opportunities for chaos, I made a command decision to not take advantage of this potentially perfect storm of circumstances to cause hate and discontent............yet.

Knowing that the female would be away for the next six days, I chose not to squander my chances for maximum mayhem by blowing it all in a single night. A solitary evening of madness would most likely result in the male deciding that on reinstating the locked-door policy for the remainder of the female's absence. It would also prevent me from pawing his mustache every morning exactly 37 minutes before his alarm was set to wake him.

This would not do.

So, at least for the first few nights, I concluded that restricting our deeds of destruction to "normal" hours was the best course of action. That being said, There was still much fun to be had.........

Consider "Operation: Bait and Twitch". This particular mission proved both amusing and beneficial.

It began when the male decided to make a tuna salad sandwich. 

The male two legger accepts the fact that the preparation of any meal containing tuna fish will attract the attention of any cat within a 36 mile radius of the location of the kitchen. This tends to place the two legger on "high alert" and he will therefore guard his meal like Rosie O'Donnell protecting the last Twinkie on Earth. Generally, we will go through the motions of trying to steal a bite or two, knowing full well that our efforts will likely be in vain, but this night, I was determined.

As he sat in the bedroom, slowly munching his delectable edible, contentedly watching yet another silly program on the talking box thingy, I sent Jaq out into the hallway to begin the "Bait" stage of my plan. Just as she reached the carpet that marks the entry to the livingroom, Jaq began making her patented "omigodiatetoomuchfuragainandnowigottaputitonthecarpet" sound. The sound Jaq makes when she has a hairball defies description. The closest comparison I can make is the sound that would be made if Miley Cyrus, Justin Bieber and Luciano Pavarotti collaborated to rap an Aerosmith song in Portuguese.

This triggered an ancient instinct in the two legger that caused him to bolt down the hallway yelling "NONONONONONONONONOOOO!!!!"

His sudden departure left a void next to his tuna salad sandwich that was instantly filled with Ivan and myself. After a quick and decisive slapping match, we decided that I would eat the portion on the plate and Ivan could consume the morsel that had ended up on the floor as a direct result of our little smackfest. 

By the time the two legger returned, all evidence had been eradicated and the plate was duly cleansed. His reaction was neither unexpected nor particularly original. Rather than showing gratitude for us having thoroughly washed his plate and floor, he said something about "damcats" and then proceeded to cast aspersions upon my character.

I would have been offended, but I had already dropped off into a tuna-induced slumber. 

It seems that there is a new policy in effect. We are now banished to other rooms whenever the male is feeding.

Given his newfound vigilance where we were concerned, our next bit of maniacal madness needed to be well-thought out and planned to the nth detail.

Other than small nuisances and general feline friskiness, we laid low for the next few days. We needed him relaxed and confidant that we had "learned our lesson".

This also gave me time to plot.

The night before he was due to pick up his mate from the airport, the male spent the evening scrubbing, vacuuming and dusting my entire Kingdom. We supervised of course, but did little to hinder his activities. We allowed him to sleep soundly (until exactly 37 minutes before his alarm clock was set to wake him).  He awoke rested and happy owing to the fact that he would soon be reunited with his mate. After a thorough final inspection, he departed safe in the knowledge that his bride would be returning to a spotless household.

Yeah, right.

Upon his departure, we set to work.
 
Ivan harvested the dust bunny crop that he'd been carefully tending under the entertainment center for the last five months. He spread it across the livingroom floor in a manner that displayed both the vast yield and variety of his labors. Seeing his collection decorating couch, easy chair and coffee table, I must confess that I have underestimated Ivan's artistic prowess.

Inspired by Southwest Native American art, Tiger Lily took advantage of the spotless litterboxes and created several "sand drawings" outside of each litterbox.

Having an eye for photography, Jaq "re-arranged" all the picture frames on hallway shelves and the end tables. Obviously her sense of arrangement dictated that some looked better face down, while others were better displayed on the floor.

Finally, I decided that since so much of our handiwork was being displayed on the floor, perhaps it would benefit from more light. This was easily remedied by the knocking a couple of lamps down.

Several hours later, the two leggers returned. As they approached the door, I heard the male say: "I worked all night to bring the house up to your standards of cleanliness........SURPRISE!"   

I fear she was not amused.

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.