Hey! what’s the big idea! where do you get off sneaking up on my like that?! WTW is up wif you? I mean, really. No. I was not licking teh butters. No! I wasn’t even ON teh counter! I was just…well, yes. Maybe I was on the counter…BUT only to inspect your new, so called “Monster Traps.” Is that what you fink will save us from teh ferocious Butter Monster? Really? You fink coating tin cake pans wif delicious, wunnerful, buttery butter will entice this Fearsome Huntress…uh, I mean, Butter Monster out of her…um, ITS lair and IT will eat teh butters and knock over pans and make noise and and and, then what? Did you even this thru? Then teh Butter Monster will run and hide because of teh noise? The noise will alert the Police and the SWAT Teams who will come wif stun guns and haul teh Proud and Noble Butter Monster into a cage and then off to teh zoo and then Teh Day Will be Saved? Sirriously?! Is that your plan?
Yeah. Good luck with that.
Um. Yes. Well, I am on the counter, that’s tru. But I was NOT eating teh butters. NO! How could you say such a fing?!
I was just investigating the, um, teef marks. Yes, that’s it. Just look at that! Scary, isn’t it? Like some kinda MONSTER or sumfing was chewing on it. Wow. I’d be worried if I was you. In fact, I’m just going to hop down now…
Why are you looking at me like that? I’m only trying to help. You may want to call teh Extreeminators. Maybe you need a bear trap in here. Just sayin’. Jeeze.
so let me just say that it’s not bad enuff to be a kitteh with a flea allergy and a bit-up, scabby back side. It’s not enuff to be hard at work on a multi-day vomitathon. No. When you live wif the Horrible Mrs. W. there is no sympathy. There are no pats on the head or fresh piles of warm laundries to puke into or private moments with your Best Dust Bunny Buddies Under The Bed. No. Here, all you get is a trip to The Little White Room of Doom.
I can barely even look at these pictures.
I would have fought and bit and spit and showed no mercy wif my razor sharp claws and feral ferocitynesses, but Suzie is too classy for all of that. She waited through all that poking and prodding and quackery with a silent dignity that shamed them all. Then, after the THIRD!!! horrible shot did not Kills her, they gave up and stuffed her back in the box. But before they could, she peed on the Vet.
She is my Hero.
You won’t believe this.
There I am, trying to do some good for Society and Teh Youts of Tomorrow and the next fing I know….oops, I step right onto a Political Third Rail.
Just one little get-away to Mew York City and all the sudden, I’m involved in a Political and Transportation Imbroglio. It happens more often then you would think, ‘cept this time was EXACTLY like that nursery rhyme. You know, teh one about teh Lost Kittens…
Teh Two Little Kittens, they lost their tokens and they began to cry
Sparky Dear, we greatly fear, our Subway Tokens we has lost!
“What? Lost yer Tokens, you Crazy Kittens, looks like you’ll have to jump the turnstile.
Meow Meow Meow Meow
Yes, you’ll have to jump teh turnstile.”
And THAT was the last I heard from little August and Arfur, my two charges from teh Big Brofur, Big Sisfur Program. These little inner-city urchins look up to me soooooo muuuch and of course I had to make times in my bizzy schedule to take them out on teh town. We all had a lovely day in Brooklyns, eating hot dogs from teh dumpster behind Nathans in Coney Island, shedding on Hipsters in Williamsburg, etc, etc…when, just as we are getting into the Uptown D Train, I got distracted by a guy in an Elmo costume. I was JUST as I was about to put teh bitey on him, I realized that August and Arfur was gone.
And I suppose this is the kind of fing that would get me fired as a Big Sisfur, but akshully, it ended up being a big plus for my little furriends. Not only has they got the attenshuns of Evabuddy in Mew York, but also the Mayor, teh Mayor Wanna-bes, the Medias and Mr. Colbert himself.
So remembers, Kittehs! We must do all we can to help these little guys NOT end up as a political football or tossed into teh East River. also, we MUST do somefing about rats big enuff to vote. That has GOT to stop. It’s up to us, Kittehs. Who’s wif me?
Sometimes, there is no other way to get your message across
It’s like he should hold a seminar on Effective Feline Communications.
fanks! to Worldnewss for this wunnerful study guide.
Kitties! Kitties! Do you even remember me?!?! It’s ME! Sparkly Love Pants! Yes! really!!! I’m back from my horrible, horrible exile.
Here is how my long week started:
Mr. and Mrs. Whatsernames left AGAIN, but this time they decided to go on teh cheap and not pay the highly qualified Cat Warden to come feed us all wrong, like she do, and instead leave matters in the hands of The Childrens. I can’t help but notice how big they have become lately. Also how much times they spend slouching, eating, texting and eye rolling, so a vacation without them is completely understandable.
So you would fink this would be a wunnerful week for moi, as I could trust that The Childrens would not even read or even care about such dictatorial edicts, and getting out would be easy-peasy whenever the pizza delivery guy or teh police stopped by. But that was not to be.
For while I easily got out, I could not get back in and spent the week doing this:
It’s like they didn’t EVEN see me! or hear me, even when I climbed the tree and hopped on teh roof to meow into teh sky lights to let them know it was NOON, for Heaven’s Sake, and they could get outta bed – and they never even looked up once when I stuck my face in the basement window and begged – YES- begged them to put down the X Box controller and OPEN TEH DOOR. But no. Let me tell you, my Furriends, you can meow your little head off but your pitiful and adorable pleas for help are useless when you are being “taken care of” by the Ear Bud Zombie Brigade.
If i had had wifi access, I would have done a little research. This is verrah educashunal and I shall make a note of it next time teh Teens are In Charge.
But, no, I had no wifi or clean water dish, after a few days of drinking out the drain spout and eating cold cheese off pizza boxes left in teh trash, Mrs. W. comes strolling home, la dee dah, like she do,
and while I would normally shun her and should have bitten her ankles, hard, for dropping teh ball like this, instead I rolled at her feet and even climbed into bed and sniffed her head to let her know I was glad she was there. And also that it was time to feed me. Which she did, and even got out the brushie and my favorite fishy bacon and gave me a surprise sprig of Cat Nip and suddenly, all was right wif teh world.
So you know what that means, don’t you?
It’s time to go back out.
Hey Kittehs! Guess What?!
I got an awardie! I am so thrilled. You love me! You really do! or at least my friend Penelope, The Cat from Hell, does.
Before I start to thank the Academy and my Mom for this Prestigious My FavOUrite Things Awardie, there are a few things I have to do.
Okay – first I has to THANK Nellie – the Cat From Hell!
Nellie is Teh Bomb – an all around perfect kitteh: mean, beautiful, easy to anger, mouthy, mean, dangerous, loved by Mancats around teh globe. Also, mean. I lubs her. I’m gonna grow up to be just like her. Only meaner.
Next, I has to tell you about my SIX FAVORITE THING:
As a former feral kitty, I am allergic to laps and grabby hands. You know what they say – “you can take the litter of kittens out of the engine block of an abandoned El Camino, but you can’t take the engine block out of the kitten…no, wait…that’s not it. Well, anyway, like Mr. Cole Porter used to say:
let me wander over yonder, til I see the mountains rise,
I want to ride to the ridge where the west commences,
gaze at the moon until I loose my sense,
I can’t look at Cat Carriers and I laugh at fences
Don’t fence me in.
and even if you did put up a fence, I would just climb a tree a jump ova it, so don’t bother.
2. Power Petting.
What? you’ve never HEARD of Power Petting? Well, let Mr. Whatsisname show you how it’s done. That man should quit his day job and start a Kitteh Spa and Massage Parlor. Excuse teh grainy out of focus, dimly lit video. Mrs. Whatsername is an auteur, don’t you know. Auteur, I believe, if French for amateur, low-budget, porn producer…http://youtu.be/3YLU9MXwPPY
3. Being fed first.
Me. Now. Suzie can wait. she told me she’s fine with that. Now. Me. Where are you going wif that can? NO! don’t recycle it! there’s no time for that…Feed! Me! Now! Me Me Me Me Me Me Me Me Me Me….oh. fanks….
4. Fishy Bacon
or as the Japanese say, “bonito flakes.” Breakfast of Champions, you know. keeps my coat shiny, my tiger stripe nice and stripy, and give my orange dot an extra special glean. Also, very fishy.
Sammy Snacks is my very favorite
5. 4:41 a.m.
Best time in the world to bring a new toy to the bed room to demonstrate to Mr. and Mrs. W. my prowess at batting and leaping and jumping. Also, can I go back outside now?
Oh! how I lubs him. So Dashing -so Ebil…just the kind of Bad Boy Basement Kitteh our Mommies warned us about. I can’t wait to free him from his entrapment in the Bay Area. Just you wait and see if I don’t. I just need figure out which bay…certainly wasn’t the Chesapeake. I looked there already. But when I do find him, he is going to be my Faithful Lover Boy forever…
Wait – what? What’s that, you say? Penelope, teh Meanest, Angriest Kitteh from Hell, ever! also lubs Spitty?!?!
Well, Nellie, this the just the gift that just keeps on giving, isn’t it?
Anyhoo – the My FavOUrite Thingie Awardie requires me to send this Award to My FavOUrite Bloggie Buddies. Drum roll pleasie-please…
Gemini, the kitteh who just wants to know what’s on the other side of the fence (pssst! it’s me! I’m on teh other side! come find me!!!)
Odin, that one-eyed wonder
Taro Sushi (aka, Japan Jumping Cat) – Wow! is he great or what? Don’t tell Spitty…
Jelly Bean, Guiseppe, Mimi, Sunshine, and Mewsette of the Creative Cat - a posse of 5 ebil basement kittehs…i like how that human is outnumbered…
Texas, the bestest big brother cat out there. Kitshka, you are so lucky. also, fanks to both of you, for not laughing at Madame W.’s pitiful French
and finally – Minnie Mica Moo, cuz her lack of eyebrows really is my favorite thingie.
Fanks Penelope and blogging buddies! Headbonks all around!
Little party hat. Little fluffy dress wif starched collar. Little Demonic Face set into a rictus of a smile.
Ah, and look, you’ve just back little Kitty Wampus into a corner. That wasn’t smart. I’d be going now, if I were you…
Well, see, here I am, still trapped here in teh house and was just nosing around teh basement when I noticed this board game. Mrs. Whatsername bought it because she thought it was keeeeee-yuuuuute. So like her. So clueless.
And while you think Mrs. W. would love it, Arrested Pre-schooler that she is, the game was neva a big hit and here in the the promotional picture you can see why: there are blue tiles and red tiles and yellow tiles and, um…beige? tiles, and when it’s time to go, you flick the little arrow on the game spinner, which somehow always gets stuck on green.
And yet - There. Is. No. Green.
So, it’s maddening and poorly designed and boring, but it’s not exactly murderous.
or is it?
Luckily, Suzie, The Emerald-Eyed Empress of Snoozeville, had the perfect beddie-bye story about the real Kitty Wampus and all her gory details.
Teh Wampus Cat, Suzie sez, is a Demon Kitteh, born deep in the dark Appalachian woods. Legend has it that a Cherokee Woman was jealous that her husband got to attend the Ancient Hunting Ritual, so one night, she followed him, dressed in a cougar skin, to spy on the proceedings. But she was discovered, and as punishment, she was turned into a great, stinking She-Devil-Cat, who terrorizes the woods to this day.
Of course, that’s the Mans version of the story. Let Suzie tell you wut really happened…
Once Pon teh Times, a Cherokee Woman was a little fed up that her Husband and all his Hunting Buddies would leave camp for days on end, for a Double Top Secret, No Girls Allowed “Hunting Ritual,” as they called it, but all they eva seemed to come back wif was a hang-over and scrawny squirrel or two. More than once the Chief had to drag them all home from other villages, where they found creating a Public Nuisance in the company of Dancing Girls who they insisted were just “really good friends.”
So something had to be done. One night, after she had tucked her little childrens into bed but they couldn’t sleep because of the noise and laughing and spitting and carrying-ons of this so-called Ritual, the Brave Woman marched into the fire circle, kicked empty beer cans outta her way, raised her fist to the night sky and cried –
“OH! Great Spirit! Let me show these morons how it’s done!”
And wif that, the sky was parted by a lightening bolt and before their blurry eyes, the Woman turned into a snarling, nasty, drooling pissed off kitteh.
“You want to hunt? This is how you hunt.”
said she, and leapt into the woods like a panther, easily snagging a deer, a moose, an entire family of rabbits and a peacock. She piled the foods at the feet of the Mans and instructed them to get to work, as she expected something a little nicer than Fried Squirrel Brains for breakfast, for once. Later, she decided she preferred the life of the wild and so she left the mans with the crying babies and set off for a life of adventure, where she Hunts the Hunters to this very day.
Wow, Suzie. That was great. What a role model she is. But the kitteh on the box…is that Baby Wampus?
No, that’s just a game the Mans came up, in a desperate attempt to entertain the childrens they were stuck with. But the childrens, wisely, hated the game and so they turned into Snarling Demon Kittens and left to rejoin Mommy on the Hunting Trail.
Yes, that would be more fun. Fanks for the great story, Suzie!
and also Fanks! to The Hiking Club of the Southeast Appalacian Trail as well as many other websites for these great folktales. I wish we could credit the artist of the Wampus cat picture, but my searches didn’t find much. If you know, please let us know so we can properly credit them.
The last thing I knew, there were piles of laundry to unfold and luggage to hide in and THEN – poof! Everything and everyone was gone, except for a bag of food and a note and mysterious woman who lets herself in and feeds us all wrong. And! AND, it gets worse, because she won’t open doors, no matter how politely I ask. She just sort of hunkers down when it’s time to leave, body-blocking all my stealthiest escape moves, like she received a degree in Hospitality Management training at Rikers Island.
It’s just so insulting.
These are my cell mates:
and it could be worse, I suppose, cuz Suzie always has lots of bed-time stories and The Ugly Kitten has a wonderfully yummy smell. I lick his little door-stop shaped head every time I see him.
“Stop tasting me!”
he always shouts in that squeak-toy meow of his. Silly Kitten.
Somefing terrible must have happened to The Ugly Kitten, like an Ebil Magic Spell or an 8th grade Science Experiment Gone Bad, cuz there is no earfly reason a kitten should be so ugly. So, it’s really not his fault that he has that ginormous nose and that hippo butt. I’m always trying my best to keep him positive and lift his self esteem. So I spend a lot of time licking his little earsies, trying to get them to stand up and reminding him that his tail is sure to grow in some day soon.
“I am not a kitten. I don’t need a tail.”
“That’s the spirit,” I tell him, “but still, it could come in any day now. You wait and see.”
It kind of breaks my heart to see him try to be so brave.
Luckily, Suzie remembered that The Girl, who loves Ugly more than is seemly, if you ask me, was painting a lovely picture of him. It reminded her of a story…
Once pon teh times, a handsome kitteh was completely in loves with himself. Couldn’t stop looking in the mirror and didn’t even hiss when he did it. He liked looking at the kitteh in the mirror. Did it all day long. Then he got the fine idea of hiring a painter to capture his portrait so eva one could see his handsomeocity.
Eva one in town, from the Mayor on down, was mightily impressed with the portrait, and they stood in long lines to look at it.
But soon the Handsome Kitteh started to fret. The portrait would be lovely forever, while he aged and grew ugly. So he wanted moar.
“Oh! Basement Cat!” he cried, “keep me forever as Young and Dishy as this portrait! Let me neva grow old!”
Basement Kitteh heard his plea and was feeling like a real stinker that day so he granted his wish, but while the Handsome Kitteh impressed Lady Cats for years with his Never Ending Stud Muffin Status, his portrait grew decrepit.
In the portrait, his pointy teefs fell out and claws snagged on the carpet. Fleas chewed on his rear end until it was bald. His tail grew crooked, and his fur mangy and matted. Evatime the Kitteh walked past, the cloudy old eyes seemed to follow him with a reproachful glare and more than once, he swears the portrait passed gas.
Enough! cried the Handsome Kitteh. ”Mock me no moar, you Demon!”
and he leapt on the painting to rip it to shreds. Except that he forgot the painting was next to the open window and he and the portrait tumbled out and landed with a splat onto the street below. Passersby found an ancient foul-smelling kitteh, tangled in a canvas of a beautiful young cat. They tossed the kitteh carcass into the recycling bin and hung the portait in the Mayor’s Office, to inspire eva one in the city with the Promise of Youth. The End.”
“See”, I said, “The Girl is doing the same fing for you with this painting. Only backwards.”
“What on earth are you babbling about now,” gweeped Ugly.
“Well, obviously, she is painting a magic portrait of you that will get more and more Awful as you turn moar like a Proper Kitten everyday. In fact, if the current state of Ugliness is any indication, I would say you are due to become a lovely kitteh sometime this afternoon. By breakfast tomorrow, at the latest. I’m sure of it. Oh! I’m so happy for you!”