wow. I think I need to watch them all, you know? a marathon of epic Catzilla movies. I just can’t get enuff of that “Folly of Man”theme. Here’s one of my favorites…
…and here is an Preview of Coming Attractions:
NOT the normal, evaday, daytime adventure, of course. Not like today, when I sprinted, panther-like, all the way up a tree and leapt, ninja-like, onto the roof, and then meowed, pitiful-like, until the neighbors called Teh Authorities. Then, while Mrs. Whatsername crawled out a tiny dormer window wif an open can of tuna – I hopped back down the tree and on to the patio, skillfully knocking over potted herbs while I searched for a comfy spot to take a baff…until I remembered that I had, earlier that day, cut a hole in the kitchen screen window with my delicate little claw and so was able to saunter back inside and ask, very polite-like, for teh can of tuna.
So, like I said, no. Nothing so mundane as that. Time now for some real excitement.
Because tonight, for some reason, I am locked inside. There is sloppy, heavy-handed slab of duct tape where my intricately-cut screen hole used to be . But that’s okay, because I have a new adventure. Right now, I’m on the bed, all snuggled in tight, ready for a Beguiling Beddy-bye Story from the Reigning Monarch of REM Sleep – The Emerald-Eyed Empress of Snooze-ville –
(for those of you unawares – Suzie is the cat who has lived upstairs ever since I came to live here. She is an Ancient Tuxedo Kitteh – 13 entire years old, and Classy, as well as Wise. While she may not look like much other than a Penguin impersonating a Bowling Pin – she does, in fact, have an Amazing Superpower. Suzie can sleep All. Day. Long. I’ve clocked her at 23 3/4 hours, at a stretch, which must be some kind of record. Also, she can put everyone else to sleep. She’s like an Insomnia Atom Bomb. Mrs. W. has tried to read the same paragraph in a book for YEARS, but with Suzie in her face, purring in her full-0n Hypno-Kitteh style, sending her off to La-La Land to ride the Good Ship Somni-Pop…the book just falls on her face and That is That).
Suzie, a regular Voyager to Slumber City, is renowned for giving the most excellent Nocturnal Tours of the Snoozy Subconscious.
So! Suzie! Wifout further ado – what IS tonight’s Exciting Adventure?
oh – my. this is gonna be good.
fanks to TadNPeanuts for this amazing and thought-provoking video. Mom, why AM I sushi? I’ll be finking about this for a while…
Good morning! time to open your furry little hearts, Purriors…
Wasn’t that wunnerful? Don’t you feel all at One wif teh world? Me too.
Well, that is just a start, as Mrs. W. is reaching a certain milestone birfday later this year and has decided to double-down on the exercise, causing her to become out-of-breafs and even more pungent with the whole Human Stink thing. She usually comes home from these workouts kinda giddy and dizzy, cuz the poor old girl ain’t what she used to be, but that’s okay, cuz we find that she sometimes gets confused and feeds us twice. then she passes out on the couch with an extra warm and sweaty lap.
I’d like to help her, but no matter how much I suggest it, she simply will NOT climb a tree wif me or dash through the under brush, or perform any other basic cardio. Also, could one of you Humans tell her that Sauvingon Blanc is NOT an energy drink? She won’t listen to me. Anyway, in a last ditch effort to get her to be SIRRIOUS about her workout, I am also posting this:
Happy Exercise, eva one!
fanks to that Handsome Mans Sho Ko, (hey! even I admit it. this is one Manly Specimen. Too bad for the rest of them are lacking in cat-like reflexes and sinewy muscley muscles…) for his amazing cat videos!
Like the kitteh Saipan, here, who was rescued during WWII battles in the Marianna’s Islands and made mascot of the USS New Mexico, I’d get my own kit and and bunk and all teh ship rats I could eats. Would also be able to disregard reveille, as Saipan is doing here, calmly ignoring her crewmate’s threat of being sent to teh brig if she don get outta that bunk by eleventy-hundred hours. as if a brig could hold a cat.
In fact, while humans tend to choke in disbelief at the thought of cats actually performing military “service,” naval kittehs have, since the very beginnings of war, been standard issue, working hard to keep the supply of vermin low and crew morale high. As expert mousers, or furry visitors to curl up in a hammock, a warm shoulder to cry on and friend to play wif, cats have been vital crew members, especially for the first-time sailors, many still just boys and girls, far from home and headed straight into enemy territory.
OR, perhaps I would be like the most famous of all Navy Cats – Simon of the HMS Amethyst.
Simon, ship mascot of the British sloop, HMS Amethyst, was not only promoted to the rank of Able Sea Cat but also the only cat in history awarded the prestigious Dickins medal, “for Animal Gallantry Under Enemy Fire.” In 1949, in the midst of a raging civil war for control of China, The Amethyst came under fire as they navigated up the Yangtse River on their way to evacuate British personnel from the Embassy in Nanking. Several crew members, including Captain Skinner were killed. Many more were wounded, including Simon, who had been in his usual place in the Captain’s cabin and suffered serious burns and shrapnel wounds. The ship ran aground and suffered through days of sniper fire. Communist Army officials demanded that the new Captain, John Kerans, admit fault by saying the British ship fired first. Captain Kerans adamantly refused and crew was held hostage for over 100 days.
Stuck on board with no medical supplies, 1/2 rations and no refrigeration, the Amethyst soon became a stink-feast of rotting food. Worse still for the sailors’ morale was the sight of rats eating what little food they had, including an obnoxiously big rat, who would parade around deck in broad daylight. The sailors, knowing that Simon was too weak to catch the rat, tried to trap him but without success. They named the nasty blighter Mao Tse-tung.
On deck one morning, an officer saw Simon limp on to the deck and bump straight into Mao. In the blink of an eye, Simon leapt and snapped the rat’s neck. The crew cheered, holding up Simon and flinging their symbolic oppressor overboard. Back on his game, Simon quickly rid the ship of the rest of the rats while Captain Kerans planned a daring mid-night escape, racing down the Yangtse under fire from Communist Guns.
Safely back in Hong Kong, word of The Amethyst’s daring escape reached the ears of proud Brits who could not wait to hail their heros. People sent bottles of cream to Simon and childrens wrote songs. This Pathe newsreel shows England’s excitement and our hero, Simon, makes a cameo appearance at the 50 second mark. “Welcome Back to the Amethyst Heros.”
and yet, our Dear Hero was never fully able to bask in his fame, for the long confinement in medical quarantine, plus an virus picked up possibly during his recovery, and quite probably, stress from being on land after a life time at sea, maybe even a confused and broken heart at the unexplainable disappearance of his crew mates, further sickened Simon and he died before he could received his medal. He was laid to rest in Ilsford, in East London, with full honors. The entire surviving crew of the HMS Amethyst attended his funeral.
Able Sea Cat Simon, we salute you!
Thanks thanks and more thanks to the Veterens of the HMS Amethyst, who pooled their memories of “The Yangtse Incident” and of Able Sea Cat Simon on the great website Maritime Quest Also, to Purr n Fur UK who painstaking researched Simon and his story.
oh, hello Humans. did you stumble out o’ teh house yet wif your coffee mugs and stand in long lines to vote? good for yous. voting is vital to a functioning Democatic Society, so that long wait in the school gym and that PTA bake sale brownie was of National Importance. don’t you ferget it. also, that long line no doubt gave you time to remember that teh bag of crunchies is running low. so now that you is done wif your service to your country, get your self to teh grocery store. crunchies is vital too, you know.
And speaking of remembering and eating, today is teh day i remind you of teh vital role cats have played in voting rights. Kittehs was called into ackshun 100 years ago, both for and against Women’s Suffrage. In fact, in 1913, teh British Government instituted teh infamous Cat and Mouse policy to keep Suffragettes from demonstrating. This was not only a horrible smear to teh reputation of kittehs, who would neva condone such a thing, but also a rotten thing to do to womens.
Fear that women would wake up and realize, ‘hey! i is a human too, right?’ the Scared Mans of the British Government at first felt the best thing to do was to lock these crazy ladies up for looooooooong jail terms. In protest, jailed Suffragettes would go on hunger strikes, but teh Man was one step ahead o’ teh Ladies and force-fed them, shoving tubes and soup down their throats and even their noses. Teh thinking was, I guess, that torture was somehow bettah than letting them starve for something they believe in. Public outcry, however, was huge.
So, in order to not look like teh monsters they was, British officials passed teh blame off on cats by instituting the Cat and Mouse Policy (aka, “The Temporary Discharge for Ill Health Act of 1913″). This Act allowed jailers to release suffragettes who grew weak from their hunger strike but stipulated that if they got better later and started demonstrating in teh streets once again, they was going back to jail. This way, if a Lady died after being held in horrible prison conditions, well, it wasn’t their fault. an they hoped the threat of jail would keep the most high-profile Suffragettes at home. The US government was thinking of instituting it as well.
Luckily, Suffragettes was more cat-like than the Officials realized and re-arresting them proved difficult. Also, peeps knew in their hearts that cats, of all things, would never eva treat Ladies like that. We loves teh Ladies! The ones who stand in teh kitchen all day? An remember to buy the bag of crunchies that you like? teh ones who speak in teh high pitched voices and know the bestest spots for head scratches wif their delicate fingers? No. Kittehs has always supported Womens.
the report this morning about teh kitten stuck in a car engine, mewing her little head off on Route 1 in Beltsville, MD reminded me of the many other death-defying Motor Cats we have in the DC area.
Namely, Motor Cat.
it has come to my attention that teh great Motor Cat, Fearless Tabby of the Trails and Maryland Motorcycle Momma, ackshully lived here, in Takoma Park. Just like me! AND she even went to my VET, The Takoma Park Animal Clinic, world renowned for patching up Adventure Cats like Ms. Motor and me.
So, wait. YOU don’t know ’bout Motor Cat? See, that’s just my point. She should be crazy famous. School childrens should have to re-trace her many adventures, blazing trails through the Rock Creek Parkway and thru teh streets of DC, riding high on the tank of a Suzuki and leaning expertly into teh turns. This Moto Kitteh could not get ENUFF of the wind in her face and the revs of the engine, even tho her human, at first, tried to keep her off his bike. She kept climbing on board. And when he drove off in his car, people would pull him over to tell him there was a cat on the roof. Motor Cat had a Need for Speed. She had a Destiny. She had a Calling. You can’t waste all yer Destiny Calling Mojo waitin’ in line at the DMV, am I right? So off they went.
Wisely, her human, granted her wish. He outfitted the tank with a square of carpet for her claws and searched the world over for a helmet. A West German manufacturer finally donated one. AND, teh good man changed his human name to J Catman. Why others don’t follow his example, we’ll never know. Teh man is a credit to his species, that’s fur sure.
Motor Cat rode her bike unto the very last, finally succumbing to diabetes and breast cancer in 2002, after a long, full and free life on the open road.
Which brings me to the remembering part. My home of Takoma Park has memorials to lots of dumb things, like a Rooster, believe it or don’t, which I would have killt so many times if I had been alive, BUT they don’t have a statue to that Spirit of Adventure that was Motor Cat. Motor Cat deserves a statue, especially this year, the 10h anniversary of her death.
There’s a Town Hall meeting next week. i fink i has to go. I has a mission.
*fanks to our friends at spookhouse.net for details on this story!
In today’s Cats o’ History, we remember the esteemed Dr. Snowball, the first Psychicatrist to delve into the scary depths of the Human Mind, such as it is. Here we see her with her first patient, “That Nice Lady,” who Dr. Snowball diagnosed with cat-hexis, ”the attachment, conscious of unconscious, of emotional feelings and significance to an idea, an object, or most commonly, a cat.”
Humans have never been fully cured of this sad affliction. Today, Cat-hexic humans are lucky to have cat blogs and LOL’s and Nyan Cats to help get through the day, like little online shots of feline methadone. But back in teh day, Dr. Snowball had only paws-on therapy and Tuff Loves at her disposal.
That Nice Lady’s affliction was so severe that she not only indulged in delusions that she was a cat, but also that her children were “kittens” as well. After years of watching That Nice Lady attempt to meow and play “like a real cat,” Dr. Snowball took action. She sat Nice Lady down on the couch and let her prattle on and on about how she wished she were a kitteh, how she would sleep all day and drink milks from little bowls, etc. etc.
Nice Lady said a lot of other things too, but the good Dr. fell asleep at some point because it got a little boring and frankly, pathetic. But after that little nap, Dr. Snowball commenced treatment by stretching her long and lovely belly out on Nice Lady’s lap, curling her pink little toes, and blinking her emerald eyes, which, as we all know today, is the most effective way to deliver the truth to Delusional Humans:
“You will never be this beautiful. Please get over it.”
The treatment was so effective that Nice Lady had a stunning break-through, or in medical terms, a cat-harsis. She never whined about not being a kitteh again. Here we see her bravely facing the awful truth with her daughter; a Nice Lady in her own right too, but Not A Cat.
This very first air-to-land communication, sent from the Airship America to a human secretary sitting in a little field office in Atlantic City, is yet another technologiCATical break-through. Or break down, as the case may be, cuz, see, Kiddo was never asked if he wanted to be in this over-sized balloon. No one ever fully ‘splained how he would be the first Airship Cat and float a billion miles in the air, over a billion bathtubs full of salt water. No, the humans really dropped the ball here. The crew coulda guessed that he was gonna run around like a “squirrel in a cage” long before he got on board the rickety Airship with its slightly-bigger-than-a-bicycle-basket gondola. Woulda saved evabuddy lots of troubles. But no.
“Let’s take Kiddo on board! He’ll be good luck!” sez the crew.
“Sure thing. Let’s also bring this new fangled wireless radio so we can tell people on land how much Kiddo loves being tossed to and fro over the chopping waves of the Atlantic with a hurricane on the way!” sez Melvin Vaniman, the First Engineer.
Akshully, Mr. Melvin doesn’t even know ’bouts the hurricane, being a human and all. Humans, as you know, suffer from Obvious Danger Myopia. Also, Incurably Inconsiderate Disorders. Like how Mr. Vaniman is surprised that Kiddo doesn’t appreciate the ship sudddenly shooting from an altitude of 200 feet to 3,600 and then later plunging so low that it scrapes the masts of schooners floating below. No. This is no time for teh hints.
So Kiddo had no choice but to Freak Out. Even then the crew doesn’t get it. In fact, they were so freaked out by Kiddo’s freak-out that they stuffed him into a bag and tried to lower it into a boat. But the water is so choppy that the humans on the boat can’t get ahold of the Bag o’ Kiddo, and our little hero is dunked in the water a few times like a furry burlap donut until finally they give up and hoist the poor hysterical guy back on board the Airship and then toss him into a hammock and cover him with a blanket to calm down. And then someone finally they says, “Gee. Maybe it’s not safe up here.” And under the blanket, Kiddo screams “YA THINK?!”
Kiddo did calm down, but only because the storm passed. Later, the navigator, Murray Simon, the only human on board equipped with the powers of observation, finally notices that Kiddo makes an excellent barometer.
“You must never cross the Atlantic in an airship without a cat…this cat has always indicated trouble well ahead. Two or three times when we thought we were ‘all in’ he gave most decided indications that he knew we would be shortly getting it in the neck.”
Kiddo is, of course, thinking ‘in the neck, with my claws, you morons.’ But he remains polite and does not kill the humans, recognizing their inherent worth as fellow creatures of the Earth who know how to land this dumb balloon. But after 72 hours of flight (a new record in Airborn Pigheaded Stubbornness), the crew concedes that Kiddo was right all along and they drop like a rock into the ocean and wait patiently to be fished out of the Atlantic.
“Thrilling rescue at sea!” the newspaper sez. ”Come to our Hero’s Parade!” The Mayor sez.
But Kiddo sez nothing. He is so done with talking. He is done with trying to reason with these humans. He high-tails it to Gimbles Department store where the store manager has created a home for him in the front window display; a cushy spot in a safe, stationary, ground-hugging gilded cage with lots of non-helium filled satin pillows. And he is not moving.
I’m wondering if my family has some cheetah in it. I am certainly a speedy prancer. Ask anyone. Also, I has a spot. Only one, sure, so maybe only part cheetah, but still.
As the Lady in the video says, the cubs get into trouble and need help learning how to climb up and get back down. Since I do those things on a daily basis, and as I lives just down the streets from the zoo, I think I would make a good tutor.
There is so much trouble that I could teach them to get into. I think they would enjoy climbing my tree fort or getting into the engine block of the Saab that never leaves the drive way. We could do a daily lesson on How to Drive the Dog Next Door Crazy. I could teach them Survival Skills for use in the place that Lady keeps calling The Wilds. Like, you know, how a storage box marked “Important Papers” or a large green plastic turtle filled with sand can become a perfectly fine litter box when you are lost in The Wilds. Things like that. I have so many talents, as you know, it would be a shame not to share them with the Youths of Today. So I will have Mrs. Whatsername revise my resume and hopefully start showing these two how it’s done right.
But, you know…isn’t there something else familiar about those two? Two big kitties, playing…jumping…leaping…bite-bitey-bite-bite…leap, run, run…
Hmmmm. Where is my sister?