A Day In The Life Of A Cat

And now it is time for the cat to have her say...

7:19 AM. Waking up at home. Slept exceedingly well. Dreamed of roaming through vast fields of catnip.

7:22 AM. Staring out the front windows. Lots of snow falling. Well, this being a weekend, that means my staff is home anyway, and surely these conditions will prevent her from going off somewhere else, so she can stay home and spoil me rotten.

7:27 AM. Watching birds at the feeders busily eating. Yes, well, if this window was open, I’d be out there chasing you flying lunches. Of course, if this window was open, it would be bloody cold in here right now, and that’s not acceptable.

7:31 AM. The staff comes downstairs. Well, hello there, staff. If you ask me, and you are asking me, now would be a good time to start seeing to my breakfast.

7:33 AM. I have been provided with breakfast by the human. The milk in one bowl and the chicken in another are entirely acceptable and to my exacting standards. For whatever reason, the human persists in trying to get me to eat field rations. I shall ignore those.

7:36 AM. Finished with breakfast. Delivering a head bonk to the leg of the staff as thanks for breakfast.

7:48 AM. Staring out the window. The snow continues to fall. Well, this will probably mean that annoying mutt from down the road will stick close to home today. So much the better. The last thing I need to see on my weekend day with the staff is to have that hound show up here wagging his tail.

7:55 AM. The staff has taken to reading on the couch. Well, if that’s not an invitation to invade her lap, I don’t know what is. Very well, I shall take advantage of it.

7:56 AM. I have occupied the staff’s lap and have taken to head bonking the back of her book as a signal that I want attention.

7:57 AM. The staff has set aside her book and is giving me lots of attention. I am purring in response.

9:14 AM. Waking up on the staff’s lap. Hmmm, it’s curious how a few strokes from your human can put you right out to sleep.

9:19 AM. Wandering into the kitchen. As I’m feeling a bit peckish, I'll have some of those field rations.

10:37 AM. The staff is having her morning coffee. She has been thoughtful enough to put milk onto a saucer for me. Very good, staff, very good indeed.

12:03 PM. Have woken up from another nap just in time to inquire with the staff about a lunchtime treat.

12:11 PM. The staff is having turkey on her bread, and at my insistence has given me a couple of slices of meat. Staff? Have I mentioned that your training process has come along rather smoothly?

12:45 PM. Sitting on the windowsill, gazing out at those flying lunches having a bite to eat at the feeders. I wonder if they realize they’re being watched.

12:54 PM. Distant barking through the snow. That foul hound sounds like he’s annoyed. 

12:55 PM. And yet more of that distant barking. Well, whatever has him ticked off has my compliments.

1:04 PM. Whatever the reason for the barking, it appears to now have been silenced. Whatever purpose dogs serve in this world is a mystery beyond my understanding. 

3:23 PM. Waking up from a nap. Feeling like I’m being watched.

3:24 PM. Have spotted an intruder. There’s a squirrel sitting out on the windowsill staring in. I take to the back of the couch to have a closer inspection. He’s startled at first, but realizes there’s glass between us. Which is the only reason he’s still alive and breathing right now.

3:25 PM. I stare intently at the squirrel. The squirrel stares back. Yes, yes, I’m sure you think you can get away with anything. I imagine you might have been annoying that awful canine from down the road earlier... that does seem like the sort of thing a squirrel would just love to do. But understand this: I am a cat. Which makes me a supreme life form on this planet.

3:32 PM. The squirrel has had enough of staring at me and has made a tactical retreat off the windowsill and to the bird feeder, where he is currently engaged in stuffing his squirrel mouth. By the way? I totally won the staring contest.

6:29 PM. Dinner with the staff. Bacon pancakes are at hand, and that suits me just fine.

8:38 PM. Lying on my back, staring at the ceiling, wondering what came first: the belly rub, or the feline instinct to attack hands giving the belly rub.

11:41 PM. The staff is off to bed. Very well, staff, I shall remain down here, but do keep the door open. I like running around at four in the morning through the house, and closed doors hamper my efforts to set speed records, you know.

Not The Ideal Christmas Gift

"Please come back to Stratford. We really are a pleasant town to visit, to see the Festival. Just because a mop headed cretin comes from here doesn't mean you have to hold it against us!"

-Statement from the Chamber of Commerce, Stratford, Ontario.

We hear you, Stratford. Don't worry. In a couple of years, you'll be back to being known for your outstanding, world class Shakespearean festival, rather than as the hometown of a short kid who's making fourteen year old girls go out of their minds. Just wait. His career should implode in on itself within the year. Eighteen months at the outset. When that happens, and his business managers have stolen every cent they can get out of him (not a joke, mark my words, it'll happen) he'll be in full washed up mode. You can hold your heads high when that happens.

In his quest to make as much cash as possible before his fan base grows up and leaves him behind, Justin Bieber has been heavily into the marketing. There's, let's see... albums, a concert film, a "memoir" (photo heavy on that one), and now... the doll.

Don't believe me?

I told you. Justin Bieber dolls. Yes, the mop headed cretin is releasing dolls of himself. Bit of an odd combination, that one. Does the mop headed cretin even know how to play a guitar?

The marketing chimps who thought this one up misfired. His fan base are made up exclusively of thirteen to sixteen year old girls who speak like OMG!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!! DID YOU SEE???? all the time. They've set aside their days of dolls. No more Barbie and Ken for his fans. And as much as they're insanely adoring of the short twit, would they really want to pick up that old habit? I would say no.

There might, however, be another use for these dolls, and I submit it to you now.

Those of us who are sane and have a reasonably decent taste in music (ie something other than bubbleheaded teen acts put together by a studio executive) generally agree, regardless of preferred genres, that Bieber music constitutes cruel and unusual punishment, and even torture. Come on, admit it, even if you've got a thirteen year old daughter. It is torture!

I submit to you that we can make use of these dolls for our own revenge. Here's just a few such ideas.

1. Consult with a witch doctor about turning the Justin doll into a voodoo doll. Then start with the needles, the tossing off cliffs, the dipping into the fireplace, and whatever other method you choose.

2. Use it as a tug toy between you and your dog Killer.

3. Tow it behind your car, just to see how long it takes before it's unrecognizable.

4. Gather together a band of world class thieves (preferably a total of eleven), break into the Louvre, steal the Mona Lisa, and splice the doll into the video footage to make it appear that Justin Bieber himself stole the painting.

5. Do the same as above, but leave the doll behind, thus suggesting to the police that the theft was pulled off by Bieberites.

6. Give it to someone you hate as a heartfelt Christmas gift, and smile as they grind their teeth in frustration.

7. Spray catnip on it, and leave it for your cat.

8. Four words: Justin Bieber Doll Catapult.

9. Send Russell Brand pictures of the Doll photoshopped in with Katy Perry. Wait to see what happens when the living cat hairball goes ballistic on the real thing.

10. Entomb it in a time capsule (don't worry, no one ever opens those things anyway, and this way you'll be rid of the thing) with a note of explanation: yes, once upon a time, mercifully briefly, this mop headed cretin was popular. Try not to hold it against us, future people and or ruthless machine overlords.

F Is For Funeral

Beloved Muppet Mourned, Comedian Makes Ass Of Self
The funeral of muppet Elmo took place at Sesame Street today. The street was closed to traffic, and a large stage set up at one end. Many came to mourn, many came to remember the all too short life of Elmo, who was tragically murdered last week. Grover, the beloved muppet who was supplanted by Elmo in the affections of many, is in jail awaiting a bail hearing after being charged with the murder.

Elmo was brought in by pall bearers Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch, who carried the casket between them. The mourners included the entire contingent from the Muppet Show and Sesame Street production crews. Longtime couple Bert and Ernie cried in each others' arms. Count von Count did all he could to avoid religious symbols. Cookie Monster was eyeing the dessert tables set for the reception afterwards. Kermit the Frog gave the first eulogy.

"We should remember Elmo for all the fun he created," Kermit remarked sadly. "Not the way he died. Elmo brought a lot of life into the lives of children, and into our own. Oh, sure, he really tended to hog the attention, and I'm sure there were people who resented that. Resented that with all the seething, bitter resentment they could feel. Maybe that's why Grover did what he did. Oh, I shouldn't say things like that. He's still innocent before proven guilty, after all."

Bob Johnson was next. "You know, this hasn't happened since Mr. Hooper died. We haven't had a funeral here at Sesame Street in so many years. Elmo will be missed. And yet with his image preserved and his toys still selling like hotcakes, we'll be raking in the dough for years to come! Drinks are on me afterwards! Oh, wait, did I say that out loud?"

Two unlikely attendees turned up next. Singer Katy Perry, who recently did a duet with Elmo for the show, was accompanied by her significant other, comedian Russell Brand. Perry wore a black outfit, accentuating her cleavage, which, incidentally, was the reason her clip with Elmo would not be shown on the show. Brand was dressed as sloppily as ever, staggering drunk, apparently smoking something that smelled like weed. Perry wept over the coffin, while Brand knocked Big Bird out of the way on stage and took to the podium.

"Look, you bleedin' tossers! That no account mother****er Elmo had it coming!" Brand declared, slurring his words. "I found him in bed with my Katy! She was naked and on top of him and singing I ****ed a Muppet! So of course he got what was coming to him! I'm only sad I didn't get to off the wanker myself! I'd like to make a toast to that prince of a git, Grover, for doing what's right and killing the little bastard!"

Big Bird tackled Brand at this point. Officer Ted came up on stage, dragging Brand off stage. In the eyes of this reporter, it was as if a giant cats' furball was being taken away.

The funeral came to an end, with many tears shed. People made their way over to the reception area, only to discover many of the cookies eaten, the cake broken into, and underneath the table, Cookie Monster groaning after pigging out on cookies and cake.

"Me not feel so good!" Cookie Monster was heard to groan. 

And at the lone coffin, Katy Perry continued to weep. "Elmo! Elmo! You're the love of my life! You can't be dead!"

At the county jail, Grover was asked for his comment. "I am not guilty, sir! I am being framed, sir! Please, sir! You must tell the world my story!"

Grover has few supporters. Outside the building, a couple hold their own vigil. When asked, the woman identified herself only as Karla. She shook her head when asked if she believes Grover is guilty. "Absolutely not. Grover wouldn't hurt anyone. Or hire anyone to do this. He was with us that night, having a threesome...."

And so this reporter shook his head, wondering how man-woman-muppet sex works. An icon is dead. A faded icon is charged. And a British wanker is spending the night in a cell, sleeping off yet another drinking spree.