On the Retardation of Felines

So, late last year a little cat named Spook entered the lives of the household. He was a tiny little 4 month old kitten curious about everything, and who seems to have a bizarre interest in watching me play computer games. The more shit going on on screen at one time, the more enthralled he is…unfortunately, that typically means he leaves his position to the side of the monitor and begins to encroach in to my view…this tends to make me die…A LOT. Seeing what utter bastards cats are, though, I suspect this may be on purpose. Anyway, here’s a picture of the little bastard.

How can such a giant head contain such a tiny brain?

And, a little evidence of his typical felinious chicanery…

There's nothing blowing up here! Come ON!

Now, as he’s grown (you cannot convince him he’s bigger, of course. He still tries to sit on my shoulder when not obstructing the view of my imminent demise. Only, he doesn’t fit, so he ends up draped around the back of my neck like some still living shawl, and I end up like some Call of Duty loving hunchback, head craned forward like a very unhappy giraffe.), his desire to explore has grown with him. And being a nefarious beast, he finds ways in to EVERYTHING.

Christmas morning…I awaken to the sound of the cat meowing. Thinking he’s at the door, I get out of bed and open it…no cat. I now stand there for a good ten seconds in all my ‘Just woke up’ idiot glory, trying to establish how the cat (who I can still hear) has turned himself invisible. Have felines advanced their technology to the point that they’ve passed the human race? No longer willing to simply act like we’re they’re slaves, have they improved their weapons tech to the point that they will actually become our overlords?

No. He’s just gotten himself in to the goddamn ceiling. And now he’s announcing his ascension of the house’s version of Everest to the world…well, basically just me. Thanks. I’m so thrilled to be a part of this moment of personal glory. So, I grumble and wander over to the unfinished side of the basement, and after ten minutes of a blend of coaxing, swearing, threatening and pleading, finally manage to convince the damn cat to come to the end of the uncapped section he’s used to access the ceiling, and pull him out.

Seeing as he is rather obviously about to hop right back up, I watch just long enough to see his route up…to the dryer, up on to a few ledges, and then in to the ceiling itself with all of it’s dusty glories. So, I took a good ten minutes or so constructing a nice little ‘cat dam’ if you will out of small boxes and rags, packed tightly enough to prevent him from knocking them aside with a laugh and ascending once more to his higher plane.

If the Army Corps of Engineers had followed my lead back in the day, New Orleans would have remained dry

Now, this HAS prevented him from getting in…it has NOT prevented him from sitting on the ledge and screaming incessantly at the wall. I haven’t decided yet if it’s some attempt at a Moses-like parting of the cardboard barrier or if he just thinks I’ll ‘forget’ building it for a reason and say “Hey, why ARE these boxes there? Geez…I’d better put those somewhere else. Thanks, Spook!” All I know is that he doesn’t look particularly happy…

LET MY PEOPLE GO!

Now, it had been a few weeks nice this all transpired, so I figured maybe he’d move on…well, he did. He’s not allowed on the kitchen counters, but he of course continues to jump upon them to protest the fact that the pitiful human beings are trying to restrict the movements of his clearly superior being. So, as usual when it happened the last time I went for the spray bottle and let him have it. As he tried to jump down, the whole dish strainer started to go with him…because his head was stuck in it.

Picture a cat's head jammed through that opening right where the cup handle is, face a mask of "How dare this plastic hold me!"

So, I freed him from his prison, and he ran downstairs. I assumed he was going to take some sort of angry dump (though it must be noted he typically saves his craps for when someone is down there with him. Thanks for sharing, you cruel little bastard). After about fifteen minutes, I heard him meowing. Assuming he was merely sitting before the box damn again, trying to serenade it in to falling before him, I ignored it. Then it continued to grow more and more frenzied. Now I headed down, figuring he had somehow managed to shatter my levee and was now loose in the ceiling again. Nope…damn intact, no cat. The noise was coming from further back, in the deepest recesses of the storage area of the basement, back where the outdoor Christmas decorations reside. So, I wandered back…I could hear him, but couldn’t see him…again, I began to wonder when he had constructed a cloaking device…soon, however, the mystery of his location was solved…

The world's perfect snare

At the base of this, a typical light-up Christmas candle, there is an opening. I’ve actually never figured out WHY this opening exists previous to this, since you replace the bulb by popping off the top…it’s just there. There is a reason. The Christmas candle is a nefariously disguised animal trap. See, when a creature stupid enough to venture inside tries to get out, they have to back out…and there’s a large flap around the base that makes that a little tricky to maneuver through. Spook is such an animal.

After a good minute of simply staring as the candle rolled and he tried to get out, wondering aloud if cats can in fact be ‘fucking retarded’, I tried to get him out. First, I tried to pop his back legs out…he was trying to push them and his whole ass end out at once, and there simply wasn’t room. He didn’t seem to understand, though, and just kept popping them back IN again before once more tryi9ng to shove his mass through the opening. So, no joy. I popped off the top to see if there was any way he could get through, but the opening at that end was even smaller. Of course, this didn’t prevent him from TRYING to ram his gigantic melon through, sort of stretching his face out like a hairier version of Joan Rivers. I shoved him back in before he could manage to be a head jutting from the top of a plastic candle (and imagined having to carry THAT in to the vet’s office), then went back to the drawing board. Well, actually I didn’t draw so much as just sh0ut the words “You fucking idiot!” over and over again.

Clearly, he would have to be cut free…however, my first thought (POWER TOOLS!) was nipped in the bud by the fact he would start shoving himself back any time there was the slightest activity at the base of the candle. While I’m sure he would have been rather easy to pull out once his legs were cut off, that would seem to be a rather drastic ‘solution’ (though, as I think about it now, it really would have helped prevent further such mishaps from occurring). No, this would require something a little less likely to gut him…

The Mighty Excalibur was unavailable...behold his stand in, Dullblade!

Yes, it’s a bagel knife. A rather dull bagel knife. However, being rather dull, it wouldn’t matter if the idiot rubbed against it. And I figured that with the serrated edge it would probably still work, it would just be a much more laborious process. So, let the cutting commence!

Actually, it turns out that once you start an incision in to the plastic, it starts to cut more easily the further you go. So, I cut some ‘flaps’ in to the base, then simply cut one of them completely out, giving the cat enough room to emerge in to the light…

Autopsy revealed the candle had been slashed repeatedly and cut open. Police currently have no suspects.

The cat was chastened. The dog, on the other hand, seemed to be halfway between finding it utterly hilarious and wanting to do a facepalm…

Occasionally eats feces, yet still able to look down on the cat

So, yes…the cat is retarded. Also, if you have a problem with animals in your basement or crawlspace…forget exterminators and traps. Just lay out a few Christmas candles with some bait inside. The next day, you’ll have your vermin…and if they’re ugly, you can even use the power tools.