Monday, March 17, 2008

MISSION: CATASTROPHE

"...your mission, Agent Feline, should you choose to accept it, is to traverse the hallway and dining room, ending up deep in enemy-cat territory, where you will penetrate their private litter box and leave a steaming pile of concentrated obnoxiousness. That'll show those dirty rotten other cats not to bogart the best sunny spots and the place right by the heater! This tape will self-destruct in five seconds...."

They're all doing it. It seems this is some kind of tactic. I'm imagining how it might work if humans thought that way: The year is 1942. Deep in Germany, a door slams open and a rumpled, pudgy, sweaty Allied paratrooper with a three-day growth of beard saunters out of Reichsmarshall Goering's private latrine, clenching a smoldering, cheap cigar in his teeth while he tucks in his shirttails: "Y'might not wanna go in there fer a' coupl'a days, Herman...." Yeah.

6 comments:

Lorimor said...

Our Maine Coon is much more direct. Sniff, hiss, WHACK, run away.

Roberta X said...

Oh, they're doing that, too! Mucho hiss'n'growl.

phlegmfatale said...

fece mail?

joe said...

better the box than your shoes!

BobG said...

Territorial marking.

HTRN said...

I don't know why, but I find this terribly amusing.