Say Goodnight Gracie

Greetings all! Welcome back to my little blog. A hearty hello to those of you who have been here before. A somber "sorry" to those of you who were expecting Britney Spears naked.

Previously in this space, I have introduced you to Tiger the Fatty and Anime Jingle Socks. Today I will finally introduce you to Gracie. We call her the ghost. She is extremely skittish and shy. I once saw her literally jump at her own shadow. Visitors to our home don't believe in Gracie. They think she is a myth or some sort of urban legend perpetrated by Big Pinkie.

She is also a runt. Seriously. She looks like a kitten even though she is over ten years old. She has always looked that way and probably always will. She has little stubby legs that carry her silently throughout the house on some secret mission only she knows. I have included a picture below, but I will apologize in advance. The quality is poor, but it is the best of the four known photos of Gracie in existence. She is notoriously hard to photograph. She seems to like Big Pinkie and spends a large portion of her visible time with him, but if he pulls out a camera... poof! She is gone like smoke.

A rare photo of the elusive Gracie cat in the wild.

So there you have it.  That's Gracie in a nut-shell.  Well, not really.  You know what I mean.  Although she probably would fit.  She's just a little thing... I'm rambling aren't I?  Sorry.

Come back tomorrow folks.  If there has ever been a post you wanted to read, tomorrow's is the one!  That's right, it's the first of my celebrity interviews!  I will be interviewing someone you might know.  Someone with a first name of Lady and a last name of Gaga.  (This one's for you Angus!)

Neyland D. Catt

Vampires suck.

Hello gang, Neylo here again. Not feeling very well. I think I'm coming down with something.
Yeah. Im definitely getting sick... of vampires. Vampires suck. (No pun intended.) Can you think of anything else so overdone and overexposed in this day and age? OK. Maybe zombies. And certainly Lady Gaga, but vampires are at the top of the list! Big Pinkie and The Lady watched Twilight today. I thought I was going to have to cough up the mother of all hairballs. Then I realized I was just choking on the absurdity of the situation. First off, where are all of the cats in this ludicrous film? I'll tell you where. They are staying safely out of it all. No respectable feline would be caught anywhere near that train wreck.

***Neyland Factoid*** Cats are excellent movie critics. In fact, you may be surprised to learn that most respected critics that you assume are human are in fact cats. Leonard Malten? Half cat on his mother's side. Gene Shallot? Actually a cat in an elaborate human prosthetic to hide the truth. (Didn't hide it very well in my opinion.)

Today's vampires are a far cry from where they once were or should be. Vampires used to monsters. They were to be feared. Nowadays they are meant to be lusted after in a shallow and vapid manner. "You're so beautiful..." HACK! COUGH! I just can't swallow it. Sure, he's an undead beast with an insatiable thirst for blood, but he's so darn cute! Seriously?! If I didn't know better I would think that vampires were real and Hollywood is trying to romanticize them to allow the vampire minority to fit in to society better. Was Dracula Casanova's cousin? What am I missing here? The CW's Vampire Diaries are even worse. I mean, it's basically the same but you have to watch it play out every week instead of just ripping off the bandaid with a feature film. At least True Blood has some frightening moments it. Still the same weak, superficial romance junk though. All I am saying is that there is nothing to be admired about a species that has an unstoppable drive to feed symbiotically off of another species. OK, I'm done now. Time to hold Big Pinkie down for a nap and absorb all of his body heat.

So long for now,

Neyland D. Cat

Cats with websites

Hello kids, Inmate # CTKTVYX6CMCJ here. AKA Neyland D. Cat. That's right, today I consider myself the inmate of a prison camp. For those of you who may be new to my little blog, I am a cat. I am forced to live out my days here in internment with 3 other cats and two humans who serve as our wardens. I refer to the humans as Big Pinkie (the moronic male) and Lady Pinkie or simply The Lady. My housemates are Tiger (the fatty), Gracie (the cowardly runt), and Anime Jingle Socks (the absurdly named annoyance). Those of you who have been reading for a bit now my wonder why I am referring to the pinkies as wardens and not my personal servants at the cat ranch. True, that is how I described things until recently. However, Big Pinkie has begun a crackdown on our activities as of late and I have been forced to re-evaluate the situation. We are prisoners. I can only assume we are political prisoners. Big Pinkie himself is silent on the matter of WHY we are incarcerated.

Enough of that talk for now. It makes me angry. Then sleepy. Then hungry. Then back to sleepy. Anyway, some of the more clever readers out there (this is sarcasm for those of you who can't recognize it) have begun to ask really important questions. Like this one: "You are a cat. How do you type on the keyboard?"

Seriously. Dude. I use my longest claw from each paw and then hunt-and-peck. Sure, my word per minute count is not the greatest in the world, but it gets the job done. How do you type? I can only imagine you are illiterate and require outside assistance. I drew this conclusion from the vast stupidity of your inane question. Oh, and thanks for reading!

Look, people, lots of cats have gotten involved in the online world. Hell, we practically invented it. That's a story for another time, tough. Why, just look around and you'll find blogs and websites galore by all types of felines, kitties, cats, kittens, and pussies (like Perez Hilton). We are very much an online presence. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Ta for now,

Neyland D. Cat

P.S. I will post again this evening (something that isn't a Technorati verification post ;)

Purring Explained

Hello again friends. Neyland D. Cat here. Today I am going to attempt to explain one of the universe's most unfathomable mysteries. A cat's purr. Just what on earth is it? What does it mean? What freakish organ in the feline body produces it? Cast your worries and doubts aside, gentle souls. Neyland is here with truths for you all. Let's begin...

First of all, I want to dispel some myths that you human readers out there might have about "the purr". Cats purr when they are happy, right? Nonsense! Gobbledygook! Ridiculous jibberjab!! Do not for even a moment think that a cat's happiness can be understood by even your sharpest human scientists! You still haven't figured out flying cars or how to control the weather after all. How good are your scientists really? A cat's wants and needs, hopes and dreams, plots and schemes - they are all quite beyond you nearly furless uprights. Happy? Happy!?! Correction. When a cat purrs it simply means that all is going according to plan. You say, "Oh! Mr. Fluffy is purring because he is happy that I have scratched his little head." Oh, it's not that simple. Mr. Fluffy is purring because he is pleased with himself that all is going according to his will. That he has manipulated you into doing his bidding. This is the truth. Some cats may be very angry at me for revealing this, but I can't hide it any longer.

So, where does the purr come from? Your scientists have been unable to answer this question despite centuries of fervent research. This is only partly due to the ineptitude of your scientific community, who also haven't figured out time travel by the way. The fact is, the purr is generated by an organ unique to cat-kind. It is called the Furungula. Don't bother googling it. You won't find it. Wikipedia also is no help. Only a cat can confirm this. The Furungula generates the oscillating sound that you interpret as the cat being happy, but actually is intended to place you humans under our hypnotic control. It makes it easier to manipulate you and steal large amounts of your body heat, which the Furungula then converts into energy for the cat. It's true. Seriously. I can safely tell you this information because there is nothing you can do to resist the power of the purr anyway. The Furungula also performs other functions that you may not know about. It can spray a highly corrosive jet of acid up to a range of twenty feet. It also gives us the ability to fly. What? You don't believe me? Just because you've never seen it with your own eyes, doesn't mean it isn't true. We are just very careful not to use these powers in front of humans. Think about just how many missing persons cases go unsolved every year. Yeah. REALLY think about that for a minute. Especially the next time you want to throw the cat out in the cold. This means you Big Pinkie.

Alas, I am out of time for today. Probably for the best, I don't need to reveal all of our secrets after all. Until tomorrow then, when I shall give you all a more thorough introduction to Tiger the Fatty and let you know what I have planned for the next few weeks...

Neyland D. Cat


P.S. ... Neyland's thought for the day... Why do dogs get bacon strips and Milkbones, while the closest thing to a cat treat is a drug? (Catnip, for those of you who aren't owned by a cat)

A Christmas Poem....by Neyland D. Cat

Gather round my little friends, whether you be furry or furless, and attend with eager ears as I lift your holiday spirits with a poetic verse.


That Night Afore Christmas

'Twas the night afore Christmas and all through my house,
I was stealthily stalking a succulent mouse.
Big Pinkie and the Lady were all tucked in their bed,
fat Tiger the cat draped o'er Big Pinkie's head.
Gracie and Anime watched me with glee,
as I cornered yon mouse 'neath the bright Christmas Tree.
The mouse gave a cry to alight upon a limb,
I grinned and sure-footedly climbed up after him.
Gracie exclaimed "Neyland look out!"
After seeing my skills, how could she doubt?

The mouse lit upon on a shiny red ball,
I stared in horror as I watched it's slow fall.
The mouse ran away as the ball started to shatter,
then the rest of the tree fell with a thunderous clatter.
I turned to find Anime and Gracie had fled,
Big Pinkie from the hall staring, his face was quite red.
I ran through the house pursued by the angry human male,
I fled away fleetly, tinsel waving from my tail.
I tried to explain that I was after a rat,
but try as I may he wouldn't buy that.
He said "You tore down the tree and thought it was fun!"
"That's not true!" I exclaimed, "The rat had a gun!"
And so here we are, my tale now is told,
I spent the remainder of Christmas... outside in the cold.



Merry Christmas to all,
and to all a good nap!

Neyland D. Cat

Cats Hate The Biggest Loser

Yes my friends, you read the title correctly. However, let me clarify that statement somewhat. Cats hate reality television. ALL reality television. Why? Fear not you nearly furless uprights, I shall explain.

First, and most importantly, there are no cats IN reality television. This clearly contradicts the very definition of REALITY television. We are ever-present in reality. We are legion. To paraphrase a horrible human figure of speech, "you can't swing a dead cat without hitting... well... a cat." This lack of felinity in network programming borders on species-ism. Yeah. You heard me. A vast right AND left wing conspiracy. Probably by things with wings.

Secondly, reality television shows provoke entirely too much strong emotion from you uprights. Particularly the one where there is a popularity contest and someone is "voted off". Big Pinkie and Lady Pinkie both get downright belligerent and loud during these debacles. They rant and rave at the television as though it's the magic box's fault that people backstab each other and generally behave stupidly. Blame not the box you flesh flappers! It's an innate deficiency in your own species. Plus its rude behavior when a poor cat is trying to sleep peacefully in your lap.

Finally, it is simply a poor excuse for a game show. At lest that's what I think of the one's that involve a "winner". Since when did it become acceptable for a game show to be called something else just because America gets a vote? Too much recap and flashback. Cats hate recap!!! Just get on with it already!!! Sorry. This is what I mean. Cats hate reality television.

Anyway, on to the Biggest Loser, or as we cats call it... "Big Fat Crybaby!" The latest season (and all before and all to come) went basically like this: A whole gaggle of big, fat crybabies show up to a fat farm. No cats are present. Possibly because the big fat crybabies have eaten them all. They are yelled at and they cry. They tell their personal stories... and cry. They lose weight... and cry. Someone does something dirty and underhanded... and everyone cries. They get voted off one by one until one scrawny upright wins money. And cries. Why don't cats like this? I'll tell you. We spend our lives in constant fear of the kibble dish being emptied, never to be filled again. Of chasing mice, only to come up a step too slow. In short, we fear not finding enough food to survive in the wilds of the forest or the living room. And then these crybabies COMPETE to see who can lose an entire winter's reserve of stored fat. Only humans.

Danny won season eight and lost something like eight thousand pounds to beat Rudy. Do you have any idea how many cats that would have fed?? Not to mention the simple fact that there is nothing in the world like a big soft belly to perch on for an afternoon of napping. And they threw it away!!! For sport!!! I'm getting upset just writing about it. I need sleep. Anyway, I have resolved to not watch the next season at all. For season nine, I will simply go to food dish and gorge myself everytime the show comes on, and then pray to God that someone fills it back up.


Adieu,

Neyland D. Cat

What does Global Warming have to do with cats?

So here I am, basking in the last fading shaft of sunlight, thinking about Global Warming. This subject came up earlier in the day when Big Pinkie starting ranting on and on about it. Blah, blah, blah, climate change, blah. I nodded off once I realized he wasn't addressing me personally, but I couldn't help thinking about it again later. I decided that it would be invaluable for you all to have a cat's perspective on the matter. Who better than myself, with the application of such a nimble mind and inimitable wit to give you.... sorry. Lost my whole train of thought there. A bird flew past the window. A plump bird that was just a bit slower than the others... I'm digressing again.

Back to the subject at hand. Global Warming. As a cat, I personally see no issue with the prospect. Do you have any idea how difficult it is for a cat to get warm even in the best of conditions? We spend most of our time trying to pin down a human so we can leech away all of their body heat. That's not even considering what it's like for those who spend their days outdoors like animals! Poor souls.

I realize though, that you nearly-furless uprights might have a different view of the problem. After all, you really don't have anything left to shed when the temp starts rising and nobody really wants to see your flesh flapping around. The solution, I think, is obvious. Turn the temperature back down. Why is it so hard for you to figure that out? Just like last night, when the wind was blowing like a tornado and the rain was hammering down and I wanted to go outside. Big Pinkie comes and opens the door, then gets furious when I didn't go out. "He keeps scratching at the door but won't go out when I open the door!" he screamed. Well, obviously, I wanted to go out, but not in those conditions. Why didn't he just turn off the rain? Don't act like you humans can't do it. I see it all the time. That little rain booth in the crapper for instance.

Anyway, I'm sure I had a point around here somewhere. Call me if you find it because it seems to have escaped me. Ah. Yes. So, from a cat's perspective we want more warming. So, I have concocted a scheme to build a spaceship. I will call it Cat Star One. I will fly this wondrous rocket into the stratosphere (dare I say Catosphere?) and will claw a gigantic hole in your precious oh-zone layer. Upon reading this plan over my shoulder, Big Pinkie proceeded to laugh uncontrollably. That's right Big Pinkie, just keep laughing. Keep laughing.



Till the morrow good friends when I will tell you all about the Biggest Loser,

Neyland D. Cat

SY FY's Alice, from a cat's perspective

Greetings all,

I have returned again to post more insight from the mind of a feline. I thought that I might change things up a bit today and give you a cat's-eye critique of the Sy Fy Channel's "Alice". This is partly because I feel it would be enlightening to all of you pinkies out there, but also I basically slept all day long and have nothing else to talk about.

First off, we'll talk about the cast. The pinkie playing Alice seemed to have different colored fur than I recall from the book, but she did appear to have a soft lap so I give a few points there. Most of the cast seemed to speak with "British" accents. As a cat, I heartily approve. If pinkies were able to understand us in our native tongue, you would find that all cats have a "British" accent. That is one of the multitude of reasons that we are sophisticated.

As for the other members of the cast, well...honestly...they all looked alike to me. So, on to the sets and special effects. The sets were marvelous. Most of the story is set in a skyscraper city connected by narrow ledges. Perfect for climbing and exploring or sneaking away for a nap when no one is looking. The effects were so-so. They had a CGI Tim Curry that really wasn't all that believable as we all know Tim Curry died years ago. The Jabberwock was pretty good though.

So finally, let's talk plot. There is a chick pinkie named Alice. She goes somewhere because of another male pinkie. I suppose she must have been in heat, but it never really seems to say in the story. She has a shiny toy that other pinkies want and they do lots of talking and sometimes chasing. Along the way she runs into the guy who used to be Max Headroom and Chief O'Brien from Star Trek. Everyone is very mean to her until the Cheshire Cat swoops in to save the day. That's pretty much what I got from it anyway. Honestly, I was drifting in and out except for the bits with the cat or whenever there was a rodent onscreen.

So all in all, I give it two paws up for good use of rodents, great scenery, and the fact that there were several laps that I wouldn't mind curling up in for a nap. My "brother" Tiger gives it two paws up and a catnip treat as well, but Tiger is a fatty. Besides, I'm pretty sure he slept through the whole thing and misunderstood what the question was.

So. There you have it. My first review. I expect critical acclaim for my work any day now.

Buenos Noches Mi Amigos,

Neyland D. Cat