Terror Twins

Fun With Felines

Why yes, I did tell the Terror Twins that there were delicious mice and small, flightless birds nesting in the sofa.

Why do you ask?


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This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things, Part III: Oh, Flannel…

Midgardians have a lot of holidays and special days.  Every time I turn around, some politico or commission is designating this or that day National Navel Lint Day or International Gorgonzola Week or some such nonsense.  Just plain silliness, if you ask me.

Perhaps the oddest one of all is Red Nose Day.  Ostensibly, it’s a fundraiser benefiting small, sticky humans.  A few years ago, the mortals in this house purchased a nose, intending to take it with them on their trip to London, since Red Nose Day fell during their time away.  Once there, however, I distracted them until the perfect moment, at which point I reminded them that, in the U.K., Red Nose Day comes only every other year and they were the only ones feeding everyone else’s coulrophobia.

It’s become something of a tradition—the humans find the nose and swear that this is the year, the day approaches, I distract them until Red Nose Day has come and gone once again, and the Nose remains unworn.   Since the human female’s housekeeping “routine” doesn’t specify where the Nose is supposed to reside between failed attempts to actually participate, the Nose moves about from spot to spot.  For the past year, it has been sitting on top of the tall case that holds the humans’ collection of music CDs.


Fandral’s mustache!  What was that?  It sounded like it came from the living room.  Stick close behind me, Sigyn, and let’s go and investigate.

There’s something red on the floor.


Oh.  It’s just one of the kitties’ foam balls.  Whew!  For a minute there, I thought we were being burgled or something.

But hey–what’s with all the holes?  And what’s all the fuzz from?


And why does Flannel Cat look so guilty?

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This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things, Part II: The Problem Is More Widespread Than We First Believed

All of the soft rubber balls have been humanely disposed of, and the humans have made a mental note not to bring any more into the house.

I’ve got news for you, mortals:  It’s not just the stress-foam balls that are falling prey to the ravages of the Terror Twins.

No, indeed!  Inspired by my own savagery, the felines have perpetrated horrors upon the toy population that make the ancient Midgardian practice of decimatio look like a pillow fight.

Blue Mousie is sans most of his tail,


while Green Mousie is hemorrhaging stuffing from his ventral suture.  It’s barbaric.

And it’s not just the neon mousie population that has suffered.  These are just the victims Sigyn and I could find.  Many of them just Disappear.

For behold!  Here are the three sparkle pom-poms and the fifteen crinkle balls given to Taffy and Flannel.  Here are the three grey fabric mice with the colored ears, the grey fur mouse, the white fur mouse, and old black Turdmouse himself.


The package-to-oblivion record for a crinkle ball is under ten seconds.

I am so proud.

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This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things, Part I: The Slaughter of the Innocents

Sometimes the humans come home to find something small and helpless has been…tortured by the felines.  It’s always distressing, and no one wants to be the one who has to clean up the carnage.

I have taught them well.  Both of them are avid hunters, chasing down their prey with unflagging energy, relentless in their pursuit, swift to catch and claw and rend.  Swirly-striped Taffy is deadly, no question, but it’s wide-eyed little Flannel Cat, the sweet-faced grey one, who leaves the most corpses in her wake.

Just look at this poor victim, cut down in its prime just yesterday.  It didn’t stand a chance against her vicious fangs.


It… it was still soggy when the humans found its lifeless remains.  And they keep finding bits of it about.

And it wasn’t an isolated incident, either.  There’s a pattern of wanton destruction here that is frankly disturbing.


Sigyn says (and I agree) that she hopes all the missing bits are accounted for.

Otherwise, the litterbox is going to be very colorful this week.

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Zooward, Ho!, Part V: Among the Slithery, Scaly, and Slimy Things

Grrr.  As if we haven’t had enough blechy weather this spring, it is starting to sprinkle AGAIN!  Sigyn and I have made a dash for the reptile house, which, though devoid of furry creatures, is at least indoors.

This is a beautifully designed facility, I must say. The background murals are quite effective.

I will admit a certain… fondness for snakes.  This handsome fellow is not nearly as good at cryptic coloring as he thinks he is.


But he color coordinates nicely with this poison arrow frog.


Usually poison arrow frogs are tiny, shy, and hard to see.  This supersized batrachian beauty, however, is downright eager to have his photo taken.

Sigyn wants to be friend with all of the animals, and it appears that they would all like to interact with her as well.


Um, dear heart, I know you think that cobra’s being friendly, but that marking on his hood isn’t a smiley face.

This lizard is just hanging around–literally.


That prehensile tail is a handy appendage.  Hmm.  I might have to gift the felines at home with something similar.  It would help them be even BETTER climbers!

These two turtles seem quite amiable.  That’s a pretty small habitat, though.  I think it needs something.


That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.


Sigh.  Hang on, sweetie.  Loki’s coming.

Looks like the alligator is in the display tank today.  Smile, Sigyn, and I’ll take your photo!


On one condition—you are not allowed to go in swimming with him.

If my beloved makes it out of here in one piece, it’ll be a miracle.

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Whatever Gave You That Idea?

It’s my birthday, but I am not happy.  I want everyone to know that I am very, very hurt.

The human female has accused me of teaching the felines to jump up on the stovetop.  Wounded!  I am wounded!

No one has actually seen them up there!  It’s easy to throw accusations around, woman, but where’s your proof?


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I Have a Bad Feeling About This… Part II: Of Stitching and Smoothing

The human female has very carefully and neatly embroidered some of the designs from the fabric.  I helped her scan, enlarge, print, and trace them.


Which is why this fellow is backwards.  Ehehehehe.

Let us examine the back of one of her stitcheries.


Look!  Look at that big messy loop of thread.  Well done, you.

All of the fabric needs to be ironed before it can be cut.


Careful, Sigyn!  The iron is not only hot, it’s wobbly.   

Also, I taught the cats to jump up on the ironing board.

The human female uses this stuff to make the fabric nice and smooth.


Despite what the label says, it’s not magic.  Now, if it turned the fabric purple, or better yet, green when she sprayed it on, that would be magic.  Hmmm…

She was nearly out, so she asked the human male to pick up some while he was running errands.  He obliged.


So, of course, the first thing I did upon receipt was joggle her elbow so she knocked the new can over and smashed the cap.

She’ll be finding blue cap shrapnel for weeks.

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