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#1
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[REPOST] Defeated
And if I don't get the oppurtunity to post another tomorrow, here's another
one of my favourites, orignally posted on July 10, 2001. Most days I'm a good slave and stay convinced of Shmogg's obvious status as a member of The Superior Species. And although he works extremely had at keeping the impenetrable veneer of supremacy occasionally I have the unique pleasure at seeing a small crack in his armor. Its on those days I laugh myself silly and am then punished by He That Must Be Obeyed, and once again, I turn a blind eye to Shmogg's little not-quite-as-preeminent-as-he-likes-to-think foibles. Shmogg is not a big drinker. It is rare for me to see him drink at all. Occasionally he'll beg for the vanity tap to be turned on while I'm having a shower, but mostly, I figure that he gets all the moisture he needs from the great dollops of wet cat food I feed him morning and night. The fact that he has no difficulty filling a litter box has always suggested to me that he is not as dehydrated as a human would get in similar circumstances. After all, he never breaks into a sweat and its not like he ever does any sort of heavy physical exertion (gobbling kibble at faster than light speed not withstanding). Although obtained ostensibly for Shmogg's benefit, the "self filling" water bowl (basically a bowl with an upside plastic 2-litre soda bottle filled with water upended in it) has been Fluffy's domain ever since she moved in. For the sake of the carpet, we moved the watering station into the kitchen. I don't know why, but she seems to get more water on the floor than she does in her mouth, and we always seem to look at her at the precise moment that she has the most amount of water dripping off her muzzle. It's also a peculiar skill of Fluffy's to contaminate the water with the most bizarre objects. I am no longer surprised at the monotonous regularity of suicidal flies in the water bowl, but the socks, pencils, keys, bits of plastic and other bits of general carpet decoration keep turning up in the bowl. Its almost like they appear after I re-fill the thing and *before* it manages to get to the kitchen floor. She also manages to drop the most rancid of what I assume is ex-food into the water and I dread to think where she is dredging it up from - on that count I'd prefer to stay entirely ignorant. The most amazing thing, though, is that despite the fact the water at the end of a day can look much like a rank billabong, Fluff still drinks the water with as much vim and vigour (and splashing) as ever. Shmogg, naturally, won't have anything to do with it. Except of course when he thinks no one is looking. After all, if we ever found out that he was quite capable of using the regular water bowl, why would we turn on the vanity tap each time he yowled at us to do so? The water this particular morning had been changed after putting Fluffy out into the backyard to do Secret Doggy Business (mostly, chasing her tail and teasing the dog behind the back fence, the little flirt). The water in the bowl was crisp, clear and fresh, and not one molecule of doggy-drool tainted it. As I was making my morning coffee, Shmogg sauntered into the kitchen to complain about his breakfast. He complains about his breakfast every day, so I've gotten to ignore his disgust and outrage (at the quantity, not the quality) and work around him as he trolls the kitchen floor for possible left overs. Shmogg also tends to ignore me ignoring him and goes through the routine regardless. Despite the fact it hasn't scored him any extra breakfast *ever* it seems to have become a routine of his and we go through it every day, generally in that automatic pilot way of going through the motions without consciously realising what we are doing. However, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Shmogg was doing something a little different. He'd spotted the water bowl and was becoming increasing interested. Now I knew for certain that he wasn't interested in the bowl of water because he was thirsty. He pathetic mewling was the "I am but a poor half starved kitty, take pity and feed me" sort, made all the more effective by being able to reverberate the tones through the great standing waves set up in his ever expanding udder. These are very specific, insistent and somewhat menacing meows that mean only one thing: I want *food*. Meows for other things sound different. So if it wasn't the water itself, what was going on? Shmogg stared deeply into the small pond of crystal clear water, entranced. I called him a few times "Puss, Puss" and he didn't react at all. I used the secret kitty call of "Poodj" which, despite its bizarre sound, has a success rate of an incredible 30% (dam good if you ask me). The attraction of the "Poodj" is only surpassed by one sound in Shmogg's mind - the sound of a can opening. Some may say I karmically attract ******* Cat Tricks, because I play Rotten Human jokes on poor unsuspecting, totally innocent, harmless, sweet little creatures (yeah right). But some days, temptation trounces fate. While Shmogg was staring closer and closer into the water bowl, I opened the cupboard door and opened a can of Chicken & Tuna - his favourite. Miraculously, and I don't use that word lightly, Shmogg didn't move. He was entranced by his own reflection, oblivious to all else besides his own stunning visage looking back lovingly at him. I stared in slack jawed disbelief. Shmogg, *my* Shmogg, ignoring food? Oh my little Narcissus, how long will it be before your Nemesis meets you? I didn't have to wait for long. Slowly, inexorably, Shmogg moved closer and closer to the water, closer and closer to that gorgeous other cat, that beautiful, perfect Adonis of felinity, and all the while I held my breath, wondering what would happen when the inevitable happened. So what do cats do when they meet other friendly cats? Shmogg sniffed gently, carefully, carried out the tradition kitty greeting, and lovingly sniffed the nose of breathtaking magnificence reflected back at him. Instead of continuing with the intricate ballet of feline greeting formalities, the rotten other cat just squirted the dreaded *water* up his nostrils. I tried not to snicker as he backed off and snorted loudly, expelling the disgusting stuff quickly out of his sinuses - he didn't even bother to look dignified, so horrified he was. Well, he would not put up with that, he would teach that other ******* Cat a Lesson He Would Not Forget. Shmogg came around sideways, all puffed and halloweened. His back was arched and his ears were flat against his skull. I carefully retreated into the corner, not knowing whether to cough and let Shmogg come to his kitty senses, or stay as quiet as possible and let the spectacle of Shmogg at his stupidest to continue. What can I say? I am a masochist - but a curious one. With absolutely deadly intent, Shmogg hissed his wrath at The Cat In The Bowl. How dare that cat do such a *disgusting* and *insulting* thin to him. How dare he, when slaves may be about. His honour on the line, Shmogg prepared to do battle. Fully arched and staggering sideways, he crept up on The Cat In The Bowl, circling slowly, tail thrashing insults in catly semaphore. His muscles, all taut and ready to spring writhed in anger and loss of face. Circling, sidling, seething, he looked for the best place to attack, sought out the best strategy, and at the exact calculated moment, lashed out at his attacker with full fury and a blood-curdling war cry. The Cat In The Bowl attacked back by wetting Shmogg's whole arm! I stayed very quiet, trying to surreptitiously blend into the kitchen cupboards. I dared not to move, not to make a sound. I was dead anyway, but may as well enjoy my last moments watching Shmogg be a complete ning-nong. Shmogg was alarmed. He hadn't expected his attacker to be such a vicious, cunning opponent - clearly Shmogg had underestimated him. Perhaps his rakish good looks and dazzling aura had put Shmogg off. Shmogg moved away to think of a better plan, while I nearly killed myself trying not to laugh. With a cry rivalling Xena's Shmogg went for one final lunge. He went in with all claws bared, with a direct frontal assault. I did not know cats could fly, but Shmogg can. He landed nearly right on top of the whole contraption and bunny-kicked the living polytetrapthalate out of it. He kicked, he clawed, he hissed, he swore. A most ferocious and determined beast I have never witnessed. But not smart, not this time. Because the frontal assault had caused the whole contraption to teeter. Each swipe and claw made it more and more unstable until finally the Cat in the Bowl reaped the most horrible victory. The soda bottle toppled over onto top of poor Shmogg and drenched him (and the kitchen floor) with nearly two litres of fresh, clear, cool, doggy-spitless wadder-monsters. There was no point trying to hold it in any more, the mirth had built up to explosive pressure and finally exploded out of my lungs. Shmogg stood in the kitchen, dripping wet, in a puddle of water, while I, the most cruel and unsympathetic slave, laughed at my master's foibles. He stomped off, wearing his dignity around his ankles, while I collapsed on the kitchen floor, desperately trying to control bodily functions while hysterically laughing. The revenge was typical, of course. Not only was I left to clean up the Cat In the Bowl That Bested Shmogg with the mop, where did Shmogg retreat to on this cold winter's day. That's right, and at 11:00PM that night, it was too late to put the doona and sheets in the dryer. Please don't tell Joel, but I don't think I've ever enjoyed sleeping in a wet spot more. Shtupid kitty. Yowie |
#2
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"Yowie" wrote And if I don't get the oppurtunity to post another tomorrow, here's another one of my favourites, orignally posted on July 10, 2001. ROTFLMAO! Thanks for reposting that, it's made my day! I wasn't into this NG then so it's new to me, and will be to others I expect. Purrs Gordon & the FF |
#3
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On Sat, 3 Sep 2005 22:26:05 +1000, "Yowie"
yodeled: (snip) Yikes! Worthy of D.W. Griffith! Absolutely hysterical. Theresa Stinky Pictures: http://community.webshots.com/album/125591586JWEFwh My Blog: http://www.humanitas.blogspot.com |
#4
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Greetings!
Is there a website where all the Shmogg/Fluffy stories are collected? I went to Flippy's website, but couldn't find them. Sandy "Kreisleriana" wrote in message ... On Sat, 3 Sep 2005 22:26:05 +1000, "Yowie" yodeled: (snip) Yikes! Worthy of D.W. Griffith! Absolutely hysterical. Theresa Stinky Pictures: http://community.webshots.com/album/125591586JWEFwh My Blog: http://www.humanitas.blogspot.com |
#5
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Yowie wrote in message ... And if I don't get the oppurtunity to post another tomorrow, here's another one of my favourites, orignally posted on July 10, 2001. And well worth the repost Thank you. Jeanette |
#6
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"Yowie" wrote in message ... And if I don't get the oppurtunity to post another tomorrow, here's another one of my favourites, orignally posted on July 10, 2001. .. Yowie Terrific as usual. Annie |
#7
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"Yowie" wrote in message
... And if I don't get the oppurtunity to post another tomorrow, here's another one of my favourites, orignally posted on July 10, 2001. Most days I'm a good slave and stay convinced of Shmogg's obvious status as a member of The Superior Species. And although he works extremely had at keeping the impenetrable veneer of supremacy occasionally I have the unique pleasure at seeing a small crack in his armor. Its on those days I laugh myself silly and am then punished by He That Must Be Obeyed, and once again, I turn a blind eye to Shmogg's little not-quite-as-preeminent-as-he-likes-to-think foibles. Shmogg is not a big drinker. It is rare for me to see him drink at all. Occasionally he'll beg for the vanity tap to be turned on while I'm having a shower, but mostly, I figure that he gets all the moisture he needs from the great dollops of wet cat food I feed him morning and night. The fact that he has no difficulty filling a litter box has always suggested to me that he is not as dehydrated as a human would get in similar circumstances. After all, he never breaks into a sweat and its not like he ever does any sort of heavy physical exertion (gobbling kibble at faster than light speed not withstanding). Although obtained ostensibly for Shmogg's benefit, the "self filling" water bowl (basically a bowl with an upside plastic 2-litre soda bottle filled with water upended in it) has been Fluffy's domain ever since she moved in. For the sake of the carpet, we moved the watering station into the kitchen. I don't know why, but she seems to get more water on the floor than she does in her mouth, and we always seem to look at her at the precise moment that she has the most amount of water dripping off her muzzle. It's also a peculiar skill of Fluffy's to contaminate the water with the most bizarre objects. I am no longer surprised at the monotonous regularity of suicidal flies in the water bowl, but the socks, pencils, keys, bits of plastic and other bits of general carpet decoration keep turning up in the bowl. Its almost like they appear after I re-fill the thing and *before* it manages to get to the kitchen floor. She also manages to drop the most rancid of what I assume is ex-food into the water and I dread to think where she is dredging it up from - on that count I'd prefer to stay entirely ignorant. The most amazing thing, though, is that despite the fact the water at the end of a day can look much like a rank billabong, Fluff still drinks the water with as much vim and vigour (and splashing) as ever. Shmogg, naturally, won't have anything to do with it. Except of course when he thinks no one is looking. After all, if we ever found out that he was quite capable of using the regular water bowl, why would we turn on the vanity tap each time he yowled at us to do so? The water this particular morning had been changed after putting Fluffy out into the backyard to do Secret Doggy Business (mostly, chasing her tail and teasing the dog behind the back fence, the little flirt). The water in the bowl was crisp, clear and fresh, and not one molecule of doggy-drool tainted it. As I was making my morning coffee, Shmogg sauntered into the kitchen to complain about his breakfast. He complains about his breakfast every day, so I've gotten to ignore his disgust and outrage (at the quantity, not the quality) and work around him as he trolls the kitchen floor for possible left overs. Shmogg also tends to ignore me ignoring him and goes through the routine regardless. Despite the fact it hasn't scored him any extra breakfast *ever* it seems to have become a routine of his and we go through it every day, generally in that automatic pilot way of going through the motions without consciously realising what we are doing. However, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Shmogg was doing something a little different. He'd spotted the water bowl and was becoming increasing interested. Now I knew for certain that he wasn't interested in the bowl of water because he was thirsty. He pathetic mewling was the "I am but a poor half starved kitty, take pity and feed me" sort, made all the more effective by being able to reverberate the tones through the great standing waves set up in his ever expanding udder. These are very specific, insistent and somewhat menacing meows that mean only one thing: I want *food*. Meows for other things sound different. So if it wasn't the water itself, what was going on? Shmogg stared deeply into the small pond of crystal clear water, entranced. I called him a few times "Puss, Puss" and he didn't react at all. I used the secret kitty call of "Poodj" which, despite its bizarre sound, has a success rate of an incredible 30% (dam good if you ask me). The attraction of the "Poodj" is only surpassed by one sound in Shmogg's mind - the sound of a can opening. Some may say I karmically attract ******* Cat Tricks, because I play Rotten Human jokes on poor unsuspecting, totally innocent, harmless, sweet little creatures (yeah right). But some days, temptation trounces fate. While Shmogg was staring closer and closer into the water bowl, I opened the cupboard door and opened a can of Chicken & Tuna - his favourite. Miraculously, and I don't use that word lightly, Shmogg didn't move. He was entranced by his own reflection, oblivious to all else besides his own stunning visage looking back lovingly at him. I stared in slack jawed disbelief. Shmogg, *my* Shmogg, ignoring food? Oh my little Narcissus, how long will it be before your Nemesis meets you? I didn't have to wait for long. Slowly, inexorably, Shmogg moved closer and closer to the water, closer and closer to that gorgeous other cat, that beautiful, perfect Adonis of felinity, and all the while I held my breath, wondering what would happen when the inevitable happened. So what do cats do when they meet other friendly cats? Shmogg sniffed gently, carefully, carried out the tradition kitty greeting, and lovingly sniffed the nose of breathtaking magnificence reflected back at him. Instead of continuing with the intricate ballet of feline greeting formalities, the rotten other cat just squirted the dreaded *water* up his nostrils. I tried not to snicker as he backed off and snorted loudly, expelling the disgusting stuff quickly out of his sinuses - he didn't even bother to look dignified, so horrified he was. Well, he would not put up with that, he would teach that other ******* Cat a Lesson He Would Not Forget. Shmogg came around sideways, all puffed and halloweened. His back was arched and his ears were flat against his skull. I carefully retreated into the corner, not knowing whether to cough and let Shmogg come to his kitty senses, or stay as quiet as possible and let the spectacle of Shmogg at his stupidest to continue. What can I say? I am a masochist - but a curious one. With absolutely deadly intent, Shmogg hissed his wrath at The Cat In The Bowl. How dare that cat do such a *disgusting* and *insulting* thin to him. How dare he, when slaves may be about. His honour on the line, Shmogg prepared to do battle. Fully arched and staggering sideways, he crept up on The Cat In The Bowl, circling slowly, tail thrashing insults in catly semaphore. His muscles, all taut and ready to spring writhed in anger and loss of face. Circling, sidling, seething, he looked for the best place to attack, sought out the best strategy, and at the exact calculated moment, lashed out at his attacker with full fury and a blood-curdling war cry. The Cat In The Bowl attacked back by wetting Shmogg's whole arm! I stayed very quiet, trying to surreptitiously blend into the kitchen cupboards. I dared not to move, not to make a sound. I was dead anyway, but may as well enjoy my last moments watching Shmogg be a complete ning-nong. Shmogg was alarmed. He hadn't expected his attacker to be such a vicious, cunning opponent - clearly Shmogg had underestimated him. Perhaps his rakish good looks and dazzling aura had put Shmogg off. Shmogg moved away to think of a better plan, while I nearly killed myself trying not to laugh. With a cry rivalling Xena's Shmogg went for one final lunge. He went in with all claws bared, with a direct frontal assault. I did not know cats could fly, but Shmogg can. He landed nearly right on top of the whole contraption and bunny-kicked the living polytetrapthalate out of it. He kicked, he clawed, he hissed, he swore. A most ferocious and determined beast I have never witnessed. But not smart, not this time. Because the frontal assault had caused the whole contraption to teeter. Each swipe and claw made it more and more unstable until finally the Cat in the Bowl reaped the most horrible victory. The soda bottle toppled over onto top of poor Shmogg and drenched him (and the kitchen floor) with nearly two litres of fresh, clear, cool, doggy-spitless wadder-monsters. There was no point trying to hold it in any more, the mirth had built up to explosive pressure and finally exploded out of my lungs. Shmogg stood in the kitchen, dripping wet, in a puddle of water, while I, the most cruel and unsympathetic slave, laughed at my master's foibles. He stomped off, wearing his dignity around his ankles, while I collapsed on the kitchen floor, desperately trying to control bodily functions while hysterically laughing. The revenge was typical, of course. Not only was I left to clean up the Cat In the Bowl That Bested Shmogg with the mop, where did Shmogg retreat to on this cold winter's day. That's right, and at 11:00PM that night, it was too late to put the doona and sheets in the dryer. Please don't tell Joel, but I don't think I've ever enjoyed sleeping in a wet spot more. Shtupid kitty. Yowie ROTFLOL!!!!!!!!! That's a classic! Joy |
#8
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"Exocat" wrote:
Thanks for reposting that, it's made my day! I wasn't into this NG then so it's new to me, and will be to others I expect. Oh, yes indeed! -- Wayne M (indulged by Will and Heidi) |
#9
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BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! I laughed until I got tears in my eyes.
Oh, so funny! Thanks for posting this. Poor, poor Schmogg. Jane - owned and operated by Princess Rita another one of my favourites, orignally posted on July 10, 2001. |
#10
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Jane wrote: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! I laughed until I got tears in my eyes. Oh, so funny! Thanks for posting this. Poor, poor Schmogg. Jane - owned and operated by Princess Rita another one of my favourites, orignally posted on July 10, 2001. Priceless! --Fil |
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